When thinking about mental illness and my personal encounters with this disease, my heart goes out to those who experience and live with this illness everyday. It’s a topic that no one wants to talk about as it circulates around a negative social stigma; making individuals feel ashamed, unworthy, and hesitant to reach out for help. I am writing to share some of my own experiences with mental illness, hoping that it inspires others to do the same.
I’ve found myself in some very dark places throughout certain phases in my life. I trace these feelings of hopelessness and overwhelming sadness back to when I was in middle school. It’s weird to look back and think of it now because I didn’t even realize then, but it carried with me into high school, college, and now, even after college. As I journeyed through these years of school, there were moments where I couldn’t handle the hurt I was feeling inside. I thought there was something wrong with me that couldn’t be fixed. I felt stuck in my own body with a toxic mind that was unescapable. Every single day was different, but I lived in fear of how my body would react in different situations and I did my best to shield everything I was feeling because I cared so much about how others perceived me. I was terrified of how I looked on the outside to others if I felt so much pain on the inside.
Seeing a counselor was something I never wanted to do. I remember my mom setting up my first appointment and I absolutely hated it. I didn’t want to confide in some stranger that knew nothing about me. How was I going to explain everything? I told myself there was no way someone could see life through my point of view and there was no way they would ever understand. It had always been a weird concept to me; sitting in a chair and ranting about everything I hated about myself and the world, not even knowing anything about the life of the person sitting there listening to me. I wasn’t fond of the counselor I had in high school and I only ended up seeing her a handful of times. She just wasn’t the right counselor for me, but at the time I told myself I would never get another counselor again.
During my time in college, my mind retreated back to its depressed and anxious state. I didn’t want to tell my friends because I convinced myself that they didn’t care nor would understand the physical and mental weakness that I experienced on a day to day basis. I bottled everything up inside as much as I could, but it would resurface every time I had too much to drink or was too overwhelmed to hide a mental breakdown. My friends knew there was something up, but no one wanted to say anything, and I didn’t want them to say anything either.
My sophomore year of college was the year I finally acknowledged that I needed help and was going to take action to do something to help myself. I began the year by enrolling in a poetry class. I was always intrigued with writing and reading others’ work, and I knew that I was a good writer, however, I never took advantage of my talent of putting words together effortlessly. This class allowed me to express my thoughts freely on paper with no judgement or attached shame. My professor soon became one of my best mentors inside and outside of the classroom, and she inspired me to become a Creative Writing Minor. I also started going to counseling every week. The first couple of weeks I had to force myself to schedule my next appointment while I was in the office so I didn’t make an excuse to not call back for another. As I progressed on in counseling, it didn’t get any easier like I originally expected, but it gave me hope for a brighter and happier life. I had the tools and support to get through my clouded thoughts and found ways to boost my energy and mood. Flash forward three and a half years later, I still have the same counselor that willingly gave his time to help me on that dark rainy day when my world felt like it was crashing down.
Reaching out for help has saved me. It has taught me that there is someone there to listen and care and willing to offer support and help. Everyday it has challenged me to be patient and humble. It has shown me how brave I truly am as I continue to reach far out of my comfort zone. I’ve learned so much throughout my journey. I’ve learned that taking care of myself mentally and physically needs to be my top priority. I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel and experience natural emotions. It’s okay to be sad and angry and feel hopeless. I’ve learned that nothing is ever perfect nor will be. I convinced myself for so long that I was different, unlucky, unstable, and unfixable, but I know now that none of this is even close to true. Most importantly, I’ve learned that we are fragile human beings and that’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay. Everyday is a new start and a true blessing. I hope that those who come to this page are inspired to share their stories and are comforted with support that they will find here. There are always people that are willing to listen. You are not alone, you are so very special, but most importantly, you are brave and you are YOU.
xo
