Before the Train Hits

I’m going to paint a picture for you, and I want you to really immerse yourself in it.

Imagine standing in the middle of a train track, with a rope almost cutting into each arm as it’s pulled taught and tied to a column on each side. You’re in the middle of no where.
You have no where to go, no one to hear your cries – no white knight to save the day as we’re so often told in fairytales. None of that, because this is real life.

You stand there, dread settling in your stomach, your mind racing as your fight or flight response kicks in. Wanting, NEEDING, to live, to be okay, to be safe.

Then you hear the distant sound of a train approaching… Panic replaces dread. Your heart rate reaches inhuman speed, your breathing all but stops in your throat. You feel the need to escape, to do anything possible to get out of that situation. You cry, you want to throw up, pass out, or just crawl out of your skin.

You lose track of everything around you except the feelings your body is drowning you in. Taken over by an inane instinct to survive.

Now, the train becomes visible, heading straight towards you with no signs of stopping. That panic you were feeling? You are consumed by it ten fold. Your body is your enemy, your hostage… And you? It’s prisoner.

That feeling of terror right before the train reaches you? THAT is exactly what a full-blown panic attack feels like.

Anxiety is bad enough, but it’s not panic, it’s not the same. I’ve had many painful surgeries, I’ve suffered a lot of loss. But nothing can compare to that inescapable feeling of terror. Inescapable because your own mind is causing it, inescapable because you can’t detach from your mind or body.

It feels like every nightmare, every fear you’ve ever had, rolled into one moment of pure, crushing terror.

So, why do people panic? Why do we actually catastrophise everyday situations until we feel like we’re about to be hit by a train? Why does our fight or flight kick in with little-to-no apparent danger?

Because that’s what anxiety is. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, and it’s causes are different for everyone.

Does that make them weak for suffering through that? For needing medical intervention to treat this issue? No. Having experienced this panic first hand, I’d say with full conviction that those who suffer panic attacks are some of the absolute strongest I have ever known.

I witnessed my friend ride the waves of panic and anxiety for a full half hour on a boat. I saw her fear, I felt it… And I felt pride at what she was surviving. Her mind and body were fighting her to basically jump off that boat, to escape the situation… But she didn’t. She mentally fought the battle, survived it, conquered it, and rode an easy ferry ride home on the way back.

If you’ve been through that, you should never feel anything other than pride.

The different faces of anxiety are interesting, and the way people react when faced with panic. The fight, flight, or freeze response kicks in, and it’s like internal torture.

When I have a panic attack, it’s invisible. No one has ever been able to tell (unless I faint… Whoops!) I sit there quietly, desperate to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. And I fight the urge to run from the situation, knowing that running only feeds the panic. With my friend, her panic was utterly palpable. You could see it, feel it. The sobbing, the shaking, the hyperventilation. We’re feeling the same things, but wearing it completely differently.

So, before you call someone dramatic or weak, because they didn’t ‘look’ like they were having a panic attack, or because you don’t understand why they were having one in the first place. Stop. Take a look outside yourself, and realise that even if you can’t understand what they’re going through, your steady support is all they need in that moment.

Fly Free

It happened gradually. So gradually, that I didn’t even realise it was happening until I was unwittingly set free.

Cages – used to keep animals and people controlled. These days you can find beautiful ornate bird cages, with intricate detailing so beautiful that you forget its original purpose.

That’s the kind of cage I imagine that I was in. It seemed so beautiful from the outside, that I barely knew it for what it really was.

I used to be a dreamer… I wanted so much from the world. I wanted to try everything, do everything, go everywhere. I wanted to travel to ancient and foreign lands, have hundreds of different careers, move to the other side of the country – I wanted to continue to learn and grow. I wanted to experience everything that this beautiful world had to offer.

So, why couldn’t I follow my whims?

I’ll start with a broader reason… Relationships. Now, before I go on, I’d like to point out that I’m not saying “I hate my ex – he trapped me in a bubble.” Not in the slightest. This isn’t a reflection on any one person, but a simple fact that relationships mean your decisions need to be made with consideration of another person…Duh! So, all those possibilities become smaller, especially for me as someone who has always put my partner first. I’m not sure that I’ll ever grow out of that. I would sacrifice what I wanted if I knew it would make them happy. I wouldn’t speak up – and that was the beginning of my gilded cage, a beautiful cage I built for myself. I got myself to a stage that I hardly even knew what I wanted.

