7 YEARS / MY MENTAL HEALTH
17:38
I thought I would write this when I'm going through an anxiety attack because it's when the emotions are most real and most vivid. It's 11.40pm and I am lying in bed listening to the rain raging against my window. I'm in bed. Warm and familiar. I am still aware of that, aware of the softness of the mattress against my back. But my body is not comfortable. My mind is not at ease. My heart is racing and I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, I feel like I am about to explode. I suck a breath in, again and again. It does nothing. I want to scream, I want to stand in front of a particular person and scream hateful words at them until I am an empty, deflated balloon.
What is panicking me you might ask? A Facebook like. Even typing that has me cringing. You the person reading this must be laughing at me. 'What is wrong with this girl?', you might be thinking.
Or maybe you understand. Maybe you know how easily social media can send a person into panic mode or cause the anxiety to rear up like an angry, hissing snake. I am 23 years old and I have suffered with mental health issues since I was 16 years old. Seven years. Almost a decade. Seeing the figure stresses me out too because it's both a reminder of how far I've come and yet a sickening realisation that I have so far to go to get to where I want to be.
I've wanted to write this piece for a while. I was afraid to, afraid of what strangers might think. Worried that I'll get a text from a friend or family member asking why I wrote this. Knowing that people I spend time with will read this and think of this post when they see me standing in front of them. It's too much, some will say. Keep it to yourself. Perhaps I should. Maybe this is the wrong idea. I suppose I am writing this to give an honest account of what it's like to be me
It's not a cry for help or a written desire for pity. It's just my way of asking for more discussion about mental health, more openness. Perhaps one person will read this and realize that they aren't the solitary figure blundering their way through life, that I too share their struggle.
I have this ingrained self belief that I am to blame for everything. I am let go from a job after a few weeks because they don't have enough hours to offer me. My fault, I'm not good enough. (Even though it has nothing to do with me). A housemate's harmless reminder to the rest of us to keep the house tidy? My brain tells me that it's me, I am the sole one who has made the house untidy and it is completely my fault. (It was a gentle reminder. Wasn't a big deal). Someone I love mistreats me time and time again. Clearly I deserve this. I did something wrong. (It's actually not you, it's them) Because I am now aware of this self blaming attribute of my mental health, I can try argue with it, put my hand over the mouth of my mind and tell it no, I am not the horrible person you tell me I am.
It doesn't work very often. Who can say that they truly like themselves? If that is the case with you I commend you for your self love.
When I am going through my worst days, I am the most horrible person to be around. Any harmless comment is enough to set me off. Shouting and screaming. Crying. The worst part is when the feeling of emptiness swallows me whole and I feel like the whole world is multicoloured perfect and I am just grey, grey, grey. I don't take care of myself when I am like this. I don't eat. My mental health is not an excuse for harsh words, but it turns me into a monster anyways.
My life isn't all bad, believe it or not. There are plenty of moments when I wake up in the morning and I feel okay. I see the sun coming through the window and it sort of fills me up with a golden light. The world looks better when it's sunny. I surround myself with art, music and people that make me laugh, teach me something new and fill me with wonder. I see good in places where some might not. I see the happiness in small things, a shoot growing up out of the soil in spring. Making a friend laugh, listening to a new song for the first time. I am often full with a pain I don't understand, but sometimes I can push it aside and enjoy living. It is a gift believe it or not. I can walk, I can see, I can speak. I am not a victim for suffering what I suffer. I am not someone to be pitied. Anyone of my friends who struggle with their mental health will tell you the same. There are many of them, let me tell you. It doesn't make us less worthy of love. Maybe it should remind me to love those around me that little bit harder because they experience first hand the wrath of someone who often sees the world through black tunnel vision. They put up with the chaos of emotions that come with it.
My advice? Do not bottle up those feelings of pain. Speak them. Express them in the best way you know how. I express myself best through word and now I am exploring my world through photography. Maybe for you, that is music, listening to the way the music rises and falls. Maybe you create your own music. Perhaps you thrive being around other people. Maybe nothing is better than gasping for breath after an intense run. Cry. Let yourself cry. Man, woman or whoever you identify as, let yourself cry. Speak. Tell your parents, tell your friends. Tell a stranger, a psychotherapist. The idea of it is horrific, it makes you want to vomit, but once you do, I swear it makes the load that little bit easier.
My struggle with mental health is not the same as someone else's. It is no more special than anyone else's. I am not a hero. This is purely my experience. No two people experience ill mental health the same way. Do I see a light at the end of the tunnel? Not always. But what I do have is a hope and that alone is enough to keep me going when things are really bad. So if you, like me, are suffering please do not keep it to yourself. There is a way out, I am on that path and you can be too. Ireland still has a long way to go in terms of mental health. I just know that I am more than my mental health, I am not just a girl who struggles with mental health issues, I am so much more than that and I won't let it beat me.
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