Slowly but surely more folk are being brave and realising that talking openly about mental health doesn’t mean you’re gonna be shunned from society and beaten with a splintered broom handle to exorcise the ‘demons’ from within!
Conversations can be had amongst friends, family or with complete strangers… without fear of judgement. Admitting that you’re not ok is in fact… ok! It's more than ok... it's wonderfully empowering when you attempt those first few steps in making mental health your bitch!
Today is National Time To Talk Day and the fine people at Green Ribbon are encouraging everyone to have the chats about mental health. Whether it’s sharing your own story or just simply listening to others… we all need to communicate and be our own kind of awesome!
Sharing is caring… unless it’s snacks… coz I don’t share snacks.
So practicing what I preach… here is me sharing something I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I like to fondly refer to it as, “I was having a great day until anxiety clotheslined me like a big steroidy WWF wrestler.”
Go forth and be brave! Fists in the air you fabulous warriors of the mind you!
Sometimes I feel like my head is going to burst, like a shit low budget car explosion in a 90s film that went straight to VHS. You know the one where the action hero (probably played by an overweight Steven Seagal) manages to avoid third degree burns and walks effortlessly away with a small child in one hand and some large breasted woman in the other.
Sometimes I feel like the pressure swelling in my chest will leave no room for my heart to beat. Instead it crushes all my internal organs like a semi deflated neon pink lilo in the Costa Del Sol being haphazardly wrapped around my throat.
Sometimes I get so angry with inexplicable sadness that punches me square in the stomach. Quite like my 2-year-old nephew screaming “HULK SMASH!” as he mistakes my rotund belly for an inflatable weeble.
Sometimes I exhaust myself with how much I overthink a simple pondering of life. Instead of leaving it alone, I pick at it like a 3-day old scab that I know hasn’t healed and will bleed all over my favourite Whitney Houston T-Shirt.
Sometimes I wish I could will the overly dramatic cyclone of self-doubt to stop spinning uncontrollably, annihilating every happy ever after I thought I was owed… and then dropping my mad, sad self along with Dorothy and Toto in Oz.
Sometimes my head and heart get so hyped that I feel as powerful as a samurai cat riding on the back of a unicorn that’s shooting laser beams from its eyes. The kind of illusion of grandeur that makes me feel like ‘I got this!’ when some days I feel like I ain’t got shit.