When it comes to excuses, I’ve got a million of ‘em. Even now, as I should be writing this column, I am thinking of two dozen other things that I should be doing first – like alphabetizing the vitamins in the bathroom cabinet or swinging up to the grocery store for some spices that I won’t need until Halloween.
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Like many, I’ve suffered from depression and anxiety since I was a young child. Poor old Joe Btfsplk, the Al Capp ‘Lil Abner’ character who lived under a cloud at all times, had nothing on me. I had an ulcer by the time I was ten years old, and toyed with the idea of suicide throughout my teens.
Mental health.
Did that grab your attention? It’s been on my mind and in my social media feeds in one form or another lately. There’s been so much hullaballoo from endless voices (not the ones in my head) and sources including the yearly Bell “Let’s Talk” campaign, personal stories and “helpful” advice on FB to the multiple daily postings from #soul, etc. on Instagram. I’m seeing “regular” ads and click-bate that offer instant help, healing and gratification (whatever the hell that is).
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