Broken (in the best possible way)

by Jenny Lawson

And the anemias cause all sorts of issues, including making me severely low on a lot of vitamins you need to live, so my lab work was thirty pages of “Bitch, you are all the way fucked up.”

The problem is that depression is my forever side dish to any period of convalescence and illness, and depression lies. It tells you that you are worthless. That life was never good. That you are a drain on the world and that it will only get worse.

But mental illness changes “knowing” and “believing” into two very different things, and I can breathe for a moment and know that it will be okay.

My doctor nodded. “I think you’ll be fine no matter what,” he said. “You don’t let your pain go to waste.”