If you were to ask anyone inside my social circle to describe me in one word, you might expect to hear answers like the following: bubbly, loveable, kind, generous, blunt. Despite all of those wonderful adjectives, I can only describe myself with one word—inadequate.
Inadequate: lacking the quality or quantity required; insufficient for a purpose.
My actions don’t make people disappointed in me, but they don’t do anything to make them proud of me, either. I’m not ugly, but I am not beautiful.
In a room full of people, you may not even notice me unless you’re actively trying to seek my presence. I am invisible.
You may be thinking, “Okay, but what about all of the words that your friends use to describe you? None of those correspond to what you think of yourself.”
And you’d be right: they don’t.
When I was in high school, I began noticing that my mental health was starting to affect the way I live my life. I couldn’t order food at a restaurant without being immensely uncomfortable and nervous and when it came to opportunities in school, I allowed them to slip through my fingertips because I felt as if I wasn’t good enough to accomplish them.
I would beg my mom to take me to the doctor to get tested for anxiety, but for years I heard the
same answers.
No, you’re just shy.
No, you’re just too stressed.
No, you’re just lazy.
Being stressed isn’t the same as having anxiety.
You’re fine.
When I got to college, things got a lot worse. Multiple times a month, I would have mental breakdowns and my mind was always racing to the point that I couldn’t sleep at night. It became normal for me to not be able to fall asleep until five in the morning. Melatonin doesn’t do a thing anymore because I built a tolerance against it after taking over 100 mg every night.
While college wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be, it stressed me out more than I was prepared for. Between classes, work, and numerous extracurriculars, I felt as if my life was spiraling out of control. To make matters worse, my anxiety made me overthink even the smallest things. For example, if I made a snide, sarcastic comment to someone and then didn’t talk to them for a while afterwards, my brain would keep me up at night, telling me that I was a terrible person and that it was my fault if I lost a friend because of it.
I went to the doctor because I wanted to get some sleep. I wanted to fall asleep shortly after my head hit the pillow instead of staying up until five a.m. My racing mind kept me up until the sun began to shine for the day. My grades were slipping, and I was always irritated from lack of sleep. When I explained to the Nurse Practitioner what was going on, the first thing she said was, “Sounds like you may have anxiety” before giving me a mental health survey.
It turns out, I did have anxiety. It was honestly such a relief getting confirmation in something that I was suspicious of for such a long time. When I was put on medication, I started getting great nights of sleep, my attendance at school improved, and my spirits really lifted.
Of course, with this medication, I’d noticed side effects if I took it at a different time or skipped it for a day. If I took my meds at an off-time (usually four hours later than I usually did), I would experience anxiety attacks at work. I’m not sure if anyone even noticed the episodes, but I luckily have a great management system who understood and put me in a part of the store where I could move more freely.
When an anxiety attack hits, I feel tension: first in my legs, then it spreads to the rest of my body. I want to lie down but, of course, I can’t just lay on the floor. I start to hyperventilate and I clutch my chest because the pressure of my hand calms me down.
I began having more episodes of depression and lost motivation to get out of bed in the morning. My grades started to slip once again because no matter how much I wanted to, I had absolutely no motivation to face the day. I explained to one of my professors about my current situation, explaining to him that I was still getting used to my medication but it would take a while. He told me not to miss any more classes or else I would fail.
I’ve missed two classes since then and don’t have the option to change my grade to a pass/no credit.
My family is the kind that doesn’t really believe in mental illnesses or disorders. Whenever I was having a depressive episode, my mother would come into my room, calling me lazy and telling me that I had no reason to feel sad, that her childhood was a lot worse than I would ever experience. I learned not to go to my family with my problems because the only thing I would receive in return was judgement. Sure, I have my friends, but all of their problems were much worse than mine and I didn’t feel adequate enough to go to them for support.
As I’ve grown older and my mental health has declined, my self-confidence sank to what seemed like the bottom of the ocean floor.
Not to sound egotistical, but I know I’m not ugly. When I do my makeup and actually take care of myself, I know that I look amazing. I also have a big heart: I care more about others than I care about myself. If my friends were blackout drunk, I wouldn’t even hesitate to take care of them and make sure they have a safe night.
Maybe it’s my anxiety talking, but I don’t see many people who would do the same for me.
If anyone reading this is going through the same thing as me, please know that it’s crucial to find a group of friends to be your support system. The most important thing I’ve done for myself was telling someone I’m struggling. Don’t be afraid to reach out for help because things will always get better.