As it is Mental Health Awareness Week, I felt it was only fitting to recount one of the most difficult periods in my life. I think it presents another side to the conversation that is often overlooked and proves how multifaceted mental health is. You can’t confine it to a box because not everyone reacts the same way or has the same experiences.

Towards the end of my junior year in high school, my APUSH teacher decided to show us the film called “Iron-Jawed Angels.”

Initially, I was excited about it and found the film engaging and exciting, but I did not anticipate how deeply one of the scenes would affect me. This scene in the film revolves around one of the main characters being force-fed, and for reasons I can’t explain, this triggered me. The rate of my breathing accelerated, I started shaking, black splotches began appearing in my vision, and I couldn’t bring myself to calm down.

I was having a panic attack.

I remember looking around at my classmates and wondering why none of them had a similar reaction. I remember thinking that something had to be wrong with me—that I was weak for not being able to handle watching the scene.

And then I fainted.

This wasn’t the first time I had fainted. I’m no stranger to it, but there’s always an overwhelming wave of embarrassment each time it happens in public. I hate drawing attention to myself, and collapsing in the middle of class is one of those things that you can’t look away from.

I went home early that day. The school nurse forced me to head to the emergency room, and after being checked out, it was confirmed that there was nothing wrong with me. The entire practice concluded that it was a simple panic attack spurred on by the on-screen image.

This frightened me. I had never expected a scene of someone being force-fed to have such a negative impact on me, and suddenly, I was afraid to watch the shows that I would usually watch. I didn’t want to have another panic attack, and I did everything I could to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

But this instilled fear wasn’t the only after effect.

I went back to school, hoping everything would be back to normal, and that year, it was—for the most part.

But I’d realized something: I was less motivated to eat what I usually ate. My mind had made a subconscious connection between the force-feeding scene and my everyday life, and eating my usual portions felt impossible. Thankfully, my mom realized, and we worked together around the problem. I could eat soft foods, so for a month, my diet changed, consisting of fruits and crepes that would be made that day.

After a month, I was able to wean myself back onto my usual diet, and I could eat without thinking twice, but I remember how stuck in that mindset I felt. That is terrifying. My mind had controlled me without my consent, and it proved how your mental state can affect the rest of your body.

Junior year ended, and I returned for the senior year. I had enrolled in a psychology class, and I thought it would be a class that I could breeze through.

Of course, I was wrong.

That fear of being triggered had returned in full force on the first day of the class, in which my teacher showed us a real 9/11 documentary with imagery of people jumping to their deaths and going through the trauma.

That first class reminded me of how I’d panicked so easily last year, and it became the only thing I could think of. Every day, I went to that psychology class (and my other classes) worrying about what she would show us in class and how I would handle it. It wasn’t just a side thought; it consumed about sixty percent of my mind to the point where I’d go home and sigh in relief that I’d made it through another day.

This anxiety had taken over my life. I tried convincing myself that all I needed was to “calm down” and that it was all in my head. This was the truth, but I’d underestimated just how complex the problem was. Looking back on it now, I wish I’d gone to see a therapist if only to talk about what it meant. I didn’t understand it, and because of this anxiety, senior year was miserable for me. When I finished classes, my first thought wasn’t “Thank God that’s over”; it was “now I don’t have to worry about having a panic attack in class again.” That is messed up.

But because my situation and my experiences were so unique, I didn’t know how to talk about it. I’d lash out at friends on days when it got worse. I’d started breathing heavily in order to keep myself calm. It was miserable, and it was torturous. But it wasn’t noticeable.

Now that I’m in college, this anxiety presents itself to me in different forms. But that’s a conversation for another time. I was reminded of how awful my senior year was earlier this semester in my speech and hearing sciences class, in which my professor showed us a video of a woman having a panic attack.

I had to leave the classroom. It felt like such a step backward, and I had hated myself for it. All of these old thoughts and feelings had returned, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went back to my dorm that night and watched Youtube videos in an attempt to calm myself down. Thankfully, it worked, but it doesn’t erase how disappointed I was in myself.

But I’m learning. No matter how dejected I felt that day, I’m learning to handle my mental health, and I’ve realized that the things I consider difficult will continue to be difficult until I make the conscious decision to challenge them. I’m in a much better and happier place now than I was senior year, and for that, I’m so grateful.

If there is anything you should take away from my story, this is it. Recognize that the limits of others are not identical to yours. Add trigger warnings to your content because you don’t know how much it’ll affect your audience. Understand that mental health is just as important as physical health. Be kind to others as you don’t know what they’re going through.

If you do struggle with mental health, remember that your feelings are valid and important. You are not alone, and help is always at reach. I believe in you. I hope you believe in yourself too.