When I was 19 I began suffering from Mental Health.
It was a long time before we had any idea what was happening to me and at the time all my friends and family had no idea.
At 23 things got really bad. It wasn't until I tried to jump out of a moving car that we knew I desperately needed medical help.
My depression and anxiety had spiralled into extreme paranoia, and at that moment, my family realised I needed help.
My mother had just flown down to Sydney from Queensland to be with me, and my siblings and I were on our way to the airport to collect her. As we drove through the cross city tunnel to the airport, I became convinced that the tunnel walls were about to burst open and that the harbour waters would engulf us. I was sure we were all about to drown and I begged my siblings to unlock the car door so that I could save myself by leaping out .
We made it to the airport and met my mother. At that point, I was convinced that the airport was about to be blown up by a terrorist. Because of the severity of my delusions, my mother insisted that I be taken straight to the hospital for treatment, and I was admitted to the mental health ward.
Thus began my long road to recovery. With the help of an inspiring team of medical professionals, friends and family, I was slowly able to find the right treatment for my medical condition, and although its been a struggle, I've managed to build a life that is healthy, meaningful, and creative.
Over the years, the most important lesson I have learned is this: I am not my illness. My illness does not define me. It is a part of my history. It is a small part of my present. But I am so much greater than my illness.
Today my life is about my friends and family, my community, my art, and my business.
