Nowadays I scrub myself clean of anything representing a stereotypical mentally ill person. No more will people say I remind them of Harley Quinn or Ramona Flowers, no more will I meet their sexualised expectation of a mentally ill woman. I’m dying my hair back, thinking carefully about the tattoos I want, I don’t fall asleep at 3am with some depressing playlist, and I’m finally selling all my lifeless clothes at the Sunday market. I no longer identify with that. I’m not proud of it, I wasn’t happy, it wasn’t me. I’m not insulted that I dress “basic” now,