In honor of last week’s Winthrop Tri Sigma’s event #sigmabreaksthestigma, I wanted to share my story about how I found out about my mental illness, what has tortured me since then and how I have learned to deal with it.
To be honest, this is not a clean and happy story. There are some sensitive parts of this story that may need to be skipped over if necessary.
One night, I was home alone. It was my junior year of high school. My sister Ashley was with her boyfriend, and my mom was working late for a big proposal the next morning, which I didn’t know. Something in the house spooked me and I began to panic. Was there someone in the house? Outside? In the garage? At the front door? Where did this sound come from? Why was mom not home? What do I eat for dinner? Is it too late to eat dinner? What time was it anyway? My mind was swimming with questions. The tears began to flow.
I started rocking back and forth. I began to whimper, confused about what was happening and why it was happening to me. Mum comes in the door and calls out my name, unsure of my location in the house. All she heard was crying. She approached me, filled with worry. I was sitting on the bathroom floor bawling my eyes out. She started to ask me questions. I could not stand to be touched. I was crying too hard to answer. “Did you eat anything,” she asked. I just kept rocking back and forth, crying.
Eventually I was moved to sitting on the edge of her bed. She got me water to drink to stop crying and bread to nibble on. At this point, I managed to get words out. I couldn’t even begin to tell what happened and why. I told her that I heard some strange sounds and since I was home alone, I started to panic. Here I am, an 18 year old, and I am terrified of a broom falling in the garage. (Yes, the strange sound was a broom, a very scary broom). I now laugh about being scared by a broom, but I don’t laugh about the broom starting something that changed my life. A week later, I went in to see the doctor and I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder and G.A.D. or General Anxiety Disorder.
I take pills daily in fear of another panic attack, unsure of how I would handle another one. For a while, I walked around living in fear of having a panic attack in public and I still do to this day. I have found so many things to cope with this fear. Some good and some more harmful than helpful. These harmful things were caused by depression. My depression has made my anxiety SO much worse. I would hide behind my depression day in and day out. I would skip classes because I was too sad to get out of bed and socialize.
I let my diagnosis become my identity.
Throughout college, my disorders were a rollercoaster ride. Occasionally, my bubbly personality would shine through and then the next day I am crying myself to sleep because I’m not good enough or a failure. After my worst breakup (If you read my article about Long Distance Military Relationships), I did self-harm and I tried to commit suicide. OVER A BOY. The belt was around my neck and I was ready to put all my pain and suffering to rest. I thought that the world would be better off without me. My parents wouldn’t be in debt from me attending college. I wouldn’t be a burden to them any longer. I wouldn’t have to worry about heartbreak. I thought so many problems would disappear once I did. The cuts along both wrists told anyone they really didn’t know me. “I must get the pain out,” I would say. Winthrop police came in just in time and took the belt from off my neck and embraced me in a big hug. Tears began to flow, uncontrollably. Since then, I have started to attend counseling every month and seeing the on-campus psychiatrist for antidepressants. Venting, crying, and coping strategies have been constant visitors in our meetings. Every step counts towards acceptance. Acceptance that you can get help and get better. Acceptance of yourself, that you are enough. You are pretty, not too fat or pale. Acceptance that there are so many people out there in my life who care infinite amounts about me. Acceptance that I am not a failure and that I am just being more meticulous about the path I choose. I am proud to be who I am, the tough roads I have been through because I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t. After participating in the multiple events held by #sigmabreaksthestigma, I now cry at how far I have come to get where I am. I am thankful I did not choose to end my life that day.