Friendships – a lot more freedom there than in a relationship, but your happiness in said friendships is based solely on who you actually decide to become friends with. “Friends are the family we choose.” Clique, but oh so true! I had toxic friendships for years… They were clipping my wings and caging me in, and I didn’t even know it. Meeting my ex was a blessing in more ways than one, because he taught me the importance of standing up for one’s self, and the importance of cutting people out of your life who are a type of poison for you. Cutting out those people (as harsh as it sounds,) cut out some of the bars to my cage.

The next reason is money. Yep, so many problems in the world are caused by money. But I never grew up to put value on it. Money is to live, nothing more. At my first job, I watched my boss (a small business owner) place his happiness on how much money he made that day. I saw his darker moods, his scary temper, but I also saw his kindness and generosity when things were going well. His moods affected all of ours. It made us feel anxious, like we were walking on eggshells. If we didn’t sell enough that day, his mood would visibly sour.

And I didn’t understand, not at all. I mean, to a certain extent I would understand the stress of running a small business and the worry that can cause, especially during times as difficult as these. But not when every dollar and cent defined your happiness. If any of my friends or family came up to me right now, struggling and desperate for money, I would give everything I could to them, every cent if I had to. Because those people are what I value most, not money. This became an issue in my previous relationship, right from the very beginning. His ambition was inspiring to me, I was always proud of that – but his value on money didn’t align with mine. And I found myself feeling smaller and smaller, actually shrinking and using my cage to hide the pain that I felt like I was only worth the money in my bank account.

Now, that’s a terrifying thought. What’s even more terrifying is that I let it happen. I got in my cage and shut the door, because that’s where I felt safe.

I always felt the need to apologise, often laid awake at night anxious about money – anxious that my partner would stop loving me if I didn’t earn enough. But the greatest and heaviest expectations came from myself, from my own insecurities. I can’t blame anyone but me. I jumped into my half-built cage and hid there willingly. Not wanting to voice my opinion, not wanting to cause confrontation… Simply not wanting to lose him. For that, I would have done anything.

The next issue became my health… This is probably the biggest reason, hence being the reason for this blog. Feeling trapped in my own body, like a bird being shoved into a shoe box. I couldn’t breathe, I was scared to move, for fear I’d hurt myself or make things worse. I was flailing in the dark, having no idea what was happening on when things would get better. At one stage, I even got a false positive for a rare type of tumour – a test that took an extra two weeks to complete to find out that it really was false. That was the longest and loneliest two weeks of my life – because I made it that way. I didn’t lean on those who cared about me the way I should have. I caged them out, at the same time as caging myself in.

My health has been a trip! What started as what seemed like a panic disorder, turned out to be dangerously high blood pressure and tachycardia. It developed from there – fatigue, muscle pain, joint pain, chronic daily migraines, dizziness, malaise. I would work all week and sleep all weekend. My world shrunk further, and my health continued to build my cage towards completion. What I could do on any given day, relied solely on how my body felt. That thought was utterly suffocating. I craved answers, I craved my choices back, I craved understanding. What I found was loneliness. The kind of loneliness I’d never experienced before – I believed this was my fight… Me against my body, me against the world. So, I shut out the world. I let my fatigue drag me down, let me physical capabilities define me, let me value diminish based on the lack of income I had coming in.

The next is mental health. This is a big one for many people, especially at the moment. Our mental well-being is so important, and so complicated, that it has a way of grabbing hold of us with both hands and not letting go. Feeling good, feeling happy, has it’s own way of making us feel free. But when we’re struggling, we’re trapped in the M5 tunnel at peak hour – seeing no light at the end and feeling like we’re moving in slow motion. That’s exactly how my anxiety makes me feel, and I know a hell of a lot of people could related to that. My anxiety hit me hardest with my health. Approximately six panic attacks a day – yep. That panic had gripped my heart and I never seemed to feel any relief.

The day that my doctors discovered that my then-current panic attacks were caused by a physiological response rather than psychological… Well, it was somewhat a relief – and yet, somehow made me feel even more caged in. I felt even more trapped in what my body was doing to me – because not only was it affecting me physically, but it had now gripped my mind too.

The final bar to my cage was the concept of moving out. I always thought I’d move to WA, live with my friend. Go where I wanted, when I wanted. But being in a relationship changes your priorities, means having to compromise (which I was more than happy to do! Not forced to.) However, I wasn’t the one fronting the money in our goal to move out – which I felt strongly limited my opinion in the matter. So, I shut down further. Stopped speaking up, went with the flow, pushed my unhappiness and claustrophobia in the situation way down until I didn’t feel a thing.

