Have you ever been lost? Whether it be you took the wrong turn down a street, wandered off the trail during a hike or swam out too far that there was nothing but ocean around you. You feel out of place--distraught you may never find your way back. When you're physically lost, you can easily call for help, re-type the address in the GPS, etc., but what do you do when you lose yourself in your own mind?
I'm sure you've heard the truth and reality of mental illness; anxiety, depression, etc. Or, you have heard the negative stigma and stereotypes that come along with mental illness, that supposedly, anyone who is diagnosed with depression "will just get over it" or someone who experiences anxiety is just "crazy." However, I am not afraid to speak up for those who are too afraid and silent.
When I went back to college for my sophomore year, I knew I hadn't been myself in a long time. Every day, something seemed to go wrong. Even if nothing was wrong, I still found myself crying, sometimes to the point where I had to leave class because I couldn't hold it in. I became sick all the time and slept more than usual. My boyfriend at the time and I would fight, which is something I hardly ever do with anyone, and I didn't even enjoy doing things I normally liked doing. I felt like I didn't have support from anyone and no one understood me, but how do you approach someone and say, "I think I have depression," without them thinking you're insane or dramatic?
I'll never forget the weekend in October 2014. I officially felt like a zombie, lost in the darkness. I tried turning to partying to help numb the pain, but the next day, it was always there waiting for me. At that point, I really just wanted to give up. I remember sobbing uncontrollably in my car and even calling the suicide hotline for some form of guidance. I knew I needed help, but I couldn't bring myself to it. Perhaps my time on this earth was up.
Somehow that night, I fell asleep--probably from crying. I felt so weak, and I questioned what else I had to live for. After waking up in the middle of the night, again, sobbing uncontrollably, I gave myself an ultimatum; all I wanted to do was talk to the one person who may understand--my father. My relationship with him wasn't always perfect, but it was worth a shot. If he didn't answer the phone, I would attempt suicide.
I truly believe God and all of my guardian angels were looking out for me that night, because after ringing and ringing, my father picked up the phone in the middle of the night. He talked me through and understood exactly what I had been feeling. For once over the past few months, I didn't feel like such an outcast who had to explain herself.
Ever since that night, I have committed to making my life worth living and myself the best person I can be. It's been anything but short and easy, but it's been so incredibly rewarding. I have found my passion for social work and helping others with the same struggles, and would like to do some work with To Write Love On Her Arms and The Semicolon Project, both of which promote mental wellness in young people.
Sometimes, I look back on that night and think if I had committed suicide. I would never see my family or friends again, or feel sand beneath my toes and hear waves of the ocean at the beach, I would never taste Starbucks iced coffee again or watch my favorite shows on Netflix. It sounds silly, but when you become that close to death, you are thankful for even the smallest things that make life wonderful.
Your past will never define you. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel, and never be ashamed or afraid to admit you need help because you are more than enough and you are to accomplish great things in your life. I am living proof this is true, I promise.
(If you or someone you know is struggling emotionally, please call 1-800-273-TALK(8255) for guidance.)
