Fuck Mental Illness, And Stop Acting Like It's Something That Shouldn't Be Talked About

Fuck Mental Illness, And Stop Acting Like It's Something That Shouldn't Be Talked About

A broken arm is treatable and so is a mental illness.

You're in Malibu with your sister on a flawless day in January, and you're on the verge of tears the whole time.

All your friends throw you a birthday dinner and all you can think about is how you have no friends.

At a fancy restaurant for a date your boyfriend meticulously plans for your anniversary, you can hardly smile because you can't help but wonder if he loves you anymore.

You've flown home for the holidays to be with your family, but on Christmas Day you can't even eat the food your mother slaved over for hours because the knot in your stomach makes the smell nauseating.

That's anxiety. That's depression.

And the worst part? You can see the perfection of every moment.

You can feel the sun and hear the ocean and realize what a beautiful day it is. And you can't feel the warmth.

You can look around the table and run out of fingers to count how many people are there to celebrate you. And you can't feel the love.

You can see the look he gives you when he says he loves you. And you can't comprehend why he does.

You can see how happy everyone is to see you when you come home for the holidays. And you aren't able to share in their happiness.

You can see the perfection of every moment, but the bliss this should give you is absent. The should-be-joy has somehow escaped your grasp, and you want to kick yourself for not being able to find it.

You know where all these wonderful sentiments should be, but they aren't there.

It's a hopeless feeling.

When I was 17 years old I was clinically diagnosed with general anxiety disorder, which induces depression. As I would later find out this mild depression, too, has a name: dysthymia, AKA persistent depressive disorder.

No shit.

Being diagnosed is one of the most painful things to hear, because you don't want to be the girl with depression. You don't want to be the girl on “meds." You don't want people to come to you asking if they can buy “bars" from you because they know you have a prescription for Xanax.

Yet, there you are, all those things at once.

And it's all because of this stigma, this unbearable shame that mental illness means there's something wrong with you.

And you know what? It doesn't mean shit.

I have blonde hair. I have blue eyes. I have a tendency to switch my words around. I have a love for reading books. I have a test next week. I have anxiety.

Enough said. It means nothing more than anything else I “have." Having anxiety simply means there is a chemical imbalance in my brain, which, for some is easily corrected with mental exercises, and, for others is easily corrected with a single capsule each day.

Just as I take a birth control pill each night to prevent pregnancy, I take a 20mg pill of fluoxetine to prevent this chronic worry. Just as I take two Advil when I have a headache, I take 0.5 mg of Xanax when I'm having a panic attack. No, I'm not a “bar queen," and no, you cannot have some.

Fuck anxiety. Fuck depression. Any mental illness sucks, but it doesn't define you.

And for those of you who don't understand it: stop acting like mental illness is something that shouldn't be talked about. Stop feeling uncomfortable when people want to talk to you about it. Stop acting so shocked when someone brings it up casually like its nothing.

Because mental illness is nothing. It's a thing, no different than you telling me for the thirtieth time the story of your shin splints.

A broken arm is treatable and so is a mental illness.

So why is it that people shy away from its mention? Superstitiously, as if the acknowledgment of its name will leave you also stricken with anxiety, with bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia.

The less we are willing to talk about mental illness, the more taboo it becomes. The fewer people hear of it, the more ignorant they are.

So don't be ashamed. It's okay to have a mental illness, and it's okay if it beats you down some days, some weeks, some months. There is nothing wrong with you.

Just because I have anxiety doesn't mean I don't also possess happiness.

Some days, I see the sun and hear the ocean and I feel sublime.

I see my friends and realize how lucky I am to be surrounded by such warm hearts and beautiful souls.

I hear him say “I love you, Izzy," and I still get butterflies.

I hop off the plane in Denver and see my mom's smiling face and recognize what a wonderful family I have.

Like the saying goes: “It's just a bad day, not a bad life."

Cover Image Credit: Unsplash.com

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I'm A Woman And You Can't Convince Me Breastfeeding In Public Is OK In 2019

Sorry, not sorry.


Lately, I have seen so many people going off on social media about how people shouldn't be upset with mothers breastfeeding in public. You know what? I disagree.

There's a huge difference between being modest while breastfeeding and just being straight up careless, trashy and disrespectful to those around you. Why don't you try popping out a boob without a baby attached to it and see how long it takes for you to get arrested for public indecency? Strange how that works, right?

So many people talking about it bring up the point of how we shouldn't "sexualize" breastfeeding and seeing a woman's breasts while doing so. Actually, all of these people are missing the point. It's not sexual, it's just purely immodest and disrespectful.

If you see a girl in a shirt cut too low, you call her a slut. If you see a celebrity post a nude photo, you call them immodest and a terrible role model. What makes you think that pulling out a breast in the middle of public is different, regardless of what you're doing with it?

If I'm eating in a restaurant, I would be disgusted if the person at the table next to me had their bare feet out while they were eating. It's just not appropriate. Neither is pulling out your breast for the entire general public to see.

Nobody asked you to put a blanket over your kid's head to feed them. Nobody asked you to go feed them in a dirty bathroom. But you don't need to basically be topless to feed your kid. Growing up, I watched my mom feed my younger siblings in public. She never shied away from it, but the way she did it was always tasteful and never drew attention. She would cover herself up while doing it. She would make sure that nothing inappropriate could be seen. She was lowkey about it.

Mindblowing, right? Wait, you can actually breastfeed in public and not have to show everyone what you're doing? What a revolutionary idea!

There is nothing wrong with feeding your baby. It's something you need to do, it's a part of life. But there is definitely something wrong with thinking it's fine to expose yourself to the entire world while doing it. Nobody wants to see it. Nobody cares if you're feeding your kid. Nobody cares if you're trying to make some sort of weird "feminist" statement by showing them your boobs.

Cover up. Be modest. Be mindful. Be respectful. Don't want to see my boobs? Good, I don't want to see yours either. Hard to believe, I know.

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Dreading This Day All About Love

Valentines day blues


I have never enjoyed Valentine's Day.

Even if when I was in a relationship it was just an awkward day of "hey I love you, give me gifts and lets make out." But this year, I am just not feeling this thing at all. Since the relationship ended last June I have just been dreading the time when February came, because you know that on the 14th you are going to see all these love post and all us singles are like "welp this is just not my day.", and honestly you feel defeated. I personally asked other singles friends (like the three I have) if they wanted to come and watch Netflix with me and dread the day, but sadly they either had school or work. So here is my plan of getting though this day of love:


Yes Netflix how else am I supposed to get through this day? Usually I have Greys Anatomy playing all the time but that has love in it, and I am not in the mood for that. My plan is to watch all the crime shows I can because watching TV crime series or documentary about serial killers just seems perfect for the 14th.



Yes sleeping. I don't have anywhere I need to be why not catch up on some zzz's


Yes I am going to eat my feelings with chocolate because why not? if I could I would get a giant slice of cake and live off that on the 14th but sadly I am stuck with the normal Heresy's chocolate and Reeses which will do their job.


me :)

This is my wonderful cat Kimber and she will be my partner in crime on the 14th. She will sleep, snuggle, cuddle, all day with me because I need that moral support of my fluffy cat.



If I am able to fit reading a book into my schedule of everything listed above then reading will go into that open spot. I always loved reading but with school it is hard to find the time to read for enjoyment. so this day will be the perfect day.

This is my plan for the 14th of February and hopefully this will help me get though this dreadful day. And if you are also single try this out :)

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