This "corroded" image is the result of running an unflattering selfie through a bunch of filters and maxing out the distortion where possible until I achieved a disturbing "decayed" look.
This is a response to the Ravishly article, "What if I'm Not the Right Kind of Mentally Ill?"
I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill. I'm not the Lifetime Movie mentally ill, a sweet, pretty, lost little girl who just needs a good man to love her enough to rescue her from her mental illness.
I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill that gets better and inspires other mentally ill people that they can get better too. I still struggle with suicide ideation, made worse by the fact that, because I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill, I've been unable to be successful in any career that would allow me to sustain life. (My current physical issues don't help either.)
Being the wrong kind of mentally ill means that people get frustrated with you not "trying hard enough" and not getting "better." So they tell you that you brought all your problems on yourself.
My life is littered with the corpses of friendships and relationships because I am not the "right" kind of mentally ill.
I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill that gets better and inspires other mentally ill people that they can get better too. I still struggle with suicide ideation, made worse by the fact that, because I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill, I've been unable to be successful in any career that would allow me to sustain life. (My current physical issues don't help either.)
Being the wrong kind of mentally ill means that people get frustrated with you not "trying hard enough" and not getting "better." So they tell you that you brought all your problems on yourself.
My life is littered with the corpses of friendships and relationships because I am not the "right" kind of mentally ill.
~The Cheese Hath Wrongly Grated It~
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