"The struggle is real." The motto that has defined every person's life from the beginning of their college career to the time they take their last breathe. Work, school, personal responsibilities, personal relationships and trying to find the time to even relax becomes a balancing act. Let's add in other complications, one very common one, having a mental illness while balancing every damn thing you have on your plate. That balancing act you had before, becomes a full-on circus complete with clowns and trapeze artists doing flips over your head. No one ever knows the circus came to town because you're too afraid to tell anyone the struggle. You just nod when they ask you if you're okay and say, "I'm fine." A phrase that always means the complete opposite because telling people there are trapeze artists bouncing around in your head is weird, unheard-of and that your struggle will never be understood because of the stigma placed around mental illness.
If you were to look on my left arm you would see the words Trust Your Struggle tattooed on my forearm. It's a constant reminder to me that my struggles in life have helped me become the person I am today. I am frequently asked about my tattoo. It's always a conversation-starter for acquaintances. I used to be very shy about the meaning, not really knowing if the person would really want to the true meaning of my tattoo. Now, I'm more than happy to share it because I am who I am and I'm a damn strong individual.
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Since I was twelve, I've battled with the struggle of growing up with mental illness. I have anxiety, struggle with depression and I have post-traumatic stress disorder. You would never really know it if you talked to me that I have a mental illness. I do not act like I have one, especially if you're looking at me and do not really know me. The only ones who really know how I am are my close friends and my family. How my struggles consume me and my depression engulfs me is something I never want to show people.
Lets just set the scene, when I was twelve I was awkward as hell. I was not the cutest bitch on the block, but hey, I was in middle school and that is always the growing period in life. I was also raped at that age, which sprouted the post-traumatic stress disorder. I did not tell anyone I was assaulted after it happened. I waited about four years and told my current boyfriend at the time. We were sixteen and what sixteen-year-old would understand that? Telling him created a domino effect and I finally told my mom, who told my oldest sister. My oldest sister had been assaulted as well, so, I got to stay with her. She told me a motto that would stay with me for the rest of my life, "You can tell everyone, or you can tell no one." That has been the single most important slogan I could live by. No, I am not happy or joyful over my past struggle. I know though, that I could be just as beneficial in another survivor's life as my sister was for me. I could help someone be a survivor.
The aftermath of my assault is an ordeal I still struggle with daily. I have anxiety and depression, and sometimes it's hard for me to even deal with myself. The trust issues I have are crippling, and if I consider myself close to you, well give yourself a medal. I used to let my assault define me to a point to where I could not communicate with anyone. I used to cut to help ease my pain instead of talking to anyone. I mainly did cut on my left arm and my legs. When a flashback or a bad day came my way, I slashed my body. That physical pain took away some of the emotional pain. Never the full amount.
Every scar on my left arm told a story. Whether it was a bad day, a bad dream, feeling utterly useless or even just doing it because all the stress was getting to me. Those stories showed how my struggles are building up my strength, so one day I won't need that piece of glass to make me feel better; I would have the ability to cope in a healthier way. Just because the world stereotypes mental illness as crazy, well, that just what it is. A stereotype. There is zero truth within a stereotype.
The honest truth is that mental illness is very common. If you do not think anyone understands your struggle, look again. If you are struggling, find someone that will help you with your struggle. My personal saviors during this time were my son, whether he knows how much his giggle has lifted up my soul, and my friends. I do not cut anymore. I go to my support group when depression gets to me.
With every struggle is the voice of reason. If anyone is dealing with crippling mental illness, go to someone. Anyone. You are worth more than this pain and struggle. With that said, trust that struggle. Your struggle will make you a badass. You are more than a stereotype, the struggle and the pain. You are more than the scars on your body. You are you. The story you have is unforgettable. Trust your struggle and let it guide you to success.
