Hi everyone, me again.

I want to begin by saying this year has been a whirlwind. In terms of covid, school, and mental health. I'll be the first to tell you that this year was difficult. Very difficult. So many changes that seemed to happen over night. I am proud of any college student who got through this year, no matter what grade. We deserve a medal for this past school year for sure.

This year has been exhausting in every measure possible. And I know I opened up about my own mental health through instagram captions and such, but this seems like a much more in depth way to tell more of my story.

The reason for this post is to hopefully help someone who is like me. I tend to keep my issues, emotions, and problems to myself, simply because I didn't see the need to add my problems to a world that was already suffering from so much. I wanted to be the self sufficient woman I saw myself as, but it was in the midst of my own thoughts that I began to tear myself apart.

I tend to overbook myself (personally, I'd rather be busy than have nothing to do). This happened week after week after week. Committing myself to meetings, exec positions, and projects. I pushed myself so hard that I broke. I ran myself into the ground. Not only that, but I never gave myself enough time to get back up off the ground. I just kept going. I needed to keep going because if I stopped, I would hear the negative thoughts that swirled through my head.

I truly started to notice my downfall when I wanted to shut the door to my room. I know that seems odd, but I always loved having people stop by my room, come in and chat. My door was always open, if it was closed that meant I wasn't there, so for me to willing close it and sit by myself was so out of character, it was hard to ignore. But I kept pushing. And pushing. Until I couldn't get out of bed. I took all my classes on zoom, I began skipping meals, walking incessantly, and coming up with excuses as to why I couldn't make meetings. This went on for weeks.

But, I still kept pushing. Until I couldn't push any longer. I was completely and utterly drained. I could barely hold a conversation with my roommates or best friends. I reached for help, but not from those around me, from professionals first. I didn't tell anyone around me at the time what was going on. I thought I was saving them from worrying by not telling them anything, but most picked up on the changes going on with me anyway. My psychiatrist began experimenting with my medication combinations. I went weeks feeling like a zombie, weeks feeling like I was a shadow. I still can't tell you a single definitive detail from the whole month of March, just to put into perspective how much chemical change my mind was going through.

I told my roommate about the medication changes, simply because my psychiatrist said I needed to tell someone who saw me everyday, in case I underwent intense physical changes. I kept all of this to myself, until one night, I just became so overwhelmed with the idea of continuing to live under this much pressure and difficulty for the rest of my life. I needed things to get better, to stop, I needed a real break. I anxiously got on the phone and called my mom, hyperventilating and crying, I went out the side door to get fresh air. I talked about the intensity of my struggles for the first time that night. It was then that a few other friends came out and saw me crying. They were heading out somewhere else, but immediately stopped, walked over to me, and waited for me to get off the phone. It was then that they took turns giving me huge hugs as tears poured down my cheeks and onto their shoulders. They didn't ask for an explanation, but reassured me that they were there if I ever needed anything.

I should've taken that as a sign of reassurance, that I had people in my corner, but I didn't. I kept fighting my demons by myself. And my demons only got stronger, as I got weaker. I was in therapy once a week, psychiatrist appointment every four weeks, taking three to four different medications every morning. I even got to the point where I needed fast acting anxiety medication. My anxiety attacks got so bad, I was having as many as four to eight, every day. I had to take them every time I ate, and before I left the room, or went to class, then before I went to bed. Yet I continued to keep it to myself, only explaining my medications when my roommates asked about them.

This story doesn't have a happy ending. Yet. I am still recovering from that deep low I reached in the middle of the semester. If you take anything from my story, let it be this: people love you. I love you. Reach out for help, it's the least you deserve. You don't need to fight battles by yourself. People need people. Trust me, I know it's hard, I personally am still working on reaching out for help, but please remember that you are not alone. Not now, not ever. You are needed in this world. Please let me know if I can do anything for you.