I love writing as much as I love reading other people’s writing. I love when an article resonates within me, so much so that I bookmark it or screenshot a part of it to keep with me. I appreciate and encourage writers who get personal — who take all the ugly feelings inside themselves and turn it into beautiful words.
However, when I do it, I regret it.
If you haven’t read my only post on Medium, On Depression and Identity, let me give you a summary: I was depressed, I’m still depressed and it’s just about my depression. People have liked it, my dad congratulated me on it and friends have reached out to support me.
And yet… I still worry that I shouldn’t have done that. That I shouldn’t be so open about my mental health journey. That it would make me look bad, make me look pathetic, make me look [insert criticism].
I’m a writer. I love writing but sometimes I wonder if I’m just a one-trick pony. I wonder if I’ll have nothing to write about if I ever do get well enough that my depression isn’t the forefront of my life.
I worry that I’m unable to write about anything other than ugly feelings.
I want to be a mental health advocate and yet…Getting personal makes me uncomfortable. Does this feeling ever go away? Did I help anyone by sharing my mental health story or am I just writing into the void?