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’m going to try to pick one of these apart as best I can, in my own inimitable way, with an example from my own life, and with only enough sciency words to satisfy my own love of them yet not confound those who don’t.
Since I’ve been openly sharing myself, my thoughts, my explorations, and my journey such as it is, and certainly not by deliberate action but still with the knowledge it would happen, there’s been a wee bit of light on me.
Bad things happen to good people. Bad people get away with shit they shouldn’t. Life isn’t fair, and we want to tear our hair out at it sometimes (and sometimes we do), but as a society, a generally even-minded culture of good people, we try our best to mitigate this and our failures are often pretty spectacular.
I have always believed there is great drama in a simple life, it's a concept that's fueled many great literary novels, but what of the simple life? None of us are ever only one thing - paramedic, police officer, firefighter, victim, survivor, witness. As this young woman said, PTSD defines her injury, but it does not define her.
In a chat with a friend prior to starting yesterday's piece, bouncing some ideas off of each other and digging a wee bit deeper into others, I had said I could write an entire book on just the nature of hate. She said, “What a great idea!” and I told her to get fecked.