My cage was finished – complete with a beautiful brass padlock. And I couldn’t blame anyone but myself.

Now, this isn’t meant to make me sound like a victim, this isn’t meant to say that I wasn’t happy in my relationships or friendships, or in my career, or in life. This isn’t meant to say that I have any regrets. Because I don’t – not one.

It’s meant to be about choice.

We all have it, whether we choose to admit it. We have freedom – we just need to actively choose to fly towards it, not hide in our seemingly beautiful cages. That’s where I went wrong – my choices, or rather ignoring my choices, had ultimately locked me away.

This year has been a shit storm – for everyone in the world. But during this time, I’ve found strength in sorrow, forgiveness in anger, empathy in pain. Most importantly, I found my freedom again. Because, ironic as this sounds, choice was forced on me. I was put in a situation where I actually HAD to think about what I wanted, for the first time in a long time. I was forced to drop my own expectations of myself, step back, and see what I really wanted, where I was really meant to be, all along. This year I became a dreamer again. I became a bird soaring through the sky instead of hiding in a cage.

In loss, I found myself. Self-love, putting yourself first, isn’t ugly – it certainly isn’t selfish. It’s necessary. I know that now. I built a cage for myself, and I’ve spent the last year tearing down my beautiful self-made prison.

My final statement is this – the reason my self-built cage was so ‘beautiful…’ That’s easy – it was beautiful because I was still happy. Blissfully unaware, as they say, but never truly content.

And now…? Those obstacles are still there, but not holding me back.

Now I feel like I’m really starting to soar.

Photo by Guillaume TECHER on Unsplash

The Unexpected Side Effect of Chronic Illness

We often hear about the symptoms of chronic illness and chronic pain. Muscle fatigue, muscle pain, joint pain, headaches, nausea, stomach & bowel disturbances, skin issues, chest pain, fatigue, malaise, and many many more.

But what’s often not mentioned is the emotional toll any chronic illness takes on every person who suffers. In particular, the guilt that comes with it.

It seems strange to say – I mean, why would you feel guilty for something you had no say in? But it’s an unfortunate and common side effect of chronic illness or pain.

No one actually wants to be a burden. No one wants to hold other people back. So we do exactly what we shouldn’t do – we spend all day apologising to others for our illnesses and our limitations. For the reason we can’t work full time, or work at all. For the reason we need extra rest. For the reason we can’t do too many physical activities. For the reason we can’t get out of bed that day. Our illness, that we can’t help or control, makes us feel invalid and like we’ve lost all value – and ultimately makes us feel guilty.

Did we do something to deserve this? Could we have taken better care of our bodies before this happened? Is there something more we could be doing to feel better – to be better? Should we listen to all that unsolicited advice, spending every extra penny we have on controversial treatments and natural methods that may or may not work?

What’s the right answer for this predicament we didn’t see coming, the ‘sure thing’ cure we haven’t tried yet. I swear, if you just tell me what it is, I will do it!

But that desperation for an answer to ‘fix’ our bodies does nothing to ease our mind of the guilt, or the fear that maybe it really is all in our heads. We still feel bad every single time we have to cancel any social plans. We still feel bad when friends just start forgetting to invite you, because you rarely show up anyway. We still feel bad when we’re on date night and have to leave early when our bodies start to fail us, or planning a 5pm early bird dinner just so you can be in bed by 8pm. We still feel bad about all the limitations that come with any outing. We still feel bad making plans at all, knowing we may have to cancel. We still feel bad for all the extra responsibilities other people have to take on at work in our absence.

Our limitations, become their limitations.

I still feel bad when my close friends and family, or my boyfriend, says “it’s okay,” when I cancel or pull out of plans. And they mean it. It really is okay, they understand my reasons, they sympathise. So why does that just make me feel worse? More guilty. Like maybe I’m taking advantage of their love for me. Like I’m hurting these people that care for me so much that they have unlimited patience when it comes to my struggle for my health. I’ve just wasted their time and ruined their plans for the day, but somehow it’s okay. But it’s not okay… Not to me. Never to me.

Guilt. All consuming, occasionally debilitating, and most of all, unexplainable… And the symptom we often don’t talk about. But it’s there, devouring us from the inside and causing more conflict in our minds than we care to admit. Do we put our health first, or do we just push through that activity that we know will just cause us more harm afterwards? Am I being selfish for choosing rest when I need it?

