I always see these posts on Facebook that romanticize mental illness. They usually say something along the lines of "be patient with her on her bad days. Constantly remind her that you love her and don't get mad at her for it".. blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I'm going to state right now that those posts are bullshit. Obviously, there are obstacles that you face when you are in a relationship with someone that has a mental illness. These posts that circulate the internet have absolutely no depth and imply that there's some sickening romantic aspect to having a mental illness. Despite the title of this article, there's not; but there are so many moments that will remind you that the person who is standing by you in this battle, loves you for you.

Those that stand by you during your battles can be friends, family, lovers, your therapist, or whomever you deem fit. My person standing by me in my battle is my fiance, Zach. I have other family members and friends in my life that are also helping me through my mental illnesses, but Zach is the one that I've allowed to see me at the peak of my vulnerability. I'm very open about my daily struggles with mental illness on every platform, social media and in real life, but there are a lot of dark times that I don't just share out of the blue. I've previously described these dark times, attacks, and extreme lows as "drowning in air". Well, Zach doesn't simply watch what happens to me when I'm drowning in air, he jumps in and pulls me out; in severe cases, he starts to drown with me. My fiance has lost sleep, cried, and held me while I slept after an anxiety attack with his eyes wide open. He has sacrificed more than he will ever openly admit, so I guess I can only speak on what I experience and perceive.

There have been several instances that showed me that Zach loves me for me, through words and actions. The ones that I frequently replay in my head are the ones during or after the dark times. To better advocate for #EndTheStigma, I'm going to share those.

Before Zach and I were ever serious, I was very upfront about the severity of my mental illness and the dangers that arise from it. At first, the depression had silenced itself to a light whisper. As time progressed, the whisper became screams. One of the first times that Zach had experienced one of my depressive episodes was during my high school years and I had gone and taken a shower. I thought that a nice, warm shower would silence those screams and would offer me peace. After fully bathing myself, I had shut off the water and I kind of stood there. I remember feeling very empty and had major sensitivity around my wrists, thighs, and neck. It was a ghost pain sensation and then, I apparently turned on the water. The water got warmer.. and warmer. Eventually, I had turned the water to a blazing temperature and found myself sitting inside of it. Zach started to knock on the door and I think he was yelling my name, but it's muffled in my memory. Next thing I knew, he had turned off the water and threw a towel over me. I cried while he sat there in silence.

Another instance was quite recent. Transitioning into the University of Michigan had taken a toll on my mental health. I wasn't unhappy, per se; it was more of an emotionally, mentally, and physically draining experience to transition into a place that had higher demands. Zach and I also went from living together for two years to seeing eachother for three days out of the week. Leaving my home to go to school became more difficult as the essays, quizzes, and midterms started to make an appearance. At one point, the lightbulb in my brain burst into tiny little shards. I couldn't move. I woke up and laid in bed with no will to survive. I didn't brush my teeth, comb my hair, bathe, eat, or anything that involved self-care. Frankly, I didn't do anything. I was broken, until Zach came home from work. During those three days, he fed me, carried me into the bathtub and proceeded to wash my hair and then comb it out afterwards, and carefully watched over my lifeless body. He made jokes, laid with me, and encouraged me to take the small steps to help myself. After a bit, I did. Without him, three days could have easily turned into five or ten.

To end this array of stories, I share the darkest one of them all. I had gone into the basement to hang myself. Nothing was wrong, but at the same time, everything was. It was one of those times where my depression's screams successfully drowned out my happiness. I felt numb, disassociated with the world, and empty. I sat behind the couch and cradled my body as tightly as possible in hopes that I would disappear. Zach slowly walked down the stairs and asked me what I was doing. I didn't answer. Then, he touched me and it sent my mind crumbling. I started drowning, but in water. I was choking, gasping for air, clawing his arms, and was washed over by my anxiety; I felt like I was dying. Zach wrapped the entirety of his body around mine while I kicked and screamed "I don't fucking want it anymore! I don't want my BPD, I don't want my anxiety, I don't want my depression! I don't want it. What the fuck is wrong with me? Make it go away!'. He wrestled me for a while and then I froze when I heard silent sobs. I asked Zach why he was crying and he told me something that I will never forget. "I will never understand why amazing people like you who deserve the world have to suffer with things like this".

Zach suffers through my mental illness, too. Only a fool would say that he is unaffected and all that he has to do is "be patient with me". No, my mental illness dives a knife into his side as much as it does mine. No one enjoys that. No one enjoys the idea of picking up hot coal with their bare hands and that's the reality of it. There is nothing romantic about having a mental illness. None of the parts of my stories that were provoked by my mental illnesses were romantic; not the hot water, the lifelessness, or the suicidal thoughts. The romantic parts were the ones that conveyed the deepest of genuinity, humanity, and empathy. They are the ones that don't derive from mental illness at all. In fact, they came from love.

During these dark times, Zach gave me what none of the Facebook posts ever advise to give. He gave me a friend, silence of my own, and the tools that I needed to help myself. As cliche as it sounds, he gave me unconditional love at the expense of his own well-being. He stayed and proposed to me even though he knew that these are the events that I go through. He loves me for me through sickness and in health, and that is the romantic part.

To uncover my battle, read https://www.theodysseyonline.com/mental-illness-is-not-weak-