The first thing I saw on my Facebook feed this morning before going to work was, in a word, jarring. Stop Whoring Out Your Mental Illness. I had to do a double-take as I scrolled past the usual mess on my newsfeed. What? I asked myself. How do you whore out your mental illness?

Of course, I clicked to find out exactly what the Creator from Saint Francis College meant when they titled their article so, and I was, to say the least, gravely disappointed.

I respect everyone's opinions and their right to share them. I'm not here to tell people to stop doing that, because I don't want that. I write articles because I enjoy having a platform to share my opinions with people from all around the country, or maybe even the world. The Creator of the article probably had a similar idea in mind: reach more audiences by writing for a relatively prominent online publication, which may include sharing less-than-popular opinions. But I cannot support this article or the author's feelings.

Self-diagnosing has, in the past, helped me more than I can put into words. The author makes sure to note that she, too, has a mental illness, which I guess is to validate her point. Well, if we're pulling that card, I also suffer from mental illness, so I do hope my point will be just as valid. I believe self-diagnosing is an important step to figuring out how to receive treatment.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I knew I had severe anxiety. My heart rate would spike at random times, causing me to throw something like what we call a temper tantrum when the behavior is exhibited by a child. I would get uneasy and often nauseous. My lips would tingle from what I could assume was a lack of oxygen due to hyperventilation. Negative thoughts would race through my mind faster than I could gather them. I was eventually hospitalized for having a panic attack that displayed symptoms so like a heart attack and other cardiac problems that my doctors marked my episode as an emergency (hint: they don't do that if they initially believe it's just a panic attack). One EKG and one x-ray later, my self-diagnosis is confirmed: I have severe generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). As with all hospital visits, I checked in with my physician the day after to discuss long-term treatment. I assumed therapy and medication were obvious suggestions, but instead I was met with, "Anxiety isn't real, so let's just wait it out until you're not upset anymore."

Yes, a licensed pediatrician said those words to me.

Doctors are, for the most part, trained the same way, with the same methods, techniques, and ideologies. But each doctor is an individual person with their own individual opinions. The doctor I'd had since childhood--the one I had previously expressed concern to about anxiety problems--was dismissing my very real, very prevalent illness. Because my doctor refused to acknowledge it for what it was, I was forced to care for myself and my anxiety without any medical help, as I had been doing for many years.

Sometimes, doctors are slow to diagnose appropriately for whatever reasons they may have. It took several months for me to switch doctors to one who saw my anxiety and depression problems and started me on treatment without hesitation. I believed the words of my childhood physician; I truly thought anxiety was all in my head for awhile. I was too afraid to speak about it after that day in her office because, well, a licensed medical professional told me I was faking it. And doctors are supposed to be the be-all, end-all, right?

Aside from the problems individual doctors may cause, getting treatment for any health problem is not cheap by any means. My therapy visits before I got healthcare were $65 per session. I attended therapy once per week. That means, over the course of about a year before I became covered, and assuming I was in her office every week, my family was out $3,380. If you don't have a lot of money to begin with, that is a staggering amount. Even if you are blessed to have money, that is no small fee. This does not even count prescription medication costs, which, if you have multiple mental illnesses like me, can double the amount of money spent. Even GoodRx can't save you from that bill.

Lastly, the stigma surrounding mental illness is so deep and widespread that even mentioning anything having to do with my mental health treatment is upsetting. It took months--perhaps even a year--before I was comfortable letting people know I went to therapy. It is still something I don't bring up with my family even when they ask about it. We simply refer to my weekly treatment as "going to see [name of therapist]". People with mental illnesses (diagnosed or not) don't feel supported even if they are to get proper treatment. In fact, only about 25% of adults with mental illness symptoms believe that neurotypical (non-mentally ill) people are caring or supportive towards those with mental illnesses. How can you expect every person to come forward about their illness if they think only one out of every four of their friends will support them?

So, to Hannah S. at Saint Francis from Hannah J. at Ohio State, please realize your article only perpetuates the idea that mentally ill people have to be seen my a doctor to be "really" ill. You can know you have a cold or a broken leg before getting a doctor to look at it. You know your body and your mind. If you know something's off, you are the best person to notice it. Before we criticize people for not getting professional help for their illnesses, let's end the stigma so we can make it easier for them to do so.