I can answer that, confidently and surely…. No, you are not being selfish for looking after your health. I know that, yet I still question it daily. Maybe it’s time to stop apologising for something that we cannot help, that we did not ask for, and that we are doing everything and giving everything to try to fix. Maybe over time, that guilt will be a light shadow in the background of our minds, rather than consuming it. But most of all, the moment we stop apologising, is the moment we show others that we don’t care what they think. That we know we didn’t ask for this or want it, and that we will not continue to say sorry simply for being sick.

…Easier said than done, right?

How Do You Feel?

  • “Are your migraines gone yet? Maybe you’re just tense.
  • “Oh your struggling with fatigue? Man I’m tired too, it’s been a busy week!”
  • “Muscle pain? Probably from lack of exercise.”
  • “Have you tried NOT taking all those medications? Maybe they’re the issue.”
  • “How are you… Are you better yet?”
  • “Are you depressed?”

I hear a lot of questions in my day to day life that are based around my currently chronically ill body – some often accompanied by unsolicited advice. But I was asked a question today that really took be by surprise.

My doctor asked “how do you feel?” Yes, that’s a reasonably normal question to ask someone who is chronically sick, especially for a doctor. So I answered my standard “same old. Migraines have improved but still have good days and bad days health wise in general.”

“No, no. How do you FEEL? As in, how does all of this make you feel… Emotionally.”

Oh.

Well…

That’s actually a tough one to answer. I’m often asked how I feel, but physically, and usually followed by unsolicited and unhelpful advice or judgement. Like they’re asking out more out of habit than actually caring to hear the same thing day after day.

Is “I don’t know” a sufficient answer? If I think too hard about my actual feelings around my illness, my brain literally empties itself of all memories, knowledge and feelings. POOF! Gone.

I mean, for the last 10 years I’ve suffered chronic pain to some degree or another because of Endometriosis, while enduring 6 surgeries and countless traumatic treatments that were unsuccessful, all while having people ask me if I really NEED all those surgeries (because hey, I’m just doing it for fun right?) And then there’s the mystery illness that has taken over my life over the last two years that I like to call the WTF disease – which has caused no end of pain in probably every place on my body at some stage, caused fatigue so bad that I sometimes can’t even think past a brain full of fairy floss, hospitalised me in the ER twice because of suspected heart attack or stroke due to dangerously high blood pressure, caused me to have to resign from a job and a company that I loved… Oh and basically made me hate my body and everyone around me that asked stupid questions follow by useless and unsolicited advice.

So, I guess if you wanted me to really sum it up… I’d say I was pretty darn pissed off. And yet, also somehow grateful for the changes it has made in me.

Now there’s a mind-f**k for you!

But back to the point. My doctor bought about a very important issue that I constantly keep allowing myself to forget… my emotions and my mental health. I may not be mentally ill, but that doesn’t mean I should neglect my emotions and allow myself to become that way. But more than that, that not only myself, but also everyone around me, continue to overlook the profound effect these kinds of chronic illnesses can have on a person. After all, I’m not Super Woman… As much as I’d like to tell people that I am.

A person should always be viewed holistically – as a whole. Mind, body, and *insert your belief here*. I may be physically and chronically sick, but should I only be viewed that way? No, I really shouldn’t. And yet, I’m just as guilty of it. Sometimes when you’re drowning in one issue, and allowing everyone around you to drown in it with you, you forget to view someone as an entire human being.

I’m not just my pain or my illness, I am also my mind, my personality, my feelings. And having someone not only see that, but genuinely care about it, meant the world to me. I needed to be asked that, more than I often realise. People often tell me they’re frustrated for me, but don’t actually ask or realise that I am exactly ten million, five hundred sixty two thousand, seven hundred and one times MORE frustrated than they are… Because I’m the one living it.

I’m a happy, bubbly and always-smiling-too-much girl (to the point where I’ve got early onset crows feet,) but that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling other emotions on a deeper level, I just don’t always show it.

So, it’s time to be real. How do you feel?

The Importance of Sharing Your Story

Being open about your life isn’t easy, especially if there’s a stigma involved. However, it’s necessary. How else do you break a stigma, if not fearlessly sharing the parts of your life that you’ve been taught by society to keep hidden?

