I've been wanting to share my personal story in regards to mental illness on here for a while. The reasons are to raise awareness, but also as a form of self-therapy. It seems like today seems appropriate to share. Before I do, I'd like to note that mine is one of millions. None is more important than any other, and there is no such thing as the "strongest survivor."Picturing myself five years ago from today, you would see a completely different person. I had just come out of the hospital about a month prior, due to mental illness reasons, including being at risk of suicide. I was constantly on edge, sometimes being too hyper to manager, and other times uncontrollably crying. My arm still stung with the pain of my harmful coping mechanisms.
That year I had moved to a completely different city: I had a new home, new school, new family members, and new friends. That was enough to make it hard for any teenager, but I also had been struggling with mental illness for a while. In my old school, I had to be put in a separate classroom due to daily panic attacks and social anxiety. But I had the chance to start over now. New year, new me, right?
For a while, there seemed to be long periods of time where I was okay, before it came crashing down. And that's exactly what happened. Slowly, I became to unravel until my mind became flooded with thoughts of suicide. It wasn't even the fact that I wanted to do anything, I simply couldn't get rid of the thoughts or the unbearable pain. I soon was in the hospital where I would actually be able to get some help.
This was the lowest point I had ever been in. I had some, and I knew that I had the support of my family, but when you are in that state, you are often unable to think rationally. I had the constant feeling of anxiety in my chest and I felt the immense emotional pain. And I turned to cutting to release that pain.
After coming out of the hospital, everything still seemed grey. I don't remember the exact moment that things seemed bright, it just seemed that one day I realized that my life had actually fallen into place. It was only after medication, counselling and support of loved ones that I was able to feel like there was hope for me. And that took a long time.
Later, I found strength in many like-minded friends through a group I began volunteering with called POSSE Project (which has become my inspiration). Some of them had mental illness, some of them didn't, but all of them had a passion for social justice. I began spending my time involved in something greater than myself.
Today, I am far from perfect. I still take medication, and I still need to rely on support, whether it be family, friends, or even professionals. I live with anxiety and bipolar disorder, and I've learned to except it and to cope with it positively. It's a part of me, but it isn't me. I am defined by a million other things, like my passion for creating community change, or the joy I get from writing, or my probably-too-much love of television shows. I, like millions of others deal with mental illness. It's real, but it doesn't define anyone.
I hope that someone reading my story might find that they feel less alone. Or that someone else feels more aware of the issue. Because although what I've gone through is something very significant to me, other people have equally significant stories too. I encourage everyone to reflect on that. To realize both the struggles and strengths that those who deal or have dealt with mental illness face, and that all those labels are far from accurate. It shouldn't a taboo topic. It's real. Let's create a community of support for those around us.
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