I grew up watching the havoc of depression and mental illness take over people’s lives. I’ve witnessed family members have countless mental breakdowns, go in and out of hospitals and cry enough tears to fill an ocean. I was determined, to not have to deal with the same struggles as members of my family.
Little did I know, these struggles were coming for me anyway.
I went off to college filled with dreams of conquering the undergrad social scene, while dominating academics with my major in journalism. By sophomore year, I had an amazing group of friends, my own radio show at our college radio station (of which I was awarded DJ of the Year!), a great RA position and an amazing part time job. I had everything I wanted.
However, slowly but surely my mood started to change. I would feel more lonely then usual even if I was with a group of friends. I would have crying fits and no idea why I was crying. As a child constantly surrounded by mental illness, I knew what was happening to me. If you had a childhood like mine, you knew the symptoms and warning signs. It was a mental checklist in your head that never left. A checklist you used to judge your behavior against your family’s to make sure you were still “normal.”
I could have just asked for help when this all started happening. But, I didn’t. Seeking help meant I was crazy just like them. I might be many things, but crazy wasn’t going to be one of them. So, I suffered alone. I thought if I just tried harder, excelled more in academics, participated in more extracurricular activities, then maybe I would be happy again.
It didn’t work.
In fact, things just got worse.
By the end of October, I spent most of my days crying or sleeping. I hardly left my dorm room, which meant I never went to class or to my job. I was flunking out of school, gained an ungodly amount of weight and was losing friends. Everything I worked so hard for was now falling apart. It all seemed so hopeless. The only time when I would leave my room is when I went on my regular walks. I have always enjoyed going on leisurely walks outside while listening to my iPod. I forced myself to continue this routine. I had a usual route that I would walk that involved walking over a bridge.
One day I was walking over the bridge and stopped. I walked over to the edge and watched the cars zoom by below. I figured that I was so high up that if I jumped, I would die instantly from the impact. If not, then surely because of the cars hitting me. From then on, I had non-stop thoughts of how to end my life. I made a plan one night that I was ready and willing to follow.
The plan, was to slit my wrists in my dorm room. I didn’t write a suicide note, which looking back, is strange since I’m a writer. I guess I had no more words left. I had no idea how to explain to my family and friends the pain I was in. Any letter trying to give some great insight into my suffering just seemed trivial. I just couldn’t live like this anymore. End of story.
That night, I smashed a large glass vase and immediately grabbed the sharpest piece. I rubbed it gently against my wrist. Sharp, indeed.
Perfect! I thought.
However, I couldn’t go through with it. I just thought about the person that would eventually find me and that phone call someone would have to make to my mother. In hindsight, I didn’t really want to die. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing this. I just had to make a change.
I put down the piece of glass and wrote a email to the counseling center at my school. I expressed how I was depressed and worried about my well-being. I left out the part about wanting to kill myself, convinced they would send me away. I hit send on the email and then cried myself to sleep that night.
Thus, began months of intensive counseling and therapy. Sure enough, I got out of the dark hole I was in.
When I was healthy again I decided I wanted to help others who were going through similar struggles. I didn’t ask for help for so long, because of the stigma attached to mental illness. Working with great organizations like To Write Love On Her Arms, hopefully I send a message to those suffering that there is nothing to be ashamed of.
Featured Image via Deviant Art by ~lolipopek
Thanks so much for sharing! It means a lot.
Brave post, Sara. I would love to have you as a contact here in Boston and see anything else you’ve written on the topic. Drop me a line!
thank you for sharing with us about this story. I went throught the similiar experience in my teenage life, and in those moments we i lived in a small town and we didn’t have a physcologist/ counselor who could help me went through those dark moments.
Now, reflecting from your story, i want to thank my mom for being such a patient woman, guiding and taking care of me for all this time.
Thank you for writing this.
