Questions are what put twelve people on the moon. Questions have created great literature and works of art, philosophy, and science. They help decide what you’re going to have for breakfast and what you’re going to do with your life, and they can save it, too.
The reason there’s so much stigma surrounding most mental health issues is that people who’ve never dealt with it themselves cannot understand it like they could a heart attack, or the loss of a limb, even though they may never have personally experienced those, either.
I never knew my great grandfather and only remember the occasional stories about him, but I do know that he was a working man who raised a large family with limited means, and still managed to be such a positive influence on his community that one of the few streets in this little town that isn’t named after a tree is named after him. I’m rather proud of that.
Having a Linus’ blanket of your own does not mean you’re childish or weak, any more than it means your sister is a narcissistic sociopath who’s going to pull the football away every time your best friend tries to kick it.
There are two foodbanks the city I live in that I make use of, one at a Catholic church that requires you live in the parish, another run by the city, and both limit your visits to once every 60 days.
This is, very frankly, what I was trying to say originally in The Nature of Beauty.
There is a false assumption that someone suffering this, or again any mental health issue, will show it on their face like a rash (that spells “nutbar” across their forehead, maybe?) or in their general, casually observed behaviour.
We carry our own stigmas with us and apply them even as we feel their sting and reel away from it. We are our own, sharpest, pointy sticks of doom.
We are each unique individuals with unique needs and unique problems. Not every medication will work quite the same way for all of us and may have effects greater or smaller, better or worse, than others.
I dreamt of being on my boat again last night. It was a common dream for a long time, mostly comforting but a little bittersweet since I can’t afford her anymore, that changed one to the other only in the minutiae but not the subtext.