Don't read the last page

I stopped writing.

For those who actually follow this thing, you're probably thinking "No shit Sherlock. You haven't written a post in 8 months."

It's not because I've been busy or haven't had a thing to say.

It's my mental illness that has been keeping me from writing.

Yes, I am one of the many people on this planet who suffer from mental illness.

The past 15 months did their best to destroy me.

I'm finally attempting to claw my way out of the deep abyss of depression I lost myself in. It's an hourly, if not minute by minute struggle.

And I'm not someone who reaches out when I feel lost.

I'm not someone who asks for help, because I just don't.

And it makes for a rather miserable existence at times.

Except, this summer, I decided it was time to stop being silent about my struggle with a select few people.

And I'm still embarrassed that I admitted that I was such a mess, but I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore, as it would have killed me.

And now, months later, I'm trying to write again, which is not easy, as whenever I get into one of my funks, writing is one of the first thins I eschew, because it's one area where I doubt myself the most.

I've been trying to write the story of this girl who's been living inside my head for a while now, whose name is Violet.

And been told that I can't write the story the way I feel it needs to be told, because I have to let go of my past.

Because the damage that has been done to me thanks to my weight is something I was told I needed to let go of, because I'm no longer that fat girl.

And Violet is a fat girl.

Being told that not just one, but two of your defining characteristics, aren't important...for years I was a fat girl who wrote. And was told I was good at it.

Until I had a horrible experience at grad school and was made to feel that my writing wasn't worthy of being shared.

So I didn't really want to write anymore for years.

And then I realized it could help me deal with the emotions I was feeling around my weight loss surgery.

And it did, until I was told what I was writing about wasn't that interesting.

So now I don't really want to write anymore.

There's not much I want to do these days, to be honest.

Knitting wasn't even bringing me joy.

But thanks to medication, things are slowly improving.

And maybe one day I'll write more again, but I am just not there yet.