“Open your eyes, you coward. Get up. See?! Do you see now?! This is why you’ll never amount to anything! You’re lazy, useless and no one even cares about you. Just kill yourself. You would actually be doing everyone a favor.”
I roll out of bed. It’s time to start my day. I take my medicine to make the voices stop. The voices that I try to not let run my life.
They all remind me of how unloved I am.
I hear the voices of friends at school:
“If you would just have more faith, I’m sure God would heal you.”
“Stop overreacting. I’m sure people have it much worse than you.”
“You’re being irrational, come back to reality, please.”
And that’s the reason I keep it inside. That is the reason I hide.
Mental illness. It’s an uncomfortable subject. It means something different to everyone else. One person could have an experience where they must do certain actions repetitively, just to be able to walk out the door in the morning. Another person could experience voices and have friends that aren’t really there. Yet still another person could be terrified of walking into a classroom because she can feel all eyes on her and think people whisper about her. Giving presentations is a nightmare, and stomach pain riddles inside her, and becoming sick from stress is daily phenomenon.
As a person living with mental illness, let me please explain what it’s been like the past 21 years of my life. It started off in my early years as extreme shyness. I was reclusive in most ways and communicating with others was always a challenge. By the time I entered middle school, I would hide in the bathroom at my friends houses, trying to take deep breaths to get through the multitude of people around me. Then came the high school days. During freshman year, I could barely make it through my first period class before I felt the stomach pains pierce through my sides. Several doctors and blood tests later, it appeared that I just had a sensitive stomach and intestines. No reason could actually be given for my physical ailment. Entering University was completely nerve-wracking, and I was having trouble eating and almost every night was filled with tears over the uncomfortable day of attempting to be social.
During my college experience, I was sexually assaulted. This event shook the very foundation I stood on. Panic attacks became constant. I would start to hyperventilate and cry and shut down completely. I remember once a friend came and found me outside of my car lying on the ground in the middle of a panic attack. I felt like someone had taken all of the air out of the world. I was living my nightmares.
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I’ve been in counseling and on anxiety medication for almost a year now. I can’t believe that I would even be able to make the progress I have. The panic attacks and social anxiety have ceased to exist. Stress from school is now normal, and I have new coping skills in order to push through my last year at university.
Please know that this is hard for me to even talk about. But I’m here to say that even though anxiety will always be a part of me, it does not have to control me. And it doesn’t have to control you, either.
I’m not saying that God can’t heal. But here me when I say, sometimes He doesn’t. Everything happens for a reason, and God can heal through medicine. He created doctors, didn’t He? So the next time anyone tells you differently, don’t believe it for a second.
There is never a reason to be ashamed of medicine or counseling.
There is never a reason to be ashamed of mental illness.
There is never a reason to be ashamed of you.
To all who struggle: Have courage. Keep your head up. You are so very worth loving.
