For World Mental Health Day, I wanted to reflect on a truth not always acknowledged: sometimes, mental illness doesn’t go away.
Learning is pretty flipping important to me. I’m the irritating friend who nods sagely at screw-ups and considers them ‘life lessons’, because if we’re not making mistakes then how are we ever learning, really? These aren’t meant to be taken as ~life advice~, but rather a list of things I’ve learned in my twenty four completed years; things I would tell to my fourteen year-old self if I didn’t believe so vehemently in the power of learning through experience.
I got lost in this and wrote in excess, so I’ve made it a two-parter. Second part here!
I started a new job recently. It was supposed to be perfect; I had envisaged a radical transformation of my working week in which I leapt bright-eyed and enthusiastic into each day. The new gig eliminated all of the things I had hated about my last job – the slow pace, the rigid hierarchy, the frustrating lack of progression – and I felt primed to allow the waves of relief crash over me as I finally 9-5’ed my way to contentment.
Not so fast, sweetie.
I have been working my way up to this point now for years – quite literally. Two years ago, I purchased a domain name, taught myself to stumble through WordPress, and carefully crafted an ‘About’ page that (I hoped) struck the desired balance between ‘serious writer’ and ‘girl you’d chat shit with over some hard liquor’, whatever that’s supposed to be. I wrote and painstakingly edited my first post. I even created Twitter and Instagram accounts, intended to stand hand-in-hand with my blog. I envisaged some sort of ‘brand’ (I am unashamedly wanky), curated just-so to portray exactly the things I selected and nothing more. And then? Then, dear reader, I erased the lot.