Samantha's open letter
Dear mental health,
I’m glad I can finally see you, name you and love you for what you are. You’ve been an elusive one, haven’t you?
Although I’ve known you well, like a family member, eccentric and un-cooperating, that I didn’t quite want to introduce to my friends.
I remember glimpses of you in my childhood, although I couldn’t quite work out your edges. Like a shadow, I remember you hiding behind my father, or pass across his eyes, ready to reveal yourself at an unexpected turn of the sun.
Then, I didn’t know you by name, but I felt the shame they give you and intuited how to dance with you. I adjusted my vision to see those you bound yourself to clearly, even when you soured the light. My little spirit shone in the half darkness and learned to love in the chaos of your wake.
Yes, I see you. I name you and in some ways, I claim you as my own. Because that’s the only way that finally, I get to hold the reigns.
And still, in my adult mind I question what you are. Are you the medicalisation of suffering? Your names, the map we give to the wildness of the human soul to sanitise it, to tinker it with tools so that it remains fit to function as a cog in this vast machine.
Are you the billion paper cuts that form a gaping wound on the parts of humanity that have clearly lost their way? Are you the parts of ourselves forgotten? The cry from beyond? Are you trying to tell us something?
I will not apologise for suffering. It means I am awake.
I will turn to face it. I will turn to face you.
Facing you has made my soul well-like, my heart exploding and my pen full. It has made my actions bold, my voice loud and free, my empathy true and deep. My justice fierce and my words, kind - for I can see some of those smiles that present themselves for the icebergs that they are - and I will dive beneath their icy cap.
Yes, you’re a friend. I dance with you and sometimes I give in. But every time, you’ve got something to teach me, some unexpected treasure to add to those kept in a secret place.
The little girl who cries and calls out - well you let me know she is there. You lead me home to her reflection in the vastness.
When your head rears I know I’ve forgotten her. How fast you calm once I take her hand and heed her whispers as she tells me everything I need to know. As we emerge, from the garden, once again singing and whole.
- Samantha