What can I share about mental health? I’ve never felt the tremble of thinking the temple between my temples needs help. Mental health isn’t a tensile my pencil can assemble with creative words. Honestly, I’m resentful with the way I’ve tried to make it resemble some of my less desirable emotions. Because mental health is an issue so much deeper and complicated than emotions and feeling bad. Sure, I’ve been sad before, but never experienced sadness who’s vastness makes light vanish and banishes you to a blackness where all you can practice is panic because you are convinced happiness is a status beyond the reach of even the stratus. I’ve been disappointed in myself before, but I’ve never been indignant with the idea that I have dignity, and feel that I deserve to be undignified because I defy others’ happiness with the way my existence deliberately brings this world deficiency. I’ve experienced periods of serious weariness that builds pyramids of nervousness, but I can’t attest to the myriad of various variances of moments anxiety chooses to attack and leave you incapacitated and contaminated with unjustified and unrelenting fear, crippling you to be a captive of your worst nightmares. I can’t give an edict to edify mental health, as though I can edit my brain to comprehend experiences I’ve never felt. No, I won’t pretend like I have the slightest clue what it’s like to deal with mental health issues, when I’ve never fought that battle. All I really can do is, simply use this soliloquy to supply a symphony of sympathy to urge others to sympathize with those who’s physical and mental health aren’t in symmetry. I still can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to have your mind be still, to be defenseless against a thief who incessantly steals your joy while leaving you sealed in a steal cage with only your sorrows. The real criminals are us though, we who act like these people are just trying to borrow excuses to feel bad for themselves today, and don’t even try to stop the thief from stealing their tomorrow.