When I started at the Ohio State University last fall, I thought I was going to do great. I had always done well in school and was excited to go to the school of my dreams. For the first couple of weeks, everything was perfect. My classes seemed manageable, (Gen Chem manageable? I was so naive.) I was meeting new people everyday and I had even joined a dance group on campus. Things were good, but it didn't last long.

It all started with my anxiety. I've had depression and generalized anxiety for the better part of five years, but I've always been able to manage them with little to no difficulty. My anxiety began making it impossible for me to go to class. I would be getting ready to leave and my pulse would quicken, my hands would shake and a growing feeling of panic would rise in my chest. The only way I was able to calm myself down would be to sit on my futon and really focus on taking slow, deep breaths until the panic went away. However, this would take anywhere from 10 to 25 minutes, most instances being the latter. By this point, I was more than late to whatever class I was going to and the thought of walking in late more than terrified me, so I wouldn't go at all. This also became another way I calmed myself down; I would decide one the panic set in that I wasn't going to class. This did major damage to my grades and by halfway through the semester, I was failing two classes and getting close to failing a third. Sometimes the thought of leaving my room would freak me out so much that I wouldn't leave my residence hall for days at a time. Next on the batting order, with my mental health being the ball, was a major depressive episode. Since I wasn't going to class, I would sleep all the time. No, not a 20 minute power nap. I was sleeping 14 plus hours a day, and would still feel totally exhausted when I was awake. I knew I was failing my classes, but I couldn't bring myself to care about my grades, or anything for that matter. Even the smallest tasks felt like a marathon. I had always been someone who needed three meals a day to function, but during this time I would go days with only eating a granola bar or a bagel. I was not myself.

The worst part about this period of time was the fact that I didn't try to get help. This was because of a combination of apathy and shame. I was didn't care enough about myself to get help, and even when I considered it, I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I, a girl who always had it together, was struggling severely. I was too ashamed to tell my mom, my biggest supporter, that I was failing. I was too ashamed to admit that I needed help, academically and professionally. But I knew if I wanted to continue at school, getting help was the first step to get back on track.

My first step was telling my mom everything that was happening with my mental health and my grades. I was so scared that she would be mad at me, but she was completely the opposite. She let me know that it was okay that I was struggling, and that she supported me unconditionally. She's a large part of how I got the confidence to get help and try to get better. I applied to the Counseling and Career Services to get a counselor and made an appointment with my doctor for when I went home for winter break. I was reclaiming my mental health from these illnesses that had taken over.

Now, I am doing 110 percent better. I still ended up failing one class, (curse you Gen Chem) but mentally I am in a much better place. I was switched to another antidepressant, I go to counseling every other week and see a psychiatrist as well. I also took a course offered at OSU for second semester students on academic probation, and it gave me a lot of tools to keep track of assignments and study tips that I use on a daily basis. I finally feel like myself again, if not an even better version of myself, and I'm proud of the progress I've made.

I'm hoping that by writing this article, other people see that it's okay to struggle and fail and need help, even if they've never needed it before. I want everyone to know that even if mental illness becomes too much for them too handle on their own, it's okay to get help, whether that's going to therapy or medication, or any other thing that helps. Medication isn't a cure-all and it's not for everyone, but those who need it don't need to be ashamed. If anyone knows someone struggling with mental illness, please try to be understanding, even if you don't completely understand what that person is dealing with or can't see it. Don't ever belittle someone or try to minimize their struggles just because they are fighting a battle you know nothing about. To anyone struggling with mental illness, whether it's once a year or every day, your struggles are real and valid. Even if no one else can see them, doesn't mean they aren't real. Never be ashamed of getting help, because some battles are too much to fight on your own. Always have hope, and know that you have the strength to reclaim your mental health, even if you feel like it's impossible. Just try to take the first step, it's the hardest one, I promise. I hope that one day, the stigma around mental illness will be gone, and I hope that sharing my story will help end the stigma.