Reflections for World Mental Health Day

Today is World Mental Health Day and I’ve spend the weekend trying to figure out what to write. It’s been four decades since I first stepped foot in a therapist’s office and when I try to reflect, my brain ping-pongs all over the place. There’s so much data, too much to process.

I’m somewhat depressed now dealing with some medical conditions, one of which could potentially require surgery. Lots of testing and more testing. Waiting and more waiting. Feeling as though my health is spiraling out of control and not in a good way. One doctor’s appointment is not until February.

I get scared when I hear statistics like these, from a recent study: “Patients suffering from severe mental disorders, such as schizophrenia, major depression and bipolar disorders, have a reduced life expectancy compared to the general population of up to 10–25 years.” In the back of my mind is the realization I’ve entered the decade in which my mother passed away. She smoked four packs of cigarettes a day, she was overweight, but I badly abused my body with the anorexia, severe malnutrition, and laxative abuse. I will heave a big sigh when I turn 68, as she passed away at 67.

I’ve always maintained that emotional pain hurts worse than physical pain ever did or could. I still feel that way. I never want to go back to that dark place where I loathed myself so intensely I attempted to take my life, four times. Anorexia….