Colony-of-Losers.com presents:

On June 30rth 2010 I told the world about my struggle with mental illness For those of you late to the game, my name is Michael Gray Kimber and I suffer from intense anxiety. My claim for this glorious tradition is genetic Fueled by years where I smoked pounds of marijuana ate poorly, combined with one hell of a quarter- life- crisis. I'd like to say I told my story to the world for some noble purpose Such as combating the stigma surrounding mental illness. That isn't exactly true. My first love had just ended with the girl who helped me get trough the worst time of my life. I wanted to explain how grateful I was to her for having loved me when I didn't love myself. I wanted to remember how much light there've been in the darkness 'coz her shadow was cast next to mine. "The cure" began as a love letter to people who reminded me who I was when I forgot. It was a way of remembering that some of the best times of my life had occurred during my mental breakdown. That there 'd been so much gain amidst all the loss, I didn't want to forget what it was like. I want to capture all that love, the love that had become a hundred pound weight in my stomach. To write a story of how I came to stand again after I fell. I hadn't taken into consideration what would come from that blind leap. Suddenly, my blog went from a few hundred followers to a few thousand. In the blink of an eye I had fans in the U.S. and all over the globe. My work was being featured in magazines and mental health websites. On the year anniversary of my breakdown I signed with Anne McDermid and Associates, the literary agency that represents the cream of the crop of Canadian authors. I didn't realize that I was changing the course of my life with that first post. Any employer who wants to do a Google search on me will be able to read those same entries on my anxiety. The nightmarish three months of insomnia and my battle with depression. I've been told that health insurance would be more expensive when in a job when they provide it. Any girl I ever pursue will be able to read my vivid descriptions of the first girl I ever really loved and what she meant and means and will always be in me. The last girl I dated read every entry, so did her parents. With that first post I was out; and I'll never be able to go back in the hiding. Thankfully, I'm a writer and mental illness is expected of me. Creativity and insanity are supposed to go together like peanut- butter and jam. Insomnia and anxiety; my eyes on a beautiful woman's naked body. However it strikes me that there is a fallacy in the argument as most of the people I know who have mental illnesses aren't writers. Why would we associate writers with mental illness? Simple: writers talk about their feelings. Maybe it isn't the creativity as inextricably linked to mental illness. Maybe creativity just gives us the courage to talk about it. I'm lucky. Somehow my mental illness gave me a career. The best moments of my artistic life have come after my illness After taking medication and going through therapy. I was warned I would lose myself. But I've never been more a Michael Kimber. I know a lot of people who aren't as lucky as I am. Coming out for them is more difficult. Some are doctors; and as such are sworn to secrecy in the knowledge that if they divulge their own experiences they won't be allowed to practice. Some are family men, who don't want their life- insurance policies to become more expensive, based on preconceptions about mental illness and the ability to take care of yourself. I know of a girl whose parents blame themselves for her brother's mental illness, as if their parenting could somehow change the structure of their child' s D.N.A. So, she keeps her own mental illness to herself. I know the people who refuse to look into the reality of the disease scared of what they believe they'll find there. Trusting instead to the intuitions of a society tha