You Aren’t The Only One Struggling

I had my first anxiety attack in the 5th grade. I remember my body felt alive in all the wrong ways. I threw myself on the ground, squirmed, and sobbed uncontrollably while struggling to catch my breath. I didn’t know what it was at the moment. I didn’t know what to do with the maelstrom of feeling inside me. I self-harmed for the first time in the 6th grade. I talked to a friend about it; thankfully, she told her mom. I started therapy that same year.

A couple of years later, I told my therapist I wanted to kill myself. I had been self-harming in multiple ways at that point, and my suicidal ideations had progressed into a plan. She gave me a choice: I could call my mom into the room, and we could tell her together, and she would take me to a psych hospital—or she would have to call 9-1-1. In the car with my mother, I went. This is how I came to be medicated.

I am now 28 years old, so I don’t know what it feels like to be mentally ill as a teenager in 2023. In my experience, it was terribly alienating. I never opened up to too many people because everyone else seemed to be able to stay alive without effort. I looked around at my peers and saw people who yearned for life while I longed for it to be taken away. I made constant mental notes of anything anyone said involving mental illness. I was on the bus one day, and my seat partner proclaimed she “didn’t ‘believe’ in anti-depressants.” I felt like screaming.

When I went away to college, life didn’t get much easier. If anything, living among my new peers and watching them “live life to the fullest” was worse. I stayed in bed numb beyond belief while they went to concerts, bars, and parties, and still somehow managed not to miss half of their classes. I made it to my sophomore year before things reached a head again, and I went to inpatient treatment.

Due to my mental illnesses and a physical one, it took five years for me to graduate college. By my last year, almost everyone had moved on. I spent a lot of time alone, a lot of time in bed, drowning. In 2019, I decided to share a bit about my experiences on Instagram. I think this was my way of asking for help and connection without directly asking for it. I felt like I had put my friends and family through too much and was desperate. The responses I got were shocking. People reached out to commend me for sharing or comment on my “strength.” But what really got me was the amount of people who messaged me privately, saying they felt the same way and as though they were also drowning, too. These were people who I assumed lived beautiful, bright, full lives because of what I viewed on social media. I began having deep, meaningful conversations with others whom I barely knew about mental health and the struggle to stay alive. It was life-altering.

Social media had a negative impact on me when I assumed everyone was happy and healthy, but when I chose to share, it helped me feel connected in a way I desperately needed.

I stopped looking at everyone and thinking how lucky they were and started wondering what invisible burden they were also carrying.

I felt compelled to continue sharing. It helped me feel less alone, and it seemed it was helping others feel the same way. My stories also had an impact on those who were not familiar with mental illness. Some told me they were surprised that I was struggling with that much darkness. I realized that my peers were also perceiving me based on the positive picture I had previously painted online.

So, I kept sharing, but along with the highs, I also let others see a glimpse of my lows. I turned what had become a toxic space into a place of vulnerability and connection. Granted, this came with keeping my account private and removing followers I did not want to let into my space—I highly recommend it.

While I struggled to connect in the “real world,” social media became a place to feel a little less alone. And I want you to know that there is a space for you, somewhere, to feel connected and to grow, regardless of age; don’t give up—you’ll find it.

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People need other people. You are not weak for wanting or needing support. If you’re seeking professional help, we encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor. If it’s encouragement or a listening ear that you need, email our team at [email protected].