“My name is Molly. I’m 36, single, live in Brooklyn, and work in publishing. I love gloomy Victorian novels, obscure Korean horror films, Premier League soccer, and knitting. I’m 5-foot-5, slim, with brown hair and brown eyes. I am looking for a serious relationship. I suffer from mental illness.”
That dating profile is going to get me nowhere.
I am not ashamed of my condition. Or not exactly. I think there is still a lot more stigma than we admit, and every joke someone cracks about being “so OCD” makes it harder to explain that while you all think you’re totally cool with me being obsessive-compulsive, it’s a lot more than lining up pencils and touching the light switch… I have no qualms about someone seeing my cellulite, but I am afraid of him seeing my self-inflicted scars.
Molly Pohlig's brave, moving essay on dating with mental illness.
(via The Dish)
Do it. Start at your own pace. Do it. Find your own way to be brave. Do it for you. Do it because you want to. Make it up. Make it hurt. Whatever. Whatever it is that you want to make, make it. I support you.
Just wanted to pullquote the most insightful part of that dailydot piece from earlier today.
— Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (via creatingaquietmind)