Let me start off by saying I firmly believe mental illness is overlooked. It is something tossed to the sidelines, overlooked too often as it continues to affect the lives of thousands of people each and every day.
I am one of those people.
Just the other day, as I was walking home from my friend’s apartment, I began to think about all of the things I have going on. Meetings, assignments, exams…in a single moment, it all became too much. Before I knew it, I couldn’t even breathe. I walked into my house, threw my stuff down and grabbed my chest, trying to gain control of my situation—my thoughts—again.
My first feeling was guilt. I immediately was angry with myself—why was I so upset? I had just gotten back from a scholar retreat, where I had met and grown closer to some of the most inspiring people I’ve ever interacted with. I had learned so much. I had no reason to be upset about anything. Why was I feeling this way?
That panic attack brought me back to one of my darkest times; sophomore year of college. Every morning I woke up nauseous, hands shaking, immediately experiencing stress about the day I was about to have. Whether I had a lot happening on a given day or not, I could not allow myself a moment to relax. Every class I would go to, every assignment and meeting I would have, something would always tell me I was doomed to fail. I would not succeed. That I’m stupid and won’t accomplish anything.
I’ve taken medications, gone to therapy sessions and have beaten myself up over and over again. Over the past few years, I learned how to better manage my anxiety, but I still have moments where I feel like I have gone right back to square one. It’s moments like this where I feel the most disappointed in myself, and feel guilty for the way I feel.
It’s taken a lot for me to accept myself. There are still times when I can’t. Anxiety is so much more than having too much to do all at once. It’s locking your car door even after you’ve checked it seven times. It’s replaying an embarrassing social interaction in your head, over and over again, until you convince yourself you don’t need to go anywhere else ever again. It’s your mom calling you to ask if you’re okay as you’re suppressing your tears to make sure she doesn’t have to worry about you.
If you let these things control you, they can, and they will. I feel confident enough now, however, to say that on most days, I don’t let it affect me anymore. I know that I am better than my anxiety, but I acknowledge it enough to know when I have to take care of myself. There are good days and there are bad ones. I may not have accepted my faults and myself completely yet, but I have accepted the fact that I am a work in progress. With some patience, self-love, and some self-acceptance, reaching that milestone might not be so far away.