Let’s talk about something that isn’t glamorous or funny or “college-esque" for a minute. There aren't going to be cute gifs of puppies, or funny quotes from "The Office," or inspiring pictures of our beloved football team in this article, but (spoiler alert), I promise it has a happy ending. Let’s talk about mental illness.

All throughout high school and certainly into college, I watched countless presentations, listened to dozens of speakers, and received absurd amounts of pamphlets on one topic: mental illness. Coming in to college, I felt like I knew the signs and causes of mental illness like the back of my own hand. I felt so bad for those people; it must be horribly awful and sad to go through something like that. It must just tear you apart to have such a heavy weight on your shoulders all the time. It certainly could never happen to me, I’ve always been such a laid back and under-control person. I know that could never happen to anyone around me. They’re all so normal and happy and active; mental illness only plagues people who don't have a good family or friends or have a good life… right?

Wrong.

It’s any given afternoon. I’m sitting in class and I’ve just eaten lunch. It starts in my chest. It’s a little difficult to breathe and my throat feels pretty tight. I start to feel a little nauseous, but nothing too alarming. I take deep breaths and drink a little water to try and make it go away, but it seems to get a little worse each minute. Maybe I didn’t eat enough lunch; I’ll eat a little snack. Oh man, that definitely wasn’t the right thing to do; now I definitely feel nauseous. It’s flowing over me in waves, each one hitting me twice as hard as the last.

Whoa… what is that sound?

It’s my heart. It feels sore and exhausted; it's about to explode out of my chest. Oh gosh, can other people hear it? I hope not, that would be so awkward. What’s the problem here? Maybe I walked too fast to class or didn't leave myself enough time from when I ate to when I walked over here. Whatever is causing it, it rings so loud in my ears that I can’t even hear what my professor is saying. I’m in the very front row, but their words are miles away from me. Oh no, get up; get up NOW and run to the bathroom, because you’re about to throw up in front of your entire class.

What is WRONG with me?

I’m in the bathroom preparing to see my lunch again, but it never comes. Well, I think to myself, I can’t just stand here in the bathroom with class going on, I need to get back. I go outside the bathroom and — WHOA, I can barely stand up, my whole body is shaking and I can’t see straight. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but somehow, I make it back inside to my seat. I have indigestion, my throat is burning like a thousand suns. I always eat those granola bars, why are they deciding to bother my stomach right now?

I sit down.

I put my hand to my forehead, because I MUST have a fever, something is seriously wrong with me here. Geez, it feels like I just got out of the shower. There are beads of sweat running down my face and my shirt is completely soaked through. I’m so embarrassed, I hope that nobody notices this happening. Do other people feel like this?

The worst is coming next.

I’m trapped. I am deathly afraid and I have no idea why. I feel as though I am going to die. Not like, “oh, I have a math exam and three papers and a speech due tomorrow” kind of die but “the entire world is closing me into a tiny box and I’m suffocating I am physically and emotionally feeling that my life is about to end” kind of die. The universe is crashing down on my mind and my mind can’t escape my body and my body can’t escape my chair or my classroom or my school or my state or my life. I can't slow down, I can’t breathe, I can't BREATHE, I can’t swallow, I can’t see straight, I’m going to throw up, but I need to take these notes on the material we’re going to have a test on next week and I can’t miss my next class, I’m an Honors student, we don't miss class.

After two more hours of these explosive feelings (or realities, I really have no idea what’s happening)…

I’m finally home and there’s still a dull feeling of dizziness, nausea, and pain in my head and chest. I crawl into bed and call my mom, telling her I had yet another bad day. She tells me she’s sorry, but that she isn’t sure what’s wrong with me; I would just have to wait until I got home to see my doctor. Only the worst thoughts are circulating through my mind. What if I have a tumor in my brain that is causing my body to react in this violent way? The waiting is literally killing me…

So, back to what I was saying earlier: normal people could never suffer from mental illness, right? Well, I know that I’m different and quirky and certainly my own independent person, but for the most part, I would consider myself normal. And for six weeks, I endured at least one of the three hour episodes I mentioned above every. Single. Day. So what the heck is it, anyway? Well, it’s a panic attack, and I have been diagnosed with panic disorder. I am a very brave and confident person, and this is by far the scariest thing I have ever endured in my short life. Although I was scared before I became diagnosed, I became more scared once I knew what dark grip anxiety had on my heart and my mind.

I didn’t want to go to school anymore. I didn’t want to talk to people, I didn’t want to do anything or be involved with anything. I was horrified that I would be in the middle of something and an attack would strike. It didn’t matter what I was doing, whether it was laying in bed watching Netflix or during an exam; these attacks do not discriminate. I was ashamed of the medication I would have to start taking, embarrassed and worried about the stigma associated with those drugs. I just made new friends in my first semester, I didn't want to ruin those relationships by being the "crazy" one. I just wanted to get better, but I didn’t think I ever would.

I looked myself in the mirror and decided that I had to make a decision.

I could choose the easy route: anxiety. Now, by no means is this road “easy,” per se, but it is definitely easier than the alternative option. I could just give in to my body’s reactions and pray that they would pass without killing me or preventing me from breathing. I could avoid my medicine and avoid the stigmas about mental illness and just try to keep my mind off of it. Eventually, I'm sure it might go away...

Or…

I could choose me. I could choose to fight the steepest uphill battle I’ve encountered in my life. I could choose to learn special breathing techniques to make sure my brain was getting enough oxygen during these episodes. I could talk on the phone with my psychiatrist at least twice a week about how I was doing. I could take my daily medicine and always carry around my emergency medicine with me and just let science do what it was designed to do, no matter how tired and dull it made me. I could decide that I was greater than any kind of illness, physical or mental. I could become stronger and smarter than I ever thought I could and be able to teach others about my experience once I overcame my problems because I knew that if I worked hard enough, I could. I could choose me, so I did.

So, with finals coming up, the important message I want to share with you (which is brilliantly coined from signs all over my campus, wahoo, go TCU, they really love their students!) is that it’s okay to not be okay. Life, especially in college, is really stressful. Our bodies just aren’t made to handle constant, obscene amounts of stress and worry, so it’s okay to take a break. It’s okay to ask for help and to tell someone you don’t feel well. There is absolutely NOTHING to be embarrassed about, in fact, I feel proud for overcoming my panic disorder. It takes such incredible strength to not give up when you wake up with the fear of dying every single day for a long time.

It’s okay to have bad days, but it isn’t okay to have only bad days. For a long time, all I had was bad days, but this began in September and here I am in December, three weeks attack-free. I feel strong, I feel safe, and I feel proud.

So, here’s the end of my long-winded speech. It’s okay to not be okay. If given the choice between anxiety and yourself, choose yourself. It is the best decision you will ever make.