Mental Illness Week

I know I'm a little late, but I want to recognize Mental Health Awareness week. The purpose of this week is to educate and increase awareness of mental illness. So, I want to do my part. I've had my own battles with mental illness. Specifically, I have a history of depression and anxiety.

The first time I suffered from depression was my freshman year of high school. However, I was never officially diagnosed and never went to a counselor for it. Stressors seemed to continuously pile on. Transitioning into high school meant playing less sports I loved and being surrounded by more people who were better than me in areas I had previously been a top performer in. Adding to this, I felt an increasing distance between me and my grade school friend circle. As we all started making new friends, I noticed how I increasingly heard names everyone but me recognized and shared stories about. To cap it off, my grandpa was diagnosed with and quickly died from pancreatic cancer.

Once he passed, I realized how I had only told one of my friends that he even had cancer. The others found out when I was picking out my funeral outfit. At home, my brother was a wreck. I felt I had to be strong there so my parents could focus on him, not comforting two children. At school, I clung to normalcy thinking that would keep me afloat. Instead, I became mostly silent at the lunch table. There were maybe three people I was mildly honest with about how I was doing. My baseline was a tad above numb. Walks home from the bus stop involved talking with Grandpa, imagining how I would want my funeral to look, and what the people in my life would think if some freak accident happened that I wouldn't survive (side note: these imaginings never involved me actively doing something to result in my death). I was not ok, and I knew it. But I didn't desire to seek out help.

So what changed? It all started with a mission trip. I recognized that in clinging to normalcy and trying to passively fight the friendship drift, I had been trying to attach labels to myself. I wanted to fit into some description that was not me thinking that would fix me. But sitting at the foot of the cross in the dimly lit gymnasium, I realized Christ died for being exactly who he was - choosing not to deny it. That I would not face the same fate, so I have no reason to be afraid. When I got home, I felt that I had been transformed. I wanted to reach out to my new friends. Although I still didn't want it to happen, I was at peace with drifting from my previous core friend group. My head was a place I loved being in again. I felt joy, and it did not go away.

Fast forward five years to my sophomore year of college. If anyone were to ask me what year I would not particularly want to relive, it'd be that one. Again, I found stressors piling on: two leadership positions, 17 credits, research, an on-campus job, and being involved in 3 student orgs. Again, there were problems within my core friend group. Dishonesty, people becoming who they had rolled their eyes at the year before, and less of a desire to do the fun things that were primary stress relievers for me. All of these things combined led to me developing anxiety.

I had never personally experienced anxiety before, so I didn't know how it felt. Every day started ok, but by the time my first class rolled around my mind would run in circles. By lunch, pressure developed in my chest that wouldn't go away until I called it a night. As my life and friendships felt more out of my control, I began noting the days I felt close to content. By the time my birthday came around, I was having weekly breakdowns. In the room by myself, it was common for me to pace in circles as if that would counteract the thoughts gaining velocity in my head. While my family and friends back home were aware of what was happening, it was another month before anyone in Eau Claire knew. My friends had been waiting for me to break, not realizing it had already happened.

Once they found out, I started counseling on campus. My assessment scored high on anxiety (surprise, surprise) and I was diagnosed with high-functioning depression. The therapist there helped me see the extent to which my desire to excel in academics and the friend group dynamics contributed to my mental health. At a retreat, I learned how much I let academics dominate my time; afterward, giving it up to God (something I never considered before) and letting friends take me from schoolwork sometimes. My core friend group came together after everyone learned how I was doing. We all acknowledged how we were unhappy with the group dynamic and worked to change that. And slowly, the depression lifted. By the time a year had passed, I also no longer battled anxiety.

This is my story. My heart still bears the scars of the pain I suffered in both of these periods. But I learn from them. I learn where my weaknesses lie and how to relate to others' pain. Yes, my battles were relatively short compared to others I know. For that, I am blessed. But I also know that mental illness is mental illness - no matter how long or severe. If you are struggling, please tell someone. You are not a burden.

“Promise me you’ll always remember — you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” — Christopher Robin