The issue surrounding Ashley VanPevenage struck another nerve in me when it comes to how society views and deals with acne. For those of you who don't know, Ashley VanPevenage put out a photo of her skin before and after make up, revealing her bad skin.
Could we please wake up. It's 2015 for God's sake. It's time to spend some money on why people aren't mentally healthy to come up with solutions to alleviate the suffering. When I perform my show, Sane New World, I invite the audience to have a discussion or ask questions. Three times I've had people stand up and say that they've had cancer and mental illness and when I ask which is worse to them they've all said the depression. One man told me and the audience that with cancer he wanted to live, with depression he wanted to die.
Stigma and misunderstanding hang around mental health, discouraging people from speaking up and seeking help. Just telling someone that you have depression can feel like an admission of failure. But why is this still the case when our understanding of mental health has come so far in recent years?
I'm very open about my experiences with mental health, certainly to those around me but also on a public level. I write and blog about my recovery, and I stand up for what I believe is right, especially when it comes to breaking down mental health stigma.
I am mentally ill. I am battling an unseen force of horrendous magnitude. I am still here though declaring it has not beaten me and has not made throw in the towel. I will keep having to confront those dark days but through the wonderful work of the NHS and my dear friends and family I am able to reach out and cling on to the light.
My impression was that New Zealand is a virgin, not yet corrupted by greed and ruthless competition. People here are sweet, not aggressive. Even the birds are friendly. There have never been any predators so even the robins come up and stare at you with absolutely no fear; practically feeding you crumbs
(photo credit: http://www.healthyvalleys.org.uk) According to The Sunday Times yesterday Britain's top private schools are facing a mental health cr...
If one day I am blessed with a child, I will teach them that there is unique inherent beauty in every single skin colour. That beauty is not confined to complexion, just as their worth is never confined to their physicalities, nor their race or gender.
The main narrative associated with depression is the dark, dangerous turmoil that washes over you. It's a rightful narrative because it is a destructive sensation and depression leaves you teetering on the brink of life and death. To be clear, depression can leave you with very black and white options in your mind: live or die. It can be that terrifyingly simple.
Many sufferers do not have the vocabulary to adequately describe their personal hell experience of Depression or to shine a bright light onto that despairing darkness and verbalise what they see and feel. Sometimes words are just not enough.
There is no simple answer to what depression feels like as symptoms often vary in severity from person-to person. However for me, I became aware that my mood was sinking lower and lower and I began to struggle to cope with the academic pressure I was faced with...
Last week I published a post titled: Mental Illness Doesn't Make You Any Less Human - don't be afraid to speak up - I was taken aback by the response ...
The issue for me wasn't necessarily the opening of the wounds, instead the fact that the one hour a week sessions didn't give me sufficient enough time to allow those wounds to be closed and healed again.
Often, everything in life seems very complicated, and anxiety can cause us to over-complicate matters in our own minds. But when it comes to the very darkest moments in our lives, it all boils down to a single choice: To keep going or not.
My miscarriages remain unexplained. It could be bad luck. It could be a chromosomal issue. We might never know. And that for me is the worst development. I know, it is ridiculous to want something to be wrong. But I wanted there to be something wrong with me so that there was a reason for the miscarriages.
That's the thing, isn't it? It's one thing to moan about the selfish bridge jumper when you're at the back of a three mile pile-up, but it's another thing when you have felt the very vehicle you are sitting in steamroller over flesh and bones.