What’s Life Without A Few Mental Breakdowns?
By: Krutika Surve
Content Writer for The Stories We Need to Hear Magazine
I never give myself enough credit. Not in my work, in my personal life, or my practice. When my mental health started to deteriorate in college, I didn’t allow myself to think that something was awry. I was a student in college. Of course, I would be stressed. Of course, I would be overwhelmed. Of course, I would be sad — I was miles away from home. What’s college without a few mental breakdowns? I would feel awful, and I never gave myself the elucidation of what I was going through. I thought I was being dramatic. I tend to be a theatrical person. Everything about my life, I have found a way to dramatize it even when I’m alone. Perhaps, this is just another example of that? At times there would be days where I would just fall apart.
When I was 17 years old, I had my first panic attack. I was hyperventilating and crying hysterically. It was because my high school art teacher didn’t allow me to put one of my paintings in my final portfolio. Ridiculous, I know. Although somehow, it triggered a reaction as I was driving back from school, causing me almost to crash my car. My dad said, “I’ve never seen you like that; I didn’t know what to do.” I didn’t have another one until my sophomore year of college when I had them every other day for various reasons. I didn’t tell anyone. After all, I was being dramatic, right?
Eventually, whatever I was feeling would affect my work, relationships, and confidence. My sense of self and worth plummeted, and I evolved into a different person. When I’d call my father, crying and hyperventilating, he would say, “you’re in college. Everyone goes through this in college.” I get that he was trying to normalize what I was feeling. I didn’t care for it, though.
What does it matter if this is what everyone goes through? The commonality of what I am going through doesn’t make it any easier for me.
My parents emigrated from India in the 90s. First, in their respective families, to do so. Let me make it clear: my parents’ immigration journey does not follow the Western propagated stories you typically hear. They weren’t living in huts and “finally got out” once they moved to the US. Their lifestyles were different than mine and my brother’s, but never less than. My parents are pretty progressive, socially, and politically. What may seem immoral and nonsensical to some, they weren’t to my parents. They acknowledge that mental health is real, which is something many Indian people disregard entirely. They worked incredibly hard to give my brother and me a fruitful life in America. We grew up with a considerable amount of privilege. It was the case where my parents would look at me and my behavior and think, “we’ve done so much for you; how could you still be unhappy?”
In my head and my parents’, depression was something different entirely. How could someone be depressed when you can have everything you want? When you have great friends? When you had a good education? When you live in a lovely town? When you go to a good university? Look at how those who are less fortunate live. How could someone, someone who has everything that you have, still be depressed? We dismissed it. Maybe I was just having a bad day.
My parents worked hard that my brother and I didn’t ever have to struggle. But they were strict, and we had to “struggle” a little bit. No work, no reward, right? So, when they saw me struggle or when I’d cry on the phone to them, this was a part of life that I needed to learn. It was a part of growing up. What’s life without a few mental breakdowns?
We brushed it off. Gradually, after years of internalizing and disclaiming, the depression had become more debilitating. Suddenly, me and the rest of the world went into lockdown. I, along with my family, saw myself at my worst. Now, I feel like I’m in too deep, and it’s taking much longer than I’d like to get to a point where I can advance in my personal and professional life without worry or doubt.
This is why mental health needs to be discussed and taught. For some reason, we as a people have been taught that struggle comes with the territory. It should be expected. In some cases, I’m sure it does. Hardships and difficulties are inevitable. There’s a lot of messed up stuff in this world that we cannot control. There’s a lot of things, such as heartbreak and grief, that are inescapable. I know that, and I know you do too. But that doesn’t mean we have to struggle consistently. Sure, it teaches us life lessons, but at what cost?
I’m not saying everything should be handed to us on a silver platter, or that life must be easy. Life is already convoluted as it is. Why add on to that when we can take care of ourselves and the people we love?
Depression is not easily avoidable or curable. It’s a disease. There are multiple biological, psychological, and environmental factors to take into account. Although, when we show signs of depression, they shouldn’t be dismissed as mere factors of life. It’s fine to be sad, to be angry and frustrated. It’s okay to be upset and anxious. But when that feeling of sadness is all we feel, something is wrong. If we lay in our bed, in complete darkness, something is wrong for days at a time. If we are crying hysterically and hyperventilating, something is wrong. It doesn’t matter if the entire world deals with it. They shouldn’t have to. Having mental breakdowns shouldn’t be normalized as part of living. If we accept that, then maybe we wouldn’t disregard it. Perhaps then we won’t see the disease at its worst? We can acknowledge that something is off and tackle it head-on, leaving the rest of our lives to be dealt with a clear mind.
