The pain of severe depression is quite unimaginable to those who
have not suffered it, and it kills in many instances because its anguish can no
longer be borne. The prevention of many suicides will continue to be hindered
until there is a general awareness of the nature of this pain.
~
William Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness
In
2015, I’m participating in Jeff Goins’ My 500 Words
Challenge: writing at least 500
words a day for a year! (YTD Word Count: 50,750)
In
addition, for the next 50 days, I’m participating in the Abbey of the Arts’ Pilgrimage
of Resurrection: A Creative Journey through the Easter Season.
|
I
|
live in a prison cell.
The
foundation and the walls were built by others, but sadly, I contributed to its design.
Jailers
pace outside, hurling insults and criticisms and verbal abuse through the bars,
but ultimately, the worst jailer is behind bars with me. She holds tight to the key that would free us
and alternately cringes in a corner or returns verbal fire with even nastier fire.
But it only
eases the pain of confinement and isolation a little. In the end, me, myself, and I are still
trapped.
I do have
one consolation ~ friends who come to visit me here in this dark, sad place. They
offer encouragement to me and my cell mate~ encouraging us both to take out
that key, put it in the lock, and break free.
We refuse to leave the familiar comfort of our pain; but they don’t
leave in disgust ~ they sit with us and love us anyway.
Mental,
emotional, and psychological illnesses are debilitating and more often than
not, they can feel like a prison. My coping
mechanisms ~ which had provided safety and security from a hurtful childhood
and un-diagnosed cyclothymic
depression ~ at some point, trapped me in a
cycle of habits and though patterns.
Instead of safety and security, I found I couldn’t move on in freedom
and compassion.
About four
years ago, I found my current psychologist and he was able to pry that rusted
old key from my frightened hands and slowly, we’ve been oiling that old cell
lock, working on setting me free. I’m
not out yet, but there’s a window open now, and there have been some
psychological earth quakes that have weakened the foundation of this prison.
And I’m
not the only one here.
In this prison,
there are many cells and at least once a day, I hear the hopeless weeping of
other prisoners ~ some who have been here longer than I’ve been alive. Many of them can’t hear the others; they are
locked deep in isolation.
But I hear
them.
Which is
why on May 2, I’m walking for them.
It is
deplorable that in our “enlightened” society, there is still a stigma attached
to mental illness. No one but an idiot
breaks their femur bone and insists on setting it themselves or calls all orthopedists
quacks.
Mental illness is real; it causes
physical pain and has far-reaching effects and consequences. And currently, one in four adults in the
United States suffers from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year.
Mental Health of America is a
non-profit that is passionate about making mental health a critical part of our
overall health and wellness. On May 2,
they are sponsoring a 1-3 mile walk to raise awareness of mental health issues specifically
affecting teens and seniors citizens. And
yours truly, along with a few friends, will be one of the people walking to
help #EndTheStigma.
I hope you walk
with us or donate
money to Team Grizzly (seriously, would my team be named anything else?! *wink*)
and help raise awareness of the prison of mental illness and stigma.
The cell
you unlock might just be your own.
Oremus pro invicem,
~
Mikaela
Posts on La Belle are written with the following fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman, Vivaldi, Edwardian, and occasionally Baroque Script.
