Mental illness is so much more complicated than any pill that anymortal could invent. - Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

Let me tell you a story...

I'm kind of really annoyed. No, I'm livid. Pissed? Irritated? I'm not sure there's a word that's been invented yet that quite encompasses what I'm feeling right now. 

Let's back up a bit.

Within the past week, on the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Facebook page, people were asked to post photos of tattoos inspired by a personal connection to suicide. The AFSP was going to then submit some of the photos with stories to "The Mighty," a support website for people with disabilities, depression, and mental illness. In the replies, I posted a photo of my tattoo with this short description:

"I've survived two suicide attempts and years of anorexia and self-harming. I got this tattoo two years ago right over my self-harming scars to remind myself how far I've come and that my depression and past destructive behaviors do not define who I am. They are a part of me, but definitely not the only part."

This is a SUPER simplified version of my story and there are a lot more parts to it than could be confined to a short description (read old blog posts or ask me to learn more...), but gets the point across. Of the many submissions on the Facebook page, my tattoo was one of 35 that were included in the list on The Mighty. If you want to see it, along with the other 34 amazing

stories, click here: https://themighty.com/2016/08/tattoos-inspired-by-suicide-loss-and-suicidal-thoughts/.

For anyone who's read my blog or knows anything about me, from my mid-20s to now, I've been nothing but 100% open with my battles with depression and the fact that I not only dealt with suicidal thoughts, but also attempted suicide twice in my late teens/very early 20s. It's not a huge secret.

Or so I thought...

After the list was published, I thought it was pretty cool and I was honored to be included on the list. I'm humbled and excited that I was able to share even a teensy bit of my story with others in the hopes that it might encourage others who find themselves in a similar place to where I've been. 

I was so excited, I did what any person in this day and age does: I shared it to social media. Most of the feedback I've received has been overwhelmingly supportive, ranging from people telling me how loved I am, to how proud they are of me, to thanking me for my courage and vulnerability. 

And then, there were the handful of not so positive comments that actually angered me:

"What on earth would compel you to share such a disturbing piece of your past with complete strangers on the internet?

Mmmmmmk, are you sitting down? I hope you're sitting down. I also hope you're planning on taking notes because quite frankly, this one comment is the whole reason I shared it to begin with. It's why I no longer hide my story and what's happened to me. 

Hearing comments like these makes me want to post and share more and more and more. Does it make you uncomfortable? GOOD. Guess what, mental health issues are generally fucking disturbing, fucking ugly, and fucking raw. Mental illness, suicide, depression, etc. are so disgustingly stigmatized that those who desperately need help are afraid to say anything due to it being too much of a burden or too "disturbing" for those they might share with.

If I make you uncomfortable, I hope it makes you that much more aware so you may be able to see the signs in those around you. I guarantee you know at least one person, probably more, who has or is dealing with some form of mental illness. Would you prefer that person share with you regarding their struggles or would you prefer they suffer in silence, until perhaps it's too late? I thought so.

"What would your parents and family think?"

Dear Jon Snow (for my GoT friends), clearly you don't know anything about me to know why this makes me laugh at you. Seriously. I was honest to goodness laughing out loud. If you knew anything about anything, you'd know that many of my struggles have emanated from my childhood and familial trials and tribulations. I laugh at you for even thinking this comment would make me feel anything other than tickled. Was this supposed to make me feel shame or guilty? No longer does everything I've gone through even remotely embarrass me or cause me any level of shame. Let's move on....

"Don't you care what people think? Sharing something like that will hurt you professionally."

For real? This one...I can't. If an employer tries to discriminate against me due to my history of mental illness, then they clearly are unaware of the Americans with Disabilities Act which encompasses mental illness. 

The definition of someone with a disability as defined by the ADA: "a person who has a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life activities, a person who has a history or record of such an impairment, or a person who is perceived by others as having such an impairment." While the ADA doesn't specifically list all of the impairments covered, it sure sounds to me like mental health falls under this umbrella. The ADA prohibits discrimination against someone with a disability and that employers are required to make "reasonable accommodations" for qualified people with a disability.

I've been incredibly open with all employers since being diagnosed that I have been in or am currently in therapy. If there are side effects to any anti-depressants I'm on, I also make sure I share those in case anything happens while I'm at work (i.e. dizzy spells, nausea, etc.). Also, in addition to being illegal, any employer who gives me grief or tries to hold my history of mental illness against me isn't worth working for. I'm all set. 

I'm so much more than my scars.

As I've said so many times before, my depression and suicide attempts will always be part of me. While I don't like to be defined by them ("Melissa, the one with depression" or "Melissa, the one who tried to kill herself" or "Melissa, the one who used to cut herself"), they have most definitely made me the stronger individual I am today. Do I wish I didn't have my history or never experienced the things I have? Well, yeah, obviously. It would have made my life so much easier.

However, as my tattoo says, I am more than my scars, so much more. When I wake up in the morning, I don't look at my arm covered with (now mostly faded) scars and feel guilt or regret. Rather, when I wake up in the morning, I look at my arm as the story of a past life. A story of a girl who overcame ridiculous odds. 

I wake up in the morning knowing that I survived.