sincerely, anonymous
type: mental health campaign, capstone
Applications:
Illustrator, Indesign, photoshop, Premiere, studio photography, Lightroom
On average, mental illness is experienced by 1 in 5 people in a given year. 1 in 25 adults struggle with their mental illness so severely that it interferes with & limits their major life activities; and it is predicted that 1 in 5 youth aged children experience a severe mental disorder at some point during their life.
Throughout the duration of this campaign, I collected data and held interviews with over 70 correspondents— all stating the same feelings: their mental health is by no means excellent and their stories are kept hidden and secret from the world due to their experiences. This piece is a reflection of their stories: a study about mental health and the secrets we may keep because of it.
I stand behind the notion that just because it may be invisible to others, that does not mean that it is invalid. These anonymous letters show that we are more than just what has happened to us: We are what we are now and no one else. We are every part of ourselves that we never knew we needed.
“…They put us into their perfect boxes and wondered why it was hard for us to breathe. Our ears hearing their lies, our eyes witnessing great horrors. And our bodies, our bodies laced with 3 parts anxiety, 2 parts naivety, and 1 part depression. Every bit of our conscious lighting up with echoes once heard so loud, it would wake the deaf. Blood curdling screams with their you’re not good enoughs, it could be worse, you’re just faking it, and why can’t you just be normals. We lay there, silent, floating along in our vessels that others might drown in. If only they knew; the secrets burned into our skin, the experiences we wish our eyes could unsee. All the times we wish we could forget the sweet smell of his cologne on top of us when we thought that we really were just friends. All the moments we locked ourselves away just so we could find some silence between the pounding of heartbeats behind the door, from those we call mom and dad. We wish for time machines and erasers to rid ourselves of the marks from the past haunts. We erase too much, that even the future begins to look unclear. Wading through mountains of fog, the heaviness is engrained into our own weight. The reflections of our masses remind us daily of the rhyme sticks and stones. As if the words we got called were just a passing game. We grew up believing that there may not be someone out there waiting for us; that we will never feel the warmth of the sun that they kept just out of our reach. Our cracked bones resemble the cracks in the sidewalk and shattered glass, but don’t tell us that broken bones hurt worse than the constant stream of grey as we empty ourselves until we fade into nothing. As if we are all not just balls of atoms and ash that could easily be blown away. When we fell, some would say get over it; an embodiment of the doctors that went unseen, the stories that went untold, the secrets that were never shared— as if depression was something you could fix with the contents of a first aid kit. One wrong word could send anyone over the edge. But when we rose, waterfalls fell backwards and the oceans became violent. Broad shouldered and ready, we wandered into more than just ideas with the new-found knowingness that we are who we are. Every broken mask invites the light to step in, laying its own curtain along the surface of their judgement, their words, those experiences. We are more than just what has happened to us. We are what we are now and no one else. We are every part of ourselves that we never knew we needed. We are becoming and we are here. ”