Life is managed, not cured

Dear Jasmine,

I don't know how to start this. I think I should go from the beginning, but I'm scared to track back so far. Surely it should help, so I'm going to have to face myself like I should have done ages ago.

At the age of 5, you started reception and loved your teacher, Mrs Green. She encouraged you and pushed you into your current love of books; If it wasn't for her (and your parents reading with you every night), you probably wouldn't be as interested in the world as you soon became.

At the age of 6 1/2, your parents decided that we should move to Bridlington, as the area you were from was notorious for being... 'Rough'. You moved to a new school, and tried to make friends, despite them mocking your new, unusual accent. Because you are bright, you got called a cheater by the other students, despite being so young, for getting your spellings correct. That was the first time that you remember feeling singled out.

At the age of 8, you questioned your sexuality and was scared to tell your friend, who then promptly told your mum. You cried, because you didn't want to be different.

At the age of 11, you left primary school. After being called weird, ugly, and fat by other kids, you were determined to make high school your time to shine. 

At the age of 12, you were used to being bullied on the bus. Despite the friends that were there, you still felt alone.

At the age of 13, you moved to London for stage school. You felt too big for this world, so you ate less and moved more. You told yourself that if you talked a little quieter, everyone would hear your thoughts screaming like a siren. They did not.

At the age of 15, you couldn't function in school. You left year 10 early, as you were too weak and exhausted to learn. Your body 

hurt, but not as much as your mind.

At 16, you learned to laugh again. You met people who made you feel wanted.

At 17, you hurt yourself. You picked yourself up.

At 18, you felt and still feel broken into a million pieces. But, you know it won't last.

The thing is, you've beaten this before. You've made yourself something when you felt like nothing. You laugh and love, you swear too much, you're kind to the people who need it most. You forgive people who don't deserve it. But most of all, you know that life is too damn short to feel unhappy right now.

Nourish your body, as it helps you to work. 

Feed your mind, because it's not the books that made you feel alone; it was the people who told you they did. 

Run. Sing. Just be you.

One day you'll be dead, and do you want people to remember the person you feel like? Or do you want people to remember the person you actually are?

More than anything, I'd like to say thank you to my mental illness. You've made me realise that I'm made of tough stuff. You made me appreciate the times I smiled. You protected me from the people who tried to hurt me. But you are not needed anymore; you've done your time. Now please leave.

Life is managed, not cured. So live each day like it's going to be the best day of your life- it very may well be.

This blog is my first in a while, and not as upbeat as usual. Tune in next week for some fun!

Instagram- @mythicalgypsy