We sit back and make praises on the life that was lived. We quote the great lines and relish in the grand memories. We avoid the actual bottom line. When someone great falls to cancer, we focus on the culprit. Heart disease, that too becomes aligned in our crosshairs. Mental illness however, we overlook. As though, like the monster under the bed, if we look the other way it cant see us if we dont see it. In the end, it does see us. It preys on us, worse than any other illness we know. It leaves our survivors wondering what they could have done, why we didnt make better decisions. All the while ignoring the underlying fact that there is an illness present. Mental illness is real. It is the creeping darkness like the nothing from the story never ending. It will come for anyone, without remorse or respect. The stigma we place around it is the fuel it runs on, allowing no one to be safe from its unseen tyranny. This was not an act of sadness, it was an act of illness. Let us move forward without the boundaries of of construct, or the fear from stigma. The struggle is real, the illnesses are real, the victims are real. And real treatments for those who suffer will be impossible until we truly appreciate the realness of mental illness. He wasnt sad, he was sick.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 08:47:26 +0000
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