Those stories in the news that I read every week remind me that outward expressions of mental illness can endanger me, and that having large numbers of people aware that I am mentally ill could also be dangerous to me.
Being mentally ill means that I am more likely to be shot by police. I am more likely to be raped or assaulted, and ignored when I file a report. I am more likely to be institutionalized, to be condemned as an unfit parent (if I wanted to parent), to be denied employment or fired because my workplace refuses to accommodate me. To be falsely convicted of a crime.
These are the things I think about when I tell myself I should stop fronting, the reminder that being mentally ill already means I have a target on my back. That the only thing saving me may be my ability to compartmentalize, to front like it’s going out of style, to convince everyone around me that everything is just fine.
