We all have images in our mind when we think of mental illness. Most of the time, we picture people who are constantly crying, withdrawn from life, frozen with worry, or abnormally erratic. Sure, maybe some people who suffer from these disorders are like that. However, there is so much more – mental illness is more than what it looks like on the surface.
Mental illness is, first and foremost, a disorder of the mind. The mind, an organ we still struggle to understand because it’s impossible to observe directly; yet, we still hold onto the idea that we can identify people’s struggles by simply looking at them.
Take a look at the picture above. Does the girl look happy? Most would say yes. If I didn’t know better, I would say the same.
Behind the picture is a girl who is at the top of her class and deeply involved in the community around her. She runs cross country (eventually becoming a captain of the team), is president of her school’s National Honors Society, drum major of the marching band, section leader in the top concert and symphony bands, member of the Science Olympiad team, dutch dancer, and Sunday school volunteer.
Seems like she has it put together, right? Sure, she does outside, but inside is a whole different story.
As you probably guessed, that girl was me. Despite the achievements, despite the friends, despite involvement, I was never good enough.
It all started back in 7th grade health class. One of the assignments was to count the calories you each day for an entire week. Being the good student I was, I faithfully completed the assignment, obsessing over the exact number of calories that was in every single thing I put in my mouth. Unsurprisingly, I discovered I was often eating more calories than was suggested by whatever guidelines my health teacher had given us. At the time, I didn’t realize I needed those extra calories in order to grow and supply the necessary energy for my activity level. Instead, all I saw was that I wasn’t good enough.
Over the next few months, I ate less and less. It got to the point where I would eat less than 1,000 calories a day while running cross country and playing basketball and soccer. At all times, I was hungry and grumpy, yet refused to admit anything was wrong.
On top of that, I felt no joy from the activities I typically enjoyed. Playing music, one of the things that used to give me so much joy, just became another thing I wasn’t good enough at.
As expected, I lost a lot of weight over these two years. I was suffering from anorexia nervosa. At the time, I denied anything was wrong, and I refused to tell anyone about the darkness swirling around in my head. Thankfully, my mother noticed. She insisted I see a therapist, but I refused. After all, I was in control. I was okay. My mom still wouldn’t let up, so eventually I agreed to see a nutritionist.
Don’t get me wrong, the nutritionist I saw was immensely helpful. She gave me specific guidelines outlining what to eat for each meal, and it helped. I started eating a bit more, I gained weight, and my mom stopped questioning me.
But my eating habits weren’t the source of the problem. My mind was. I was constantly comparing myself to other people – my beautiful, brilliant older sisters, my friends, my acquaintances on social media. Everywhere I turned, I still wasn’t good enough. So, I pushed myself to constantly do more, to study more, to be better. I thought if I could reach some impossibly high standards for intelligence, for community involvement, for character, I would finally be happy.
I wasn’t happy. I was, most of the time, anxious and depressed. I struggled to find true joy. Mental illness was still in control of my life, but I didn’t want to tell anyone. After all, I was the girl who was supposed to have it all put together.
These feelings continued to be present in cycles over the next few years. The whole time, I was still successful. I didn’t look like someone who suffered, so I didn’t tell anyone I suffered.
And this, my friends, is why I tell you this story. I tell you so that it helps you realize that anyone can suffer from mental illness. Even if they look like they have it put together, even if you think they have no reason to be depressed or anxious, they still could be. Mental illness is more than what meets the eye. High-functioning mental illnesses are just as serious as any other type of mental illness.
So please, check on your friends. Genuinely ask them how they are, and let them know their feelings are valid. And if you are in a dark place right now and need someone to talk to, please reach out. Reach out to your friends, or contact CMU’s Counseling Center by phone (989-774-3381), by email (counsel@cmich.edu), or in person (102 Foust Hall).
As for me, I’m happy to say that I’ve finally found true peace and joy through my return to the Christian faith. I still have days where my mind fights me again and the darkness comes back, but now I have someplace to turn in those dark times. I have a God who loves me, and I have people who are there to support me.
As for you, I hope one day you can also find true joy and peace because you are worth it. You are loved. Your struggles are real, and your emotions are valid. In the words of Aibileen Clark:
You is kind.
You is smart.
You is important.