After months of writing my way through the pain, a thought suddenly hit me—I was glamorizing suicide by writing about it. At first I tried to brush it off, but anxiety got the best of me. I couldn't get over the idea that I was to blame.
With the majority of the population still turning a blind eye on mental health issues and with the stigma around it, admitting that you are mentally impaired is synonymous to claiming that you are crazy, psychotic, pathetic, crybaby, or whatever names they call mental health sufferers.
Juggling three hobbies at a time may be tough, but I realize there's no harm in doing it. After all, these activities keep me engaged.
If you just learn to love me for who I am, you’ll see that I am more than just an anxious girlfriend. I am more than my anxiety.
I always came into the battlefield defenseless, but I was never hopeless. Hope is the only anchor that keeps me alive.
And because we are all entitled to voice out our opinion, I listed the 13 reasons why I don't understand all the hate.
If anything, Amy's death is a reminder that we should continue to fight the stigma and spread awareness about mental health.