Archive for April, 2017


Posted in emotional health, Hope, learning to love yourself again, rebuilding your life, recovery, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 20, 2017 by Karen unrue

I am a master procrastinator.
There are only two things I have followed through on in my life.
(I’m exaggerating slightly but it makes for a better story.)
One of those was my pregnancy.
nature gave me no option lol.
The other one was completing this book.
It took blood, sweat, and tears, as well as enthusiastic coaching from a support network to ensure both products were birthed properly.
But I managed it.
So I introduce to you my newly born, but strangely named,



I could not be a prouder parent.

In this book you will read how my mental illness,


developed and how over the years I learnt, with the help of my community mental health team
and, eventually, a great therapist,
to manage my symptoms.
It has been a very challenging journey indeed,
and as I’m sure many of you will appreciate,
I felt like giving up at times.

Mostly this book is about


and how you can find and maintain hope while living with a mental illness
so you can

My hope is that as you read it my journey will help you along your journey a little



DE-press-ON is now a WHIS Ambassador!

Posted in Uncategorized on April 12, 2017 by Karen unrue

I know Colin and this man with his own mental health expert and innovative approach to recovery will be an asset to this wonderful organisation

Coming Out Is Always A Work In Progress

Posted in Uncategorized on April 8, 2017 by Karen unrue

Bloody brilliant – you’re right it’s the one question – among a myriad of curious questions, that no one asks. You write beautifully

Survival is a Talent

They ask, “what was it like to come out?”

I ask, “which time?”

The first time, I was twelve. I tried to tell my mother I was bisexual and she sat me down and told me I was “too young.” She said that I could be gay or straight, but that I could not be bisexual because it was “slutty.” To this day she denies ever saying it, but I remember my heart in my throat and the way that fear sunk its claws into my stomach. She must be right, I had thought, she’s my mom. So I corrected myself.

The next time I came out was to myself. This was not a discussion with myself or a day’s length dilemma. It was years worth of internal reconstruction, of learning about parents sometimes being wrong, of confronting my own doubts.

I have come out to others…

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