You may be wondering what the point is. If some people don’t understand, don’t care, or simply judge, why would you want to share that part of your life? Whether it be your struggle with mental illness or physical illness, the battle is equally harsh and personal.

Well… There’s a reason a lot of people have a huge lack of understanding about so many illnesses, and it’s because WE are scared to speak out about it. Yes, some people will judge. Yes, some people will get tired of you complaining. But, to put it simply… Fuck what they think! The world isn’t meant to be all light all the time. We are not only valuable when we smile or when everything is going well.

If you ask those people who are judging, those people who are getting ‘tired’ of hearing you complain, I bet you any amount of money that they’re spending their days complaining about their own issues, that are simply different from yours. Therefore, they can’t understand. That is not your issue, it’s theirs. That shouldn’t stop us from trying to raise awareness, trying to build understanding in a society where there is very little.

So many of my blog stories have been hard for me to write, and I have no doubt they have received quiet judgement. But more than any judgement I’ve received has been some amazing feedback from people saying how much they needed to hear what I’ve written about. And those comments, knowing I’ve helped someone in a similar situation, means everything. It’s the whole reason I’m doing this.

I had one friend share her story about diabetes. She was worried at first and wasn’t sure if she wanted to put her name to the story, but then overcame her fear and did it anyway. She said what a release it was. And because of that, not only has she possibly helped other people, but she also helped herself.

So I’m putting a call out to everyone who has struggled with a chronic physical or mental illness to come forward and share your story on my blog. Anonymity is completely fine and completely understandable if you prefer. But share your raw story for the world to hear, for the people who have had similar experiences to you. So they know, and you know, that we are not alone in it.

Help me to raise awareness and break the stigma. ❤

The Importance of Mental Health in Chronic Illness

For most people with a chronic illness, there comes with it a care plan that includes multiple specialists. One of these specialists is a psychologist. This makes complete sense, given the toll it takes on the person, body and mind.

However, I hadn’t really been thinking much about it lately, just going along with the flow. Going to each doctors visit and every specialist like a good little patient, without really thinking about what each of them means in my care plan. I hadn’t received the answers I needed from any of them, so I stopped expecting anything from them, and in turn stopped reaping any benefits.

I just kept going to the appointments, adjusting my medications as instructed, doing whatever else they told me, in a numb like zombie state. I thought I had simply accepted my lack of diagnosis and was going on with life, but really I was avoiding feeling that constant frustration, disappointment and guilt.

With my health condition (which may or may not be Lupus) comes many symptoms and many obstacles – the latest being chronic (almost daily) migraines. Even if I don’t have a full blown migraine, I do have some degree of head pain or malaise. If you have never had a migraine, imagine something that caused you horrible pain… Like menstrual cramps or being kicked in the balls (sorry boys.) Now imagine feeling that pain on varying levels daily… It would become kind of hard to think about anything else, right?

That’s what I realised was happening to me as I sat in front of my psychologist after not having seen her for 3 months. I realised in all my effort to look after my physical health, I had actually forgotten something just as important – my mental health.

Now imagine this – I’m sitting in front of a highly experienced clinical psychologist, with 24 years of experience and a PhD. After approximately 40 minutes of her trying to find out what’s been going on in my life and how I’d been feeling, she actually laughed at how difficult it was to get an answer. She was so stumped that she actually laughed, in a very awkward way. I’d once been told many years ago by a different psychologist that getting information from me was like getting blood from a stone. In this moment, I finally understood her frustration.

Now, let me be clear, I wasn’t intentionally being difficult. I’m a very honest person. If I had known how I’d been feeling lately, I most definitely would have shared it with her. But the thing is, I hadn’t thought about it much. When she asked me how I’d been feeling, the only answer that came to mind was physical pain – which wasn’t actually what she was asking about. But when I tried to think about emotions in regards to any situation we had just been talking about, my mind actually went completely blank!

We did get somewhere in the end, she managed to get one emotion out of me and we managed to get to the root of it. All in the last 5 minutes – proving what a skilled doctor she is! But the entire session did actually highlight one major issue to me, and probably to her. That I was not looking after my mental health in the slightest. I was… I AM, so consumed by my physical health, and in my chronic pain, that I completely overlooked my mental health.

That is an incredible mistake – one I’ve never made before. I was genuinely shocked by this revelation.

This highlighted for me the importance of managing your mental health, even while in the midst of a physical health debacle – ESPECIALLY while in the midst of a physical health debacle. Both physical and mental health go hand in hand, and one most certainly can affect the other.

