I have lived through insidious bouts of depression since I was at least 15 years old. This year I turned 54. I cringe whenever I hear or read a story about a horrific tragedy committed by a person while in the deep throes of his or her own mental suffering.
Time and again the same story is told using the same damaging stereotypes. This same story paints me and others living with a mental illness with the same brush without acknowledging that we are distinct individuals with our own histories.
This same one-dimensional story only reinforces the long-held belief that an individual with a mental illness is violent, unpredictable, dangerous, unreliable, irresponsible, and utterly incapable of managing all but very basic tasks.
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