The big, puffy dark cloud that is mental illness has a much thicker outline during the bitter cold winter months. Have you noticed anyone in your path that looked like they could really use a hug today? Maybe even just a reassuring nod or a quick hello?
You never know when you could be someone’s last chance. Someone’s last chance at trying, someone’s last sliver of hope, someone’s very last attempt at not giving up, forever.
Without the freedom to roam about that the warm weather brings, you’ll notice an accumulation of lost souls repetitively riding public transportation or setting up shop in dark corners of malls that are open late and that have security guards kind enough to pretend they don’t notice.
“Save me,” you thought you heard someone whisper, but it isn’t your problem and you have enough stuff to do today.
No one could ever say that Robin Williams died in vain. His genius and the fact that he was so well respected enabled us all to begin a conversation about something that can’t help but remain a dirty little secret.
Recently everyone looks like they are battling their day, as if through mounds of heavy mud. The mud surrounds them in all directions as they take turns which way to fall, each time waiting a bit longer for someone to catch them or at least lean over to help them up.
In the name of avoiding discomfort we commonly try to deal with mental illness only from a safe distance. We tell ourselves that, “Crazy” is some eccentric stranger on a street corner deeply enthralled in a conversation with themselves.
It’s time to break the silence; these lonely ships shouldn’t have to sail in treacherous waters alone.
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