I originally wrote this piece for the Telegraph's Cassandra Jardine Memorial Prize and although it did not place, I really liked this bit of work and the feelings it helped me to work through. It was edited and published by the lovely people at Mental Health Today magazine, but I wanted the raw, unedited version to be here on my blog. It's a longer piece due to the required word count of the competition, but I hope if you stick with it until the end you'll enjoy it.

TW: mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation.

* * * *

I’d like you to imagine two women. Picture their lives, their surroundings and their motivations – picture what makes them them.

The first is a young professional; what do you see when you picture her? Undoubtedly a millennial, perhaps glued to a phone or a laptop in an ultra-modern office full of bright, vibrant colours. A morning run squeezed in before a breakfast of smashed avocado on toast (shared on Instagram with perfectly curated hashtags) in a sleek minimalist kitchen in a flat she’ll never own.

The second is a young woman with a mental illness; what do you see when you picture her? Do you see anything? Can you conjure up an image? Are the colours drab and grey, does she stare blankly ahead, eating a breakfast of cold toast in a messy room? Is she sharing the highlights of her day on social media or does she scroll silently through the perfect lives presented to her by people she hasn't talked to in years? Do you see someone sad or someone dangerous? Do you see a person at all?

Do you imagine the two could ever exist in the same space? Could those two people occupy the same person? Could one simultaneously be the young professional and be mentally ill? In your imagination are the women separated by laughter and privilege, walls that keep them in defined sections of life never to meet?

Does society intentionally keep these stereotypes in play because it's easier to process people in their neat little boxes, or because we are accustomed to seeing uncandid snapshots of the best of people's lives and it's disconcerting to see the sometimes-harsh reality?

Whilst I happily confess that I prefer my avocado-based mush on the side of Mexican fast food and there is more chance me piloting a rocket than getting up for a run before work, I am the first woman in the above scenario - the young professional.

I'm also the young woman with mental illness.

The reminders to that fact are jarring; the averted gazes and the cardigans donned in meetings to hide self-inflicted scars. The nurse from the hospital I volunteered in at university calling because I had disclosed self harm on my volunteer form and my emphatic response that I had “grown out of it”, a myth I desperately wanted to believe. The denial of health and life insurance when I bought my house and they asked how many times I had self harmed or attempted suicide since the age of 13. They're disconcerting reminders that I don't quite belong on that side of the wall. The side of the wall with social media-ready lives and the tick boxes of modern “success”. After all, successful young professionals don't struggle; they share motivational quotes, drink fancy green smoothies with spirulina and kale, and go to spin class twice a week. They don't lose nights to lying in bed hoping sleep will come or obsess over whether the front door they checked three times is really locked.

It seems that I am at all times two opposing versions of me, and like oil and water they never truly mix. I'm left to try and bridge the gap and find out where each part of me fits into my overall being. The truth is that if you couldn't imagine the professional and the woman with the mental illness as the same person then you're not alone because as it transpires, neither can I.

Yet in me they both exist, strikingly juxtaposed.  Beside the generationally appropriate 4000 nearly identical selfies and photos of my dog exists a goodbye note on my phone from a few nights after Christmas when, after a nice night with friends, I casually decided my life was going to end. Perhaps not that night, but on any given night in the future. A note I can't seem to part with but don't know why I'm saving. Maybe I was pleasantly surprised with the eloquence my prosecco-soaked brain managed to produce, or maybe it runs deeper than that.

Granted, my temperamental mental health has served me in some respects. My deafening perfectionism although cruel at times has always driven me on to improve. I graduated top of my class at university, already in full time employment in my field having volunteered and interned my way through summers and studying fastidiously for every test, exam and slightly scrutinised seminar. My personal life too paints the right idea - I'm in a long-term relationship and we travel as often as we can. Condescending millennial stereotypes aside I am the picture of the young professional, and I've built my sense of self around that.

It doesn't change the fact that there are nights where the darkness spans out endlessly in front of me. There's a chasm inside of me created by years of perfectionism that no amount of validation can fill. There are visible and invisible scars that never seem to fade. I spend time obsessing over any mistake I make, and the pillars on which I have precariously placed my sense of self and my recovery threaten to topple down. Where and how does this fit in the life of the young professional?

On the other side of the wall, I am as similarly displaced. I don't seem to fully belong there either. I'm reminded that I'm too “high functioning” and my symptoms often fail to meet diagnostic criteria. I've never needed time off work or university - in fact my attendance is generally fantastic even on the days where eating lunch was a nigh impossible task. I even doubt myself: can I even be ill if my life is this fulfilled? Did I really do well in work or was that hypomania masquerading as talent? Where do these versions of me overlap and where do they swap over entirely?

