Mental health advocacy is my passion. This past year I’ve put everything I can into it by sharing my story. For a long time though, when I tried to speak about my mental health, I tended to filter my words. I would always spin what I was saying into a more positive story and ignore the truly sad and dark parts of my mental health journey. In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I would like to share my real story more widely and hopefully encourage others to do the same.
Mental health advocacy is my passion. This past year I’ve put everything I can into it by sharing my story. For a long time though, when I tried to speak about my mental health, I tended to filter my words. I would always spin what I was saying into a more positive story and ignore the truly sad and dark parts of my mental health journey. In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I would like to share my real story more widely and hopefully encourage others to do the same.
My entire life I have been a perfectionist. As far back as second grade, I would work myself into tears over slight mistakes and imperfections in my projects. Adults at school didn’t notice because of how well I performed academically. Nobody saw the tears at the dinner table, the hours upon hours studying for meaningless tests.
These problems became magnified when I entered high school. I had started playing high school sports, so I didn’t have as much time to devote to studying as I had in the past. I was overwhelmed, under pressure, and I didn’t know how to manage any of it. I withdrew socially. I had mental breakdowns and panic attacks, and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. Eventually I hit a wall that I didn’t think I could get over by myself. I told my family I needed to get real help, beyond just toughing it out.
Eventually, after some trial and error, we found a therapist who worked for me, but even with their help I was struggling. The panic attacks and breakdowns continued. Eventually, I hit a point where everything felt impossible. My mind felt like there were two people living inside of it. One of them was me, but the other was someone screaming at me, “Idiot, useless, undeserving, waste!” Months of that voice in my head made me start to believe all the negativity. I thought I didn’t deserve to be alive, and I thought that nothing would end the pain I was living with.
A few months of these rough patches, where I felt like the ground was shaking beneath me, I was diagnosed with OCD and anxiety. Dealing with that was very difficult as well. It felt like a division between me and the rest of the world as well as me and the rest of my life. These struggles became so much more permanent, much more real. Today, I still experience those “rough patches,” and I don’t know if they’ll ever stop. But I know that I won’t ever stop fighting for myself and those around me who face similar struggles.
If my story reminds you of yourself or you feel you’re heading down a frightening path, please know that whatever burden you carry isn’t too much. You are not too much, and the world is not too much for you. I implore you to share your story if you can, and if you can’t, find help. Find some way to quiet the storms inside your mind and fight to save the peace you need and deserve.