This brings me briefly to the topic of trauma. One would expect trauma to come in the form of a car accident or abuse – but it can also come in the form of an illness. During or after a trauma, people can experience a kind of ‘numbing’ effect (I don’t know the exact clinical term.) This is something I’ve experienced in the past, so I was deeply surprised that I had slipped up and forgotten to focus on something so important.

This is something that should be remembered not only for those suffering from any kind of chronic illness, but also for their loved ones. There is a VERY good reason why psychology plays a part in our care plans, and it’s not something we should be taking a part in just for the sake of it. If you’re going to look after your health, look after ALL of it. If you’re going to check in on someone suffering from a chronic illness, ask them how they’re feeling emotionally also. It may just be the reminder they need.

My Mum is Mentally Ill

Back in the day, that would have been a hard thing for me to admit. If I’m being completely honest, it still doesn’t feel easy to say. Why’s that? Because I grew up in a time where mental illness was stigmatised. These days, it’s interesting to see that it’s become glamourised. How did that happen?! You blink, and everything changes. Suddenly, someone feels sad or stressed, and they instantly self diagnose with depression… What the f*ck?!

I was ten years old when my mum became ill. It still seems crazy to me that I was one of the first to notice what was going on. That’s right, the kid knew what was going on before the adults did! It took an extra year before they figured out what was going on and she was diagnosed with mental illness.

Now, to this day I still cannot tell you exactly what she was diagnosed with, it was a mixture of illnesses really. But I guess the easiest to explain is depression, as it’s the most well known.

While I was in high school, dealing with the usual high school shit, dealing with my mother going in and out of hospital, I received a hell of a lot of judgement. Because guess what? My mum is mentally ill. If she was physically ill, it would have been easier for everyone to understand. But at that age, how could I expect any more of them?

However, it still made me angry. I understood what was going on, so why couldn’t they? Why couldn’t they be more understanding and supportive? Because mental illness was still misunderstood in general and frowned upon. There were even a few parents that wouldn’t allow their kids to come over to my house anymore, that’s how bad it was.

I grew up very angry as a teenager. Majority of the time it was just my Dad and my two older brothers living in the house, while Mum was quite often in hospital. I was downright angry, lost, confused, anxious and quite often sad. I was a teenage girl growing up without her mother, and without the support she needed. There was a lot expected of me, it was my job to look after my mother. MY job to look after MY MOTHER. Now what sounds wrong about that statement?

My mum was ill, none of what happened was her fault. If someone with a stomach bug vomited, you wouldn’t blame them for something that they couldn’t help, would you? It took me a long time, and many sessions with a psychologist, to understand this. But what about the other adults? Why did they expect me to look after my mentally ill mother, and forget to support me or my brothers who were all teenage children? Because, again, all of this was misunderstood. The adults in my life did the best they could with what knowledge they had. That also took me a long time to understand. It also took me a long time to stop blaming myself. That was, by far, the toughest part.

So after all that, all that pain and heartache, how did mental illness become glamourised? How did it somehow become cool to boast about the self diagnosis you came up with when you cried last night? Is that depression? Not even close.

It took just 15 short years for me to see mental illness go from stigmatised, to glamourised. Well let me explain something, mental illness is not beautiful, it’s a bitch. It’s debilitating and paralysing for the person, and it’s terrifying for the people around them. In raising awareness, it’s important to know the difference between mental illness, and normal emotions. It’s clinical, it can’t be self diagnosed or self treated.

“Depression is a clinical illness. It’s been scientifically proven and documented that depression has a literal, physical effect on your brain. No ifs, ands or buts.”

There is a lot of confusion on where the line is drawn between sadness and depression, between stress and an anxiety disorder. But once you’ve seen it or experienced it, the line is obvious.
Suicide is in the top ten causes of death in Australia, and almost impossible to understand. I myself used to be guilty of seeing it as a selfish act. But it’s not, it’s an effect of an illness, and a serious one at that. One that affects way too many people. I’d say most of us know of someone who has died by suicide.

My hope is that some day everyone will start to see it for what it really is. Not beautiful, not cool, not a choice and not situational or fleeting. And most of all, see that it is just as important as our physical health. Stop stigmatising it, stop glamourising it. Just see it for what it is… Misunderstood, unavoidable, debilitating, terrifying. Even just as valid as cancer, and just as dangerous.

My mum is mentally ill. Take it from someone who knows.