How can I expect society to accept that mental illness wears many faces, some just like mine, if even I can't marry up the two parts of me to form a whole person? If I sit on the wall that divides these two people, belonging fully to neither? Do I perpetuate this myth that one cannot be both or am I a victim to the idea? Is it simply both?

No other kind of illness demands that the sum total of our being is synonymous with our symptoms or diagnosis. Yet with mental health it's sometimes hard to distinguish where we begin and end, separate from our illness. Society has clear lines on what is and isn't okay to share, to be, to feel, and it has clear lines on what a person with a mental illness is or isn't. With 1 in 4 people in the UK struggling with poor mental health in their lifetime I think it's time for those lines to blur. I think it's time that the walls, self-imposed or otherwise, come down and we start talking openly about mental health. There is no one way to experience or cope with a mental illness. There are many days where I am genuinely happy and fulfilled, many months where I love my life -  I am not the stock image of the person clad in grey clutching their head in concentrated despair. I am not what you imagine.

I'm telling you this because I can't be alone, and there are people out there slipping through the net. My inability - society's inability - to accept these two sides as being able to co-exist meant that I didn't reach out to anyone for help until my symptoms were debilitating again. Until I went three days without eating, taking late working “lunch” breaks and seeing nothing but fog around me. I thought that I couldn't be both these people, that I could choose which one to be. So I buried it deep and was devastated when it crept back to the surface, like I hadn't worked hard enough to suppress it.

We think of mental illness as one thing when really, it's many stories, each as important as the last. We call those we see as successful "troubled" when their lives seem to go awry - when they self-medicate, burnout or die by suicide - but we reserve "mentally ill" for those whom we consider to be truly "other" in society. The people that we can't and don't try to understand; but we are not "other" - we are your friends, and family, and colleagues. We are even your bosses. Until we start to accept that mental illness is as personal and complicated as people themselves are, and that it doesn't discriminate, we will continue to lose people. We will continue to mourn the “greats” like Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell, Anthony Bourdain, Robin Williams, Kate Spade… (the list is gut-wrenchingly long) and brush the “others” off to the side with dangerously stigmatising language like “deranged”, “difficult”, “psycho” and “crazy”. It's a scenario that isn't working for anyone, and together as a society we need to start working through our prejudices towards mental illness.

I’d like you to picture two women.

The first is a young professional; what do you see when you picture her? Do you see the moments she doesn't share on social media? Do you see the self doubt or the guilt or the shame?

The second is a young woman with a mental illness; what do you see when you picture her? Do you see the smiles and the laughter? Do you see her grateful eyes drink in a sunset or the love she shares with friends, the happiness she surrounds herself with?

Do you imagine the two could ever exist in the same space?

If you think that any of the language or terminologies used in this post are problematic then please let me know. I have talked about the aspects of my life I feel qualified to discuss; this is not to erase the other aspects of privilege or inequality that exists, I simply feel that it's my duty to acknowledge the privilege I benefit from but not my place to speak on matters I haven't experienced first hand.  If you would like to guest post about any of the themes mentioned in this post then don't hesitate to email me at onemorelightlb2@outlook.com.

It's that word that divides like no other but seems inescapable: "privilege".

The word has a bad reputation, despite not meaning what you might initially assume. The term "privilege" seems to many to be entirely synonymous with people in lavish mansions living a wonderful life, who holiday abroad frequently and reside in a high tax bracket.

But that's not what we mean when we talk about societal privilege.

I have lots of privilege; I'm straight, I'm cisgender, I'm not disabled or chronically ill, and I'm white Scottish living in Scotland.

None of these things have stopped my mental illness or made my life "easy", but it has allowed me to navigate society without these aspects fundamentally impacting me or causing me concern in some way. I've never had to hide a romantic relationship in public for fear of abuse. I've never had my identity denied or had to fight to simply exist as myself. I've never found a building or event inaccessible or had to pre-plan how to make sure I can access something other people take for granted. I've never been harassed or had assumptions made about me because of the colour of my skin or my ethnic background.

However I'm also female and working class, both of which have presented challenges in my life. The men in my life don't experience minor panic when they hear footsteps behind them, they don't understand why we phone them describing our location and ETA for coming home in loud, carrying voices or why we rigidly adhere to pre-booked taxis on nights out. Their world is one entirely different to mine, despite running parallel to it.

