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This post mainly centers on social media and the pressures I face from it. When not working I lose several hours of my day to social media. Why? I'm not sure. I do not particularly enjoy it, it can be an incredibly toxic environment in the incorrect places.  Social makes me feel inadequate , like I am doing life wrong. It almost forces this happy facade for the novelty of others. It is like a crushing, overwhelming pressure to be perfect, happy and feel blessed for all the wonderful things we have in life - when we're not always have such a wonderful time and depression can have a habit of putting the blinkers on all the positives we have (though important to try to identify).  It can make me feel ugly , lonely, boring, fat , too thin among other things. People can be incredibly aggressive behind the protection of their four walls and typing slurs over social media which is unhelpful when 1in4 of us experience a mental health issue. Even so, excluding the mental health pr

Ever since I was young, one of my ultimate dreams was to start a family. I was 16 when I firmly decided this, though it was not the right time and I had not met the right person at the time, I had this dream, goal to strive for and I was so excited for my "one day".  A spanner was thrown in the works upon diagnosis of my mental health problems; they are questionably, partially genetic (my parents do not have my disorder, only my younger sister and I). I googled the shit out of my condition as a frightened and confused 17 year old girl.  Suddenly I wasn't so sure it was what I wanted, I'd feel horrific if I brought a child into the world and they went on to develop my very same condition, still, being young and having not met the "one" for me I tried my best to shove the thoughts to the back of my mind.  It was still something I wanted, but I was now unsure and it felt selfish to run the risk of having a baby and let them endure the same suffering as myse

I head into my ninth year of formally diagnosed mental illness. Still riding the wave and I have a wonderful self-awareness now. One phrase I have encountered a lot over the years is ‘I wish I could help’. This term is one that stings me. Don’t ‘wish’ you could help – that sounds almost as if you are resigned to the fact I am a lost cause, or beyond help. I do try and avoid throwing obstacles when people make suggestions on what I could do for myself personally. But it would be nice to share my process of recovery with someone else, to have my hand held a little more along the way; though I am a big girl. Support is needed for me sometimes. Supporting people on their journey to a better mental health is not an easy one. But we cannot do it alone. Support, or distraction, may be all we need. This doesn’t mean to say I encourage fellow readers to put themselves in potentially dangerous situations, if applicable. Or exposing themselves to triggers. But sometimes all we need is a little

Recovery is seldom what we think, we wish and want it to be. I’ll tell you now, recovery doesn’t mean you’ll be completely better, it doesn’t mean that for me at least, anyway. It’s learning to ride the wave and what illness may throw at us. You may never be the same person again, I’m not. When the fact I’d eventually recover was brought into conversation I thought, fantastic, I’m going to be my old self again, maybe rebuild old and lost friendships and perhaps start to enjoy things again. But the truth of recovery is quite different. I believe now I am in a state of recovery, and it isn’t what I thought at all. It’s still struggling some days. I still get the mood swings, I still have to take medication and occasionally, still need to vent about things that bother me. What no one tells you about recovering is it’s like rebuilding yourself from scratch, starting anew, maybe even finding yourself again. It isn’t straightforward and it certainly isn’t picking back up from where you le