My journey to accepting my mental health diagnosis
One person’s label is another person’s window.
My journey to accepting my diagnosis, coming to terms with what it specifically means to me and how it impacts on my identity and the way I perceive my place in the world, will never be finished.
My mental health diagnosis colours my conversations, impacts the opportunities I pursue or let slide, and what I tell myself I’m capable of.
Yet, it also helps me be kinder to myself. I don’t have to work 40-hour weeks to be successful. I don’t have to have the latest things to have self-worth. I don’t have to force myself to become someone I’m not in order to belong.
Writing poetry is an investment in my health. Investing time and energy into writing and other self-care activities like counselling saves me, or at least prevents me, from falling into that abyss.
An abyss that looks appealing at first – I feel sexier, shades of colour are more striking, I have less inhibitions and I have puns falling out of my mouth – but which is hugely threatening if I just let it run its course.
When I’m experiencing a high, I also go through this thing called hypergraphia – which for me takes the form of pressured writing. I can’t stop writing. I can’t buy notepads quickly enough. I take the things with me everywhere I go, terrified that I’m going to let a brilliant idea speed past before I’ve captured it on paper. This is a good thing for a writer, right? Well I do feel more creative and some of my poems have come from this state of mind. But it’s relentless, too.