Despite having a relatively financially stable childhood, being working class has presented its own set of issues; I sometimes have to justify to people in a professional setting why I'm just as - sometimes more - qualified or deserving to be in a position like them. I've heard sneering comments about council houses from people too scared to go near one, and I've heard the differences in work ethic and attitudes towards employment between those brought up working clsss and those brought up middle class. There is a lack of working class voices in art, media, and politics because we are less likely to feel able to gamble with our income, access costly training or networking events, or promote ourselves. We need stable jobs and have always been taught so, even if we did have a financial safety net to catch us. As a result we are wholly under-represented in politics and the media (save perhaps for the aptly termed "poverty porn" programmes that ridicule more than give a voice to those on display).

These privileges of birth absolutely do not protect from mental illness, and I want to make that clear. Anyone can be - and are - affected by mental ill health and it doesn't matter if they're male or female, rich or poor.

What does change however, is the environment we are in and how attitudes to our mental health shape our experience depending on these privileges. These differences are why I am keen to promote a series of guest blogs  as part of my Intersectional Advocacy series, to discuss how these differences in experience impact our mental health or recovery.

For instance, women are often seen as being "hysterical" or "over-dramatic" or of being too emotional or 'attention seeking", whilst men are told to "man up", "toughen up" and are denigrated for showing emotion. Accessing support and treatment for mental ill health can be hindered by these attitudes.

When considering social class or income in terms of recovery from mental ill health, someone middle class may have the financial stability and family support network to take time off of work to recover, or to access private professional care and these are options that often aren't available to working class people. The attitudes surrounding working class people and employment are also very different. A working class person taking time off work might be "lazy" or "feckless", whilst a middle class individual might be met with more support. These attitudes are often both external and internalized within the individual and they're difficult to get out of; quite often they shape how we are viewed and how we view ourselves.

Social class is not soley defined by income, it literally shapes our attitudes and view of the world and consequently how we navigate it, but financial situations do play a massive role in mental health. Worrying about money and job security are of course linked to stress, and those who experience impulsive spending may be more acutely harmed by debt if they're already experiencing financial hardship. Although "working class" certainly isn't synonymous with "poor", we are often far less likely to have the disposable income our middle class friends have, and are more likely to experience finance-related stress. In addition, jobs that centre around irregular hours and shift patterns are often taken up by working class people that makes keeping routine appointments difficult. Working class people are also less likely to have access to personal mode of transport like a car, which makes travelling for appointments more difficult and sometimes, expensive.

That's why it's important to talk about privilege within discussions of mental health. It's not about minimising what so-called "privileged" people go through, but about addressing the added layers of barriers or difficulties that someone may experience because of aspects in their life. The complexity of the human experience is amazing and we should listen to people from a variety of backgrounds to see the picture that extends far beyond our bubble, and that includes experiences within the context of mental health.

Image Rights: Netflix.

This post contains spoilers for the Netflix series "After Life" and discusses themes of suicide and drug addiction. 

If you've not seen it, then what have you been doing with your spare time?

It's the Netflix series that everyone's been talking about: Ricky Gervais' After Life.

I confess that Ricky Gervais' comedy is generally a bit hit and miss for me, but when a few friends told me how good After Life was I thought I would give it a bash, and I'm so glad that I did.

The show focuses on recently bereaved Tony (Ricky Gervais) and how losing his wife to cancer has impacted his life and his mental health. He is vocally suicidal and changes from a generally caring man to someone who is relatively hostile to those around him because he no longer sees any point in being nice - for him there are no long-term consequences anymore. Ricky Gervais' delivery is perfect; it's brutal yet poignant, heartbreaking yet hilarious. He's a man in pain and it's terrible to witness but still manages to make you laugh.

So often people in the media are scared to touch mental health in any setting other than in very serious and dramatic storylines. It's understandable - mental illness is very serious after all - but this can portray mental illness as a perpetually bleak existence, with extreme and dramatic peaks and troughs. Whilst it certainly can be that way, for many of us the majority of our experience is rather mundane. Most importantly, we have a personality and a life outside of our illness the same as anybody else.

The simple truth is that mental illness or not, we like to laugh too.

So to see a comedy centred around someone openly suicidal and to see him progress to a place where he realises his worth and the meaning of those around him is wonderful. It doesn't gloss over or glamourise any of it, but puts a wickedly witty twist on a horrific time in someone's life.

