Eva Bradley
EARLIER this week a close friend asked if I would consider writing something "light-hearted" during Mental Health Awareness week to help draw attention to the issue.
I had a few immediate thoughts on this, starting with "hell no", because mental health is something I've had more experience of than I would like during my life and it is a subject I consider intensely private.
Secondly, I wondered how on earth could I approach an extremely serious and often devastating topic in a "light-hearted" way.
Thirdly, I thought "well at least it makes a change from being asked by 'friends' (and strangers) to pimp new products or an upcoming event" (yes it happens, no I don't).
But then I reflected on my friend's request and realised that dismissing it was not only a cop out, but a missed opportunity to increase the dialogue about something that genuinely mattered (in contrast to what I often write about, which genuinely doesn't).
I then thought long and hard about my friend's ongoing battle with mental health and realised that while I have always considered myself supportive of her, what good was that support if I didn't give it when I was asked?
So today, I'm writing this for her. And for the one in five people in New Zealand who battle - often unseen and unsupported - to overcome mental health issues both big and small but in all instances difficult.
There has been huge publicity about removing the stigma around mental health and a few brave, high-profile individuals have stepped up to tell their story and put a face to what is a widespread but often invisible illness.
But on a day-to-day basis, I still don't believe it is socially or professionally acceptable to put your hand up and admit to any sort of mental health issue in the same way you might to a physical condition.
While our bodies can fail us, our minds are expected to remain in full control, even though genetics or experiences often make this impossible.
Although I don't remember it, my father spent his entire adult life fighting the messages his brain generated; feelings of failure, worthlessness and pointlessness.
After years of failed attempts (and treatments), he took his life when I was 10-months-old and left my mother on her own with three children.
Understandably, she finds this unforgivably selfish. And I can totally understand her perspective.
But having inherited a dash of the black dog with my father's more desirable genes (he was a journalist himself), I can relate to how it feels sometimes to be unable to smile on the inside even when life on the outside gives you every reason to.
For me, the "fake it till you make it" approach makes for a relatively easy fix, and thanks to an ability to get lost (and found) in my creativity and work, my dark days have led to some of my greatest professional successes.
The reality for many others, though, is that mental illness strips them of potential and denies them the joys in life that others take for granted.
Having to endure this in secret makes it so much worse.
So during what's left of Mental Health Awareness week, why not consider pulling back the curtain and sharing your story.
You just might find it helps you a little, and someone else a lot.
-Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer.