Back in January, when I had what I refer to as my 'breakdown', I wrote to spew out everything I was feeling. A lot of what I wrote never made it to my blog. It was too much. It was pure angst, pure emotion and certainly not for the public arena.
As January turned into February and the year progressed; I soon came to realise I was not just writing for me. I was writing as a voice for depression. It was very apparent (and I have first hand experience) that many people did not understand mental illness. Most are kind and supporting and wanting to know. I also found comfort in knowing I was not alone. So, in turn, I hoped too, that I could comfort others.
There are some months where I have regularly posted, quite often daily, and then there are some months I barely manage 5 or 6. Those meagre months are quite indicative of how I was faring mentally.
Writing has been good for me. I forgot how much I love writing. Back in high school days I was going to be a Journalist. Don't ask me when that changed. I still have a thirst for writing the truth and inspiring people. I now also have a thirst for making a difference. Educating the general public or helping a fellow mental illness sufferer.
My psychiatrist, also wants me to keep writing. Keep outpouring my emotions. I do this less now online; sometimes, instead, writing a journal the old fashion way. It really does help. Just to get it off your chest, get it on paper or send it off into cyber space.
I will keep on writing. Keep sharing facts, sometimes bare my soul. I love it.