Perhaps the true triumph though lives in the portrayal of the resident "drug addict", Julian (Tim Plester).

From the moment we meet Julian, he is one thing - a drug addict. Although throughout the series we see glimpses into the fact that Julian was not always so, for us and for Tony, he is simply an addict. We hear that Julian lost his girlfriend too, and is in a similar mental state to Tony yet he is not offered the same complexity in his character, staying firmly one-dimensional in his existence. Tony is a man in pain, lost in the wake of his wife and although he dabbles in Class A drug use, he is at all times separate from Julian. Julian is not afforded the same level of sympathy or understanding in the series, as it breezes past his homelessness and bereavement.

When Tony gives him money for drugs knowing it will end in Julian's suicide by overdose, we are shocked but also...not really? Again the show moves on focusing predominantly on Tony. On Tony's recovery and progression to a better headspace. We forget the horrible things said and done by Tony because we are just happy that he has found himself again. Hurrah, we cheer for the "happy ending".

But what of Julian?

The show holds up a mirror to society in the way we cast aside and forget the homeless, the addicts, and the people we have deemed as hopeless or "other". We root for Tony but not Julian: Why? Is it because Tony is the main character or is it because we already assumed how Julian's story would end? Why do we offer forgiveness and redemption to one of the lost and grief-stricken men but not the other, and what does it say about us? Throughout the series Tony tells Julian they are alike, both bereaved and feeling hopeless, and Julian repeatedly refutes this. We think he means that Tony hasn't truly given up but he's right in another way - Tony isn't like Julian because despite his transgressions we are willing to look on him favourably and with sympathy, he hasn't yet crossed the boundary into a place we will wash our hands of him. Tony has a future and Julian doesn't. Tony has redemption and Julian doesn't. Tony has hope, and Julian has a pre-determined ending. Despite having a similar starting point, Tony's sadness and cruelty is seen as an illness, but Julian's addiction is seen as a choice.
It doesn't have to be this way, as a society we can choose to give the same sympathy and compassion to people with addictions as we do with other mental health conditions. Addiction isn't a choice but treating someone with understanding and kindness is. We can give people hope, redemption and a future, and we can extend help to the Julians of the world.

After Life puts a face to mental illness, one that isn't scary or stigmatising, and that's important. Despite some criticism I can't help but think this show is a triumph for television and for mental health awareness.



If you are struggling right now and feel like you need to talk to someone, The Samaritans can be reached at 116 123.

If you are looking for support for addiction, resources can be found here. 


Interested in more content related to mental health? Click here to view more posts on this blog about mental health.

Intro

== Aesthetics ==

Packaging, Accessories

Design, Build, Microphonics

Fit, Comfort, Isolation

== Sound ==

Specs

Headphone Type	Closed-back in-ear monitor
Driver Type	2x Balanced Armature (1 woofer, 1 tweeter configuration)
Frequency Response	12 � 22,000 Hz
Sensitivity	110 dB at 1 mW
Impedance	30 ?
Cable	1.3m (~4 ft.) OFC cable
Connector	Angled 3.5mm (1/8") gold-plated connector
Accessories	Carrying case (Wide) 6x sets silicone eartips (S/M/L) 1x set Comply T-100 foam eartips Velcro cable tie Shirt clip Instruction manual & warranty card (24 months)

Equipment, Burn-in

Sound Quality

Other Media

Amp & EQ Response

Value

Comparison

== Conclusion ==

About the Company

Changelog

Intro

== Aesthetics ==

Packaging, Accessories

Design, Build, Microphonics

Fit, Comfort, Isolation

Specs

Headphone Type	Closed-back Bluetooth in-ear monitor
Driver Type	Single 8mm dynamic
Operating Range	Up to 10 metres (30 feet)
Battery Life	70 mAh battery for: � 8 � 10 hours playback time � 110 hours standby time � ~2 hours charging time
Bluetooth Features	Bluetooth 4.1 Supports A2DP, HSP, HFP Bluetooth profiles Can connect to 2 devices simultaneously CVC Echo & Noise Cancellation Voice/LED prompts
Accessories	3x sets black silicone single-flange eartips (S/M/L) 1x set Comply T-400 foam eartips Micro USB charging cable Hard carry case (Brainwavz wide earphone case) User manual 24 month manufacturer�s warranty

Connectivity

== Sound ==

Equipment, Burn-in

Sound Quality

Other Media

EQ Response

Value

Comparison

== Conclusion ==

Post-Review Stuff

Changelog