TMI

I don't usually talk about these issues publicly, for a number of reasons. One is that I don't like it when I share a part of myself and someone takes it the wrong way or forms a blanket judgment of me as a person based on only one part of who I really am. I ask that when you read this, you'll appreciate that this is only one piece of me. Another is that my history is inevitably intertwined with others' and I feel a responsibility to respect their privacy when sharing my story. However, years of being quiet do not erase reality, and as it is my life, too, I feel that it is alright to share it here.


I like to knit and share recipes and organizational tips, etc. That's one side of who I am. That's the side of myself I've tried to embrace and cultivate over the last year or so because that's the healthy side of me. It's the side that can be happy and appreciate simplicity and enjoy life. I also have an ambitious side that is most easily seen in the way I conduct myself on campus and in the classroom-- I don't like to be anything but perfect in the the classroom. In fact, part of my identity is being perfect in the classroom. It's an identity that I clung to as a kid and I never really could let it go as an adult.

But I also have a side that I'm not so proud of, that I don't usually talk about with strangers, and that most people may not understand. I have a side of myself that is mangled with anxiety and depression, a combination that leaves me hyperventilating one minute, and then unable to speak the next. I can easily transform from perfectly content to absolutely hopeless in a matter of minutes. And I've been doing it since I was 11 years old.

I don't know how to talk about my depression and anxiety from an objective standpoint, and I don't know how to talk about it when it's happening until it gets to a point where I have to talk about it to save my own life. I don't know how to ask for help, and I have trouble accepting it when it's given. I tend to wait until it's a matter of survival, for a number of reasons.

I grew up in an environment that was emotionally unpredictable and, technically, emotionally abusive. I have made peace with that environment in many ways, and I have maintained and nurtured the relationships which were damaged from it-- but the scars don't just fade away. Almost every romantic relationship I've had has been colored with emotional instability, psychological instability, and volatile endings. In the last couple of years I have actively worked to get beyond my upbringing and to try to stop letting the past affect my present. In most ways I have been successful, but it has always been a hard fight.

The largest area that still needs a lot of work is learning how to trust anyone when I am struggling with my depression. Those are the moments where I am 100% vulnerable, and if I judge the person to be anything less than genuine or concerned, I throw my walls up and I shut myself off. In split seconds, I either reach across the gap and create a place where I can have a much needed healthy conversation about what is going on with me, or I feel threatened and, shaped by my upbringing, I shut myself off and push the other person away to stay safe. It's a survival mechanism I learned early in life and it's the one that has been the most difficult to shed.

You see, when the anxiety sets in, there is no more rational thought. That's one of the hardest concepts for people to grasp when they don't struggle with a mental illness themselves. To them, the solution is simple: "Calm down and think it through, take a breath and move on. Just be happy."  Unfortunately, that's not how it works. Not for me.

For me, anxiety and depression happen like this: There is usually a warning sign somewhere in the 7 days before I head for a bad time. Somehow, in those days, I have a feeling that tells me that something is coming up, and to get ready. In this way, I am never surprised by my depression-- I always feel it coming, but I can never seem to stop it. There is a trigger; sometimes it's a fight, sometimes it's a memory, sometimes it's just a slow day that leaves me feeling off. The second the depression sinks in, there's a moment of anxiety. I start to feel my heart race, I start to feel my thoughts race, and there is no such thing as being able to calm down, because I literally can't even figure out what I'm thinking. I can't process, so I can't talk it out. All I can do is breathe way too fast and start crying, start feeling hopeless, and start panicking that I'll never be okay again.

Once the waves of anxiety subside and I manage to calm down, the depression sinks in like a slow rising tide. I know that eventually it will go away, but not before it comes to its peak. And from there I just have to ride it out. It's a pattern that I have experienced for years, and it's a pattern that is hell on me. Fortunately, these moments have started to happen further and further apart; I usually only go through a bad time every few months instead of every month. Isn't it strange that "every few months" of depression is a good thing, relatively speaking?

I don't know how to ask for help. All I know how to do, all I am capable of doing at this point in my life is to tell someone that I'm not okay, and let them offer me help. I can let them ask questions, I can let them call me and usually that's all it takes for me to feel like I can talk about it. One day I will be able to reach out, but for now I'm just working on tearing down my walls.