Yep, it's been a while between posts. You know the drill, life gets in the way- blogging sometimes takes a back seat. Although, I do like to hope that maybe this year I will try to do it more. Even if no one reads it, I think it will be good for me to get my thoughts out.
I had all these plans today, of what I would write about when I sat down tonight. My weightloss journey, the fact I start my study this week, moving back to Brisbane. All of which, have of course, been marred by the passing of one of the most well known women in Australia, Miss Charlotte Dawson. I don't even know where to begin to be perfectly honest. I don't know what is more sad. The fact her depression got to the point where she felt no other option but to take her life, or that she had these disgusting *trolls* online, telling her to do it, who lets face it, probably wouldn't even care that she did actually do it.
It did get me thinking though, about people's views on things like suicide and mental illness. And how opinions vary and change. Today while I sipped on my coffee staring blankly out into the backyard, watching the rain, I remembered how there was a time in my life when I was quite young (probably 14 or 15) where I didn't seem to have my own opinion. My opinion was basically anything that my parents said. Their opinion was what I thought. I guess, kids are sponges right? I had all these views about things I had really no idea about. My father is probably one of the most bigoted human beings around. So alot of his views were drilled into me. He's always been very vocal of his views. And the minute you disagreed with them, you were a stupid c*** (sad to say, things have not changed in this instance - and as a result we have not spoken in months). So in my young mind I couldn't wrap my head why anyone would ever commit suicide. Why they would be so selfish- and hurt everyone around them.
Turns out, leaving home at 17 would of been the best thing that could ever happen to me. I finally learnt the words empathy and compassion. Growing up and dealing with my sexual abuse and other delightful facets of my life, I began to self medicate with drugs and alcohol. To me, that was what worked. I was fine! I didn't ever let my problems get to me. Lots of people have bad things happen to them and just move on. Right? How wrong was I. The moment I was first diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression- I knew. I knew why people got to the point where they couldn't go on. I learnt why people cut themselves, not to end it, but just to be able to *feel* something other than the thoughts inside their heads. I was one of the *lucky* ones (and i use that term so very loosely. For lack of a better word) I clawed my way back. I worked dam fucking hard to get my way back from a very dark and scary place.
I know that there, sadly will be people like my father, out there today who don't give a fuck about Charlotte Dawson, her struggles or her decision to end her own life. There will be those that say she is a coward for what she has done. I don't doubt that. Although I obviously didn't know her personally, I know that out of her death there will be something positive to come. We hear of children/teenagers all the time ending their lives because of the struggles of life or the horrible trolls that we come across daily but now it's someone out in the public eye. An adult. Who had the world at her feet. I know that out of this, people will stand up and say enough is enough. Enough Stigma about mental illness. Enough calling people horrible names. Enough fucking bullying. And more than just ONE day a year where we say to the people we know and love, R U OK? People of the world- stop being so god dam rude to one another.
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