Emily Dickenson wrote:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –That perches in the soul –And sings the tune without the words –And never stops – at all –
Before mining was mechanized the miners used to bring canaries into the mines with them. As long as the bird was singing the miners knew it was safe if the bird stopped singing they got out as fast they could.If hope is a singing bird, mine struggles constantly, choking on the ever present coal dust and methane that are my feelings of depression and worthlessness. Feelings I fight every day, feelings that, in spite of medication and people who tell me they love me every day, have been overwhelming me of late.
I have no intention of hurting myself, but I won’t lie and tell you that I haven’t considered it many times this summer.I’m not telling you this so that you feel sorry for me. I’m not saying this to make anyone feel guilty. I am not trying to scare anyone. I am sharing this to shine a light on mental illness. Social stigma happens when there is fear of something and a lack of communication. The greatest weapon against fear is truth, no matter how awkward and unpleasant that truth may be