There are no words for how thankful I am for this. Thank you so much for this post.
this was so great. Thank you for sharing your story. I was very depressed in life and didn’t attempt to take my life and certainly thought about it too. It’s nice to hear that in this world we are not alone. I am so glad you are doing better. It’s been an uphill battle for me too, but I know that being happy is easier then pulling myself back down, that takes much more work. I believe your words will touch the lives of other and hopefully they will set out to ask for help. Sometimes just ONE person can make all the difference to saving us. Its what helped me.
Thanks for writing this. I have suffered all of my life from depression especially as the seasons change. I finally asked the Dr. for something to help level my chemistry. It seems to have worked to a great extent, but yesterday I had another day of depression and it was horrible and lonely.
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I struggle with this, too. Keep up the hard fight. But, please, please, please, if you’re a writer, you’ve gotta shore up those grammatical and spelling errors. A writer using then instead of than is like a surgeon removing the wrong kidney.
Thank you so much for posting this. I too had a turning point in college that made me seek help. In retrospect , I know now I was suffering since middle school. I wish TWLOHA was around during that time, maybe it would have made the stigma seem not as bad.
I don’t see depression, or anxieties, as genetically inherited; But more as situational. I also think that there’s not really a stigma at all. Being stigmatized by something as well-known as having anxieties about things is about as silly as being stigmatized for having a menstrual cycle.
I feel like titling our emotional responses, to certain factors, as having “depression” is a little bit trite.
One recent report wrote:
“Analysis, published in the June 2012 Medical Surveillance Monthly Report, showed that nearly 70 percent of all mental health problems were related to “life circumstances,” a category that includes deployment, bereavement and relationships.”
- Rebecca Ruiz, reporter at msnbc.com
Please remove my comment.
Thank you.
While some depression or anxiety are based on life circumstances, most mental illness is a combination of genetics and external triggers. I have bipolar disorder. My dad has it, my cousin has it, mental illness runs in the family. Sara wrote that things were going great and then she just felt like she was crashing. There was no “reason” for this other than the fact that, like she said, she had a genetic disposition to mental illness. As for the stigma – it still exists. One way to help break the stigma is to educate. I have friends who saw me just crumple for no reason; they saw that what was happening wasn’t in my control at all. So, please, get educated on mental illness before dismissing “most” depression and anxiety as situational. The report that you quoted from was about people in the military. That’s a specialized population.
Thank you for sharing! I was a suicide widow at 25. My best widow friend was also a suicide widow at 28. Thank you for sharing this and helping to reduce the stigma of asking for help and admitting that suicidal thoughts/tendencies/attempts doesn’t mean that you can’t recover and thrive again. THANK YOU!
Wow what an amazing piece it is soo true about not wanting getting help because of feeling like the others.. I have had depression all my life but I am getting through it as each day comes. Until of course I was in a car accident and slowly I am becoming more depressed because I don’t like leaving the house! But I thank my lucky stars I have people who are helping me through it!
I went through a similar experience in college. It hurt so bad to be unhappy. I almost took a bottle of Lortab- and realizing that I was making such a choice, the next day I made an appointment with a psychologist. I have spent the following years trying to get back on track, with my own relapses, but have found support in the most beautiful and amazing places. Thank you for sharing your story….mental health is such a misunderstood entity, when in reality, it affects so many people.
I suffer from depression as well as anxiety and panic disorders. I haven’t been able to maintain meaningful employment and the financial burden that my illness has brought to my family is too much to bare at times..
It’s important to try to stay positive, but it’s incredibly hard not to feel ashamed of having these problems – it really wears down your sense of worth. This article struck a chord with me – well written and so true.
Glad to see TWLOHA get a shout out. It’s a surprisingly important organisation and is doing a lot to remove the stigma of depression
Thank you so much for sharing that. There are A LOT of us who’ve been through it and were too afraid to ask for help or to ashamed to ask for help. The more we speak up the more others will see that they can get past this. Thanks!
Thanks for sharing! Glad to know others have felt the same way as me.