Failure.

Before I embark upon another long winded monologue about the ups and downs of living with a mental illness, I'd like to say two things. Firstly, assuming that there is someone who pays sufficient attention to my blog to notice my lack of posts last month, I want to apologise. As unlikely as it is that my words have a large, if any, impact on your life, the aim of my blog is to open up mental illness to people and make it reachable, understandable and acceptable. I also write in the hope that someone may derive a little comfort from knowing that they are not suffering alone. Words haven't come easily to me in the last few weeks and while I still don't feel capable of writing much, I don't want to discourage anyone with my silence. Secondly, thank you to everyone who devotes even a minute of their time to reading my blog. I find it so incredibly encouraging to see that in three months, I've had over two thousand page-views and so many positive and supportive comments! And now onto my main motive for posting today- failure. 

One aspect of mental illness that is almost entirely unavoidable is the often colossal impact that your illness will have on your life. It affects every aspect of your existence: your home life, relationships, education or career and even your physical appearance. Prior to developing depression, I was a hard worker, a high achiever and I most certainly did not know what it was to experience failure, which is a far cry from my current lethargic, disorientated and, ultimately, failing self. I, or rather my depression, perceives my incapabilities (which were, once upon a happier time, capabilities) as failures. I am not only forced to spend my every day in a state of despondent apathy, I am forced by a part of my own brain to consider this to be a deficit of my own making. Something that one of my therapists said to me, however, has made me reevaluate my position. She asked me what my definition of failure was, and then suggested that I redefine my perception of it. For it is a triumph to still be alive after almost eighteen months of virtually relentless agony. It is a triumph that I still find the strength to deny myself the compulsion to destroy myself at every opportunity. The fact that people are still living in the face of pain and suffering proves that they are not a failure. That is not to say, however, that those who have taken their own lives are failures. They are not. Suicide is not weak or cowardly and it is not a failure. It just shows that life fails people, and some are failed by life more acutely than others. Failure does not reveal itself in low grades or poor references on your CV. Failure is simply when you neglect to try your hardest at something that holds meaning for you. This makes 'standardised' successes irrelevant- each person succeeds according to their current capacity and this is irrefutably, undoubtedly a success.