It’s a little known fact that I spend 25 hours a week in a Store Room – that’s half my full-time job, and it dawned on me today that I never talk to anyone about me and my special Store Room, yet in the last 12 months of inhabiting this space it’s become a lesser dirty known secret.
It’s kind of funny how I still blow-wave my hair and wear my clip-clop heels every weekday to stack and pack shelves of books, paper and posters. But I feel gooood and who would even know if I look goooood, when I’m pacing the tight aisles of my beloved Store Room.
When I’m not designing, writing, editing and publishing reading material for people with complex mental health issues, I’m responding to dispatch orders from far and wide across Australia. 50 sites depend on me being on top of my Store Room from Broken Hill to Joondalup to Strathpine to Dubbo – I run my little butt off answering Helpdesk for more self-development workbooks, nutritional fact sheets, goal-setting maps, books on mindset and recovery, flyers for sub-actute crisis respite centres and posters about how the environment effects your brain.
Some of it’s a bit mainstream but all of it is KNOWLEDGE, and we all know that’s POWER, especially when people are doing it rough in the nightmares of their own psyche.
Did I mention I love my little Store Room? It’s the hub of my publication world, and today, as I admired my neat, virgo-moon touch on the perfected labels and lined-up stacking, I thought: How the hell did I end up working in a fucking Store Room?
A ‘Where did my degree take me?’ moment, as quick as it came like a sneeze in a breeze it went. I know exactly why I’m holed up in the Store Room – my underground, unheated, uncoloured shed.
Writers who are born from their BELIEF in the power and the magic of the written WORD find themselves sometimes in hermit places, to get the very word out there on the street. Since less than 25% of the people who access my organisation’s mental health services are computer literate, the other 75% rely on me, to tell them, that support is on the way. And I think this is a pretty cool way of connecting with humanity when I’m not dancing at discos and gushing with love.
I think this Store Room and I and the books and the words are a beautiful team of communication and information and while yeah, I wish some funding would go towards a bit of decor for my dear Store Room, I’m pretty content with my giant staple guns and bubble wrap wheels.
So, if you ever wonder what the hell a mental health activist does with her time to put food on the table and the final touches on her books, then now you know about me and my penchant for the Store Room, on the ready with a pamphlet to intercept that very moment some one thinks there’s no hope for their mental health.
Love C.C. Myers