Lately, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to quit, and about the complicated and often conflicting valuations society tends to place on that. If I am being honest I will tell you there is a whole host of things I have wanted to quit in my life, and some (like smoking) I’ve done successfully and without regret.
My mental illness didn't keep me from being a nurse, but it helped me know what kind of nurse I want to be. And I am so grateful for this chance to help those in my community and do what I love.
It is hard enough being part of a minority but being at the crossroad of several has a multitude of disadvantages. But we are here. People like us exist and our stories should not be confined to closed doors or personal statements. The narratives of people who live with mental illness every single day deserve to be listened to.
When I paint I lose the sense of time, my surroundings and more importantly my thoughts. This has allowed me to learn to manage my mental health as it reduced a lot of my stress.
The once confident man I had been seemed to have vanished; I couldn’t even get out of bed to go to school without anxiety medications. Anxiety? What the FACK was that?