...and it costs lives I just read an article in the Sydney Morning Herald which says that, "THE loss of life deemed attributable to depression has been cut by half in new government statistics after a change to the counting method which a leading expert says forms part of a systematic effort to downplay the mental illness toll." (bold added) Nice that they can just magically make unpleasant facts go away like that, isn't it? If only the realities of mental health were that simple.

...you don't notice it's there, until you're falling. That's the experience of mental illness - in a nutshell: You're either flying, or falling. It's hard to stay in one place, difficult to nail down exactly what's wrong because it's such a core thing. So much the experience of the world, rather than the experience of one symptom or other. My illness may be invisible, but that doesn't mean I have to be. Let me repeat that. Give you time to catch up: Your illness may be invisible, but you don't have to be.

or, How Not to Mistake Phish Food for Your Self-Esteem You're Not An Idiot Trying Harder Doesn't Always Work There's a lot of talk about positive thinking and its links with self-esteem but little that talks about tone. This made me feel really stupid, when I couldn't seem to think my way out of my mental illness. Tone Matters

...and similar ideas with which I struggle. Sometimes, I struggle. I feel so far away. From everything, especially mental health. Getting up, getting ready to face the world, wondering just how close the edge is, today. It all takes patience. When you're dealing with anxiety and depression, when thoughts will barely stay in your head, let alone make sense, when the fog sets in...It takes patience. Inhuman, incalculable patience. Fighting the good fight sometimes means losing your way

Nobody can tell me precisely when I got ill, nor why. This seems odd. Shouldn't there be nice neat 'Before' and 'After' shots to go with this anxiety/depression thing? What I wouldn't give for something - for a point, a moment that tipped the balance. Thing is, we don't know enough. The best available treatment is all too often necessary, but not sufficient. Yes, it works. For some. But not for nearly enough of us: 1 in 4. High expectations? Absolutely! -It's my brain, not a jar of Playdoh sponsored by Pfizer.

Back when I was living with my best friend in college, I just couldn't manage a lot of basic life activities. And you know it was the little stuff - doing the dishes, getting up off the couch more than once a day. Yeah, even I thought it was weird. Having such trouble with things as easy as taking care of myself, my home, my needs.

Asking for help is about as much fun as a tonsillectomy with a hose pipe and a pair of pliers. So, if I do get that far, try not to say things like "I know how you feel," "it can't be that bad," "aren't you over that yet?" No. I'm pretty sure you don't, and I'm not. I have a chronic mental illness. It isn't going to go away. Ever. Can you imagine...

So it's Thanksgiving week in the US. Already! Time to get out the Sunday best, prep for the presents, parties, company cocktails, chaotic travel arrangements and family gatherings. Some of us are lucky enough to be totally comfortable with all of that - to have supportive, warm friends and family who don't rely entirely on gossip, ironic embroidered knitwear and gin to get them through the Holidays. (If you happen to be that someone can I crash the castle?) Mostly I just want to look and feel my best, to have enough happy-go-lucky, devil may care attitude to spare: In the hopes that I'll make it through to January without too much general and social anxiety, minus the always pleasant addition of 'where did my year go and why do I suddenly feel the need to make impossible resolutions' panic.

And by intimacy I don't necessarily mean sex but sure, there is that. Have you heard my heart? It's beating, healing, wanting, aching, anticipating. It's telling you I hear you, see you, feel you. You aren't lost. And it's telling me the same. It's somewhere in the maze of all these words scrolling down yet another page. Not even a page you can hold between your fingers. Maybe just keys to prop you up as you listen, fighting the panic, and feeling like you're slowly coming unstuck, again. Listen. You can cope with anxiety.

Crazy isn't always crazy, but I wonder if I'm lost, or if I'm found. I wonder if I'm halfway gone and nobody has bothered to tell me yet. It's a fine line, this sanity thing. Supposedly you either have it, or you don't. But I don't entirely trust this theory. And it is just a theory. Truthfully, they can't tell you what sanity is for sure except that it's something you probably can't ever be sure of. Crazy isn't always crazy.