My bio states that I write about stigma, sex and shame. And that’s true.

At home. In the dark.

I have a thesis, a half-finished manuscript, and a bunch of essays in progress, all centred on the invisibility of women’s mental illness.

False bravado is easy. Publishing is vulnerable, and hard. And yet, this piece was accepted by the first magazine that I submitted it to. That alone tells me that these stories need to be told.

This story isn’t complete. Nor is it a redemption narrative. These are just the fragments I am currently able to lay bare right now.

Thank you Island magazine for giving me a space to share them.

Edit: Since we moved, the orchid sits on my desk and is about to bloom for the second time. Every day it reminds me that I’m still here. x