On Mental Health and Confessions

Back when I started this blog, I anticipated a lot of late-night rambles.  I think, however, that this is only the second late-night post I've written since I started this.

One of my big blogging idols, who runs the blog Hyperbole and a Half and is easily one of the funniest and most talented bloggers I have encountered in my time on the internet, has made two of her most recent posts (although one of them was admittedly about a year ago) about depression and how depression has impacted her work.

If you've followed me at all, you know I am a huge mental health advocate.  I can talk to you about what a comprehensive mental health policy on a college campus looks like (and what it doesn't, here's looking at YOU, Cornell).  I can tell you that 1 in 4 Americans will suffer from a mental illness in their lifetime, that many of those who do not get help will consider or attempt suicide, and that 1,000 college students will take their own lives this year.  I can also, and will, tell you that your mental illness or mental health concern does not define you, nor does it make you any less whole or less worthy a person, and that no one worth having in your life will love you any less because of it.

But I will admit, I am ashamed of my mental illness.  Anxiety disorders, severe confidence issues, and intermittent depression have dominated my interactions with myself, my work, and others for as far back as I can remember.  I have also come to realize that when any of those concerns become stressed, I have a hard time maintaining a healthy relationship with food -- I either eat far too much and cannot control myself or I find the idea of food so unappealing that I may not eat all day unless I force myself to.

I'm making this post not to force my issues on others -- I do have a small group of people in my life who have been absolutely wonderful resources for me to work through my issues -- but because I feel, as someone who pushes so strongly for people to not see mental illness as a failing of character or something to be ashamed of, that I have been terrible when it comes to practicing what I preach.  I have no right to push for people to own their battle scars if I cannot do it myself.

Yours,
Rachel Leigh