Stigma made me feel like I was trapped in a solitary confinement unit.

By: Katherine

Stigma made me feel like I was trapped in a solitary confinement unit every time I wanted to ask for help. I don’t want anyone else to experience that feeling of being alone, embarrassed, worried, or as if you are in the wrong. It is so important to have conversations and share stories to understand that we all struggle, and that is okay. I am Katherine, and I have depression, and for years struggled more with the fear of admitting that to myself of a professional than the actual illness itself. Here is how I realized that I am not alone and that seeking help is perfectly normal.

Growing up, I would get these on and off mood swings. Sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I felt sad when there was no reason to feel that way. Sometimes I felt like I was better off not even existing at all. I had a tough time getting out of bed many mornings before school. I couldn’t focus on the activities I loved when this wave of sadness came over me.

I was very social in high school, and I loved my friends more than anything. Most of my friends from high school I still have kept in touch with nearly eight years later, and they probably didn’t even realize I had depression until about a year ago when I finally decided to seek help and talk to them. I was at an all-time low where often, I didn’t want to be alive at all. I fantasized about ways I could end my life in the most painless way possible. I would be able to sleep forever.

When I began college, I went through a period of being incredibly homesick. I was in a new state, with new people, without my bed at home, without my routine, and without any support I was used to seeing every day. I was terrified, so I threw myself into as many social activities as possible. I joined a sorority, went to as many date parties as I could get an invite to (even from a random boy I hardly knew), joined a club volleyball team, and got less than five hours asleep most nights. I was immersed in the culture of binge drinking and then sleeping off the hangover through classes the next day. My grades were hardly passable, and slowly I noticed myself sinking emotionally.

Some days I would feel this intense urge to end it all. Some days I would cry and cry until someone texted me asking to get drinks. I had friendships, but all I could think about was how I could convince everyone around me to believe that I was “normal.” I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak. I couldn’t be the girl that was “crazy” or “messed up.”

On the night of Halloween, I found myself leaving the party alone and ending up back in my dorm room drunk and sad. I can’t describe this feeling of emptiness or how badly I wanted to stay at the party and be happy.

Why couldn’t I be satisfied with my life? What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I like every other college girl? Why did I have this curse over me, and how was I supposed to ever be happy? I felt like it was time to give up and not experience this torture anymore.

The day after Halloween, my life took an unexpected turn. One of my new friends at school asked if I wanted to get lunch, and we headed to this cute taco place by campus. Once we arrived and ordered, I noticed something was a little off with my friend. This girl was always the life of the event and very outgoing to everyone around her, so it was apparent when something was going on. Suddenly, she broke down in tears and told me she was struggling with anxiety and would leave school for the last month of the semester to get help. When I heard this news, I was shocked. I was surprised that there was someone else out there who was having a hard time, just like me. I had assumed that this friend was perfectly happy, and I had also been envious of her wonderful seeming life. I comforted her and told her it was okay and that I would be there for her. I also admitted to her that I struggled to live, and she said, “me too.”

When my friend left for the rest of the semester, something changed inside me. I decided that I, too, wanted to get help. I also decided to be more open with my friends and family about what was going on. My friend had put this idea in my head that maybe other individuals were going through what I was going through, and perhaps we could all help each other.

I began to see a therapist and a doctor, and my world became lighter. I told my close friends what I was going through, and bricks dropped from my shoulders. Finally, I could breathe again. I wasn’t holding this dark secret with me, and now that I had support, I started believing that life was worth living.

I started advocating for mental health within my sorority, and other girls shared their stories with me. We ended up creating this safe space for girls to talk about their mental health, and each story just stayed within the sorority. I was astonished at how many girls I thought had a perfect life struggled.

I want to make one thing clear. I am not a burden to my own life anymore. I enjoy living and what I have to offer this world, but my days aren’t always happy. I still struggle to get up some mornings. I still can feel a little low out of nowhere. My mental health has come so far, but it is okay that I still have bad days or slip-ups. It is okay if you do too. We are in this together, and no one has the perfect Instagram life. The next time you wish you had that person’s life because yours seems so “lame” in comparison, know that another person is out there looking at your life and wishing they had what you have.