I'm a Mental Health Advocate...I'm Sorry I Don't Hold More Answers



I'm sorry I don't always have the words.

I'm a fraud, I know. I talk a good game about mental health and supporting other people but there are times that I don't have the words to help.

I'm a hypocrite, I know. I shout about lack of mental health resources and then direct people there anyway.

I'm ineffectual, I know. I say empty words over empty space on social media, never really helping anyone. Never really making a difference.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I don't have the answers. I'm sorry I don't have the words to help you. I'm sorry that I call myself a mental health advocate but lack any power to actually help people.

The truth is that if I had the words then I would tell myself them every day. If I had the words then I wouldn't sometimes drown in the hollowing, burning in my gut that carves away at me.

If I had the words, I wouldn't lie in bed some nights unable to move, waiting for the weight to stop crushing me.

If I had the words then I wouldn't feel the wretched, soul crushing certainty that I'm going to be swallowed whole by my own mind. I wouldn't feel like I'm suffocating.

If I had the words then every scar on my arm would be a freckle from care free days spent in the sun, not reminders from a war from which echoes still linger.

If I had the words then it wouldn't feel like this virulent darkness had seeped into the marrow of my bones until I am it and it is me.

If I had the words then I could fight my own demons and pass you the cure. This life-giving epiphany, an eloquent miracle.

I've failed you, I know. I don't have the words and yet I profess to be some sort of champion. I'm sorry that I don't have the words to tell you right now in this moment that life will be okay. I'm sorry I don't have the answers you need. I'm sorry.

If I had the words I wouldn't feel like a fraud.

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