Michelle White has sent this piece in to join in the mental health carnival.
It was the summer of 2011 and the city streets were burning. People called it a perfect storm, recession, poverty, racial tensions and balmy nights. I watched in horror as places of my childhood were destroyed. It felt as though England was unravelling. I stopped eating, couldn’t sleep and my mind raced around in spirals. I couldn’t see a future for my children, like the country I was breaking . The riots become a catalyst for my own personal storm, after a life time of anxiety I decided to seek help.
I was shaky but I made it to my son’s 5th birthday, I couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down. The people that love me saved my life, they have seen me at my lowest, smoking a roll-up in my mother’s pyjamas with my hair looking wild. They still love me and my anxiety is a mere shadow of its former self. I’m still in debt but what I can’t change I no longer waste time ruminating about.