I feel like Pablo

Recently, I blogged about my love for Kanye West, but I am unfortunately presented with a good reason to write about him again, so deal with it and read about my mental health and Yeezy. Because this is important.
So, Kanye has been having a rough few monthes. Right before I saw him in St. Paul, his wife was robbed at gun point in Paris. After I saw him he went on one of his patented mid-show rants to tell everyone that he didn't vote but would have voted Trump if he had (on a side note, I truly think Trump's victory makes a West presidency viable, and a Kardashian first lady within reach), followed briefly by a mental break. Through this year, my mental progress has been closely mirrored by watching Mr. West.
For those who don't pay attention to his lyrics, Kanye has frequently rapped about his mental illness, specifically on The Life of Pablo, Ye raps about Lexipro, a notable anti-depressant in addition to other aspects of his illness. A lot of people have accused him of fabricating it, but I think we all need to step back and remember something very important: he's just a guy.
Kanye has a larger than life personality, and its a portion of his allure. West calls himself a god, he is one of the most acclaimed musicians of all time, he's married to one of the most famous women in the world, and it seems like there has never been a week he wasn't embattled in some media circus. As far as I'm concerned, that's all part of who he is as an artist. He knows what he's doing, and he makes a show of it in part to show what the state of being a celebrity is. So, why is everyone so angry at him?
I won't say he's a perfect man, he isn't. And I won't say it's not a bummer he canceled some shows, because having seen him, I really do feel bad for the people who had to miss out. That said, I commend him for making moves to become mentally healthy. Everyone's reactions to it are completely out of  line.
Following the announcement that West was being hospitalized, a lot of people were quick to jump on the "Kanye is crazy" bandwagon, including high profile examples like fellow rap icon, Snoop Dogg. While it is somewhat entertaining to see some old remnants of the East Coast/West Coast feud. none of that is okay.
So, like I said, watching Kanye has really given me a lot ot relate to this year. At some of my lower points all I could bring myself to do was listen to Graduation on repeat one more time, like it was some charm to make me stronger. Almost the same day Yeezy was hospitalized I was diagnosed with PTSD as a result of my past sexual abuse. Hearing people accuse Mr. West of faking what is a very possible and understandable disease made me sick.
It's hard to seek help, even harder to speak out and publicly about it. So, having the definition of an A-List celebrity speak up has the potential to raise a lot of awareness and genuinely help a lot of people. Seeing the lashes against him makes me seriously sick. I feel like Kanye, and Kanye feels like Pablo.
I'm not saying everyone has to like Kanye because of this, and I'm not saying he hasn't done some unfortunate things. What I want you all to remember is just because Kanye seems larger than life doesn't mean he's not a person too. So, remember that he's just human, and cut him some slack.

Sick: A Humble Attempt to Open Dialogue

Hi, I'm ill,

but not in the way that means I'm chill.

What I mean is that I'm sick,

and lately I've been having some thoughts stick.

When I was in middle school

my best friend got cancer.

We all knew the rule

that helping was the answer.

Now, I might not be ill in my body,

and the campaigns for me aren't gaudy.

But when I felt sick

the only help I heard was cricket.

A while ago a friend asked

why I miss so much class.

Fearful, I told her "it's for my health."

But I knew she wondered what was wrong with myself.

My disease is supposed to be private,

it's not supposed to be talked about.

But it comes with the family,

and I just found out.

Okay, I have depression,

I'm only know speaking true,

because I fear discussion.

Because I worry I'll miss you.

If I coughed

when I walked.

It'd be okay,

for me to say

that things aren't going my way.

That today is a terrible day.

But in the land of joyful moods,

no one seems to care for broken goods.

Fearing the stigma,

fearing the talk,

I showed my family an enigma,

and my friends a happy stock.

When my friend was impaired,

the doctors ran their tests.

But when I asked for care

I met the rest.

The one's who think it's a scam.

That it couldn't be that bad.

That the doctors were all shams,

and the mental health trend a fad.

But depression kills people too,

maybe it's even eating at you.

Maybe it's run your heart through,

or maybe your heart stayed while the rest grew.

Now you feel hollow,

and you eyes have lost their glow.

But you keep on smiling.

Because it's all that you know.

People say they support you,

when you're feeling blue.

But the numbers show

depression has grown.

So why don't you let people know?

Why can't I tell you?

You might be there too.

They say misery loves company,

and yet I'm alone.

Just because I inherit bad genes

doesn't give me the emotions of a machine.

I still walk and (occasionally) run.

I still laugh and have fun.

Lack of a problem

doesn't eliminate an issue.

Things might be awesome,

but I still pack tissues.

I spiral down,

I become obsessed.

I see myself in a ghost town,

and that I regress.

Because I can't share.

Because I can't break.

I see my demons everywhere.

I'm sorry everyone, but it's more than I can take.

Sharing this does not make me weak.

I am not throwing in a white flag.

I survived, so don't call me meek.

I went through hell, I have a right to brag.

Now ends my private riot.

I'm done with the whole show.

I'm finished being quiet.

Now you all know.