I posted my poem the other day. And I am so, so proud of it. And I put my name to it. And I posted it on this blog because this blog is me, sometimes more me then the way I act around real people. Same goes for twitter as well. And I have been thinking about dropping the anonymity. To be honest, if you look at my profile it wouldn’t be too hard to find out my real name. I was scared before, because of the depression. Because of the stigma. But that stigma isn’t going to go unless people raise awareness of depression, talk openly about depression, make people aware that it’s just like getting cancer – you can’t help it, you can’t fight it, you can’t just snap out of it and it is nothing, NOTHING, to be ashamed off. And unless people like me talk out about it then the stigma will continue and the next generation of mental health victims are going to suffer the same way that I have.
I was going to come straight out and just deal with the consequences.
What I didn’t consider was how certain members of my family wouldn’t be able to deal with them.
It’s the age old dilemma – protecting those close to you, those who have always protected you and raised you, and doing what you think is right to make a difference. I wrote the following line in a story the other day – sometimes you have to choose between what is easy and what is right. And I want to chose what I think is right. But...I don’t want to hurt those who love me, and who I love. Those I would die for.
I might be strong enough, but they might not be. It might not even be a question of strength, but it is still an issue.
And I don’t have the answer anymore.