I’ve been trying to overcome postpartum depression for eight months, but there is no healing at all. (Artwork: Tess Emily Rodriguez)
I’ve been trying to overcome postpartum depression for eight months, but there is no healing at all.
We both have mental illness. How can I know either, let alone both of us, will be okay after our breakup?
In a moment when I couldn’t write myself, it was the writing of others that brought me back from the brink of my depressive episode.
With other people who are struggling with mental health issues, I am empathetic. But when it comes to my own depression, I am none of those things.
I realized all at once that folks who have not been suicidal do not understand what it means to be mentally ill and suicidal.
I was depressed. My flatmate didn’t like me. I was depressed. The last train was at midnight, and I couldn’t always make it. I was depressed.
The grief, pain, and misery of an illness lying in wait unsettles me — and yet, I must fight to sustain a life caught between existence and incessant stillness.
Hospitalizations make me realize my own shortcomings when it comes to placing mental illness on the same plane as physical illness
Loving means giving up control. Releasing something to the universe. It’s not prescriptive. There is no place for black and white in love. It’s the ultimate grey.