I’m a writer, which probably isn’t that obvious from my subpar writing. I’m also a writer with social anxiety and mild depression. Doesn’t sound too bad, you’re probably saying, “at least you don’t have general anxiety and severe depression.” To each their own.

This is a blog, but it’s also a story. Not a real story, if I could tell a real story, you’d be all sorry. This a collection of journal entries, essays, poetry, thoughts, feelings, memories. In short, it’s a memoir of my life as I discovered my mental illness and learned to cope with it. It’s sad, it’s happy, it’s fucking funny, it’s a little something for everyone.

I’m keeping this anonymous. All people are real, but the names have been changed for fear of being killed in the dark of the night by the bear one of the mentioned set loose from the zoo. Look, I don’t know why I said that, I live on an island full of old people.

I’m not afraid to be vulgar with my language. Health is a vulgar topic and mental health is just a pimple on the booty. I’d like to think that everyone secretly has anxiety and depression, but we’re all just so good at hiding it from others, and ourselves.

Look, the truth of the matter is: mental health is a big deal, but no one is making it a big deal. If we are able to have a conversation about the subject and humanize it, we can learn how to understand it and accept it.

Enough preaching from me, go on a read!