Let’s Talk About Mental Health

But I could never forget the feeling it gave me. I desperately wanted to connect my story with someone else’s – I thought it would make me feel a lot less alone. I mean, I’m not the only person who thinks about death when life isn’t going as planned..am I?

One year later, I was still picking up the pieces from my time spent in rehab, and I was listening to a lot more of Kid Cudi. It sounded like somebody shared this darkness with me. But was anyone else willing to shine some light on us? Because in the black community, it hardly ever felt that way.

Eight years later – still bumping early Cudi – I witnessed singer Kehlani try to do what I never had the courage to do: share her depressive state with other people.

Unfortunately, it was like watching another painfully awkward presidential debate. On the one hand, she gained a slew of supporters sharing their own personal battles with suicide and depression (something you need to see after feeling alone for SO long). But on the other hand, her actions leading up to the suicide attempt became the butt of everyone’s jokes.

I was laughing too.

"When will it be safe to share our deepest and darkest thoughts without the fear of rejection?"

Gwendolyn

I wish I could explain to my friends and family that there are reasons I don't let them in. There are reasons I shut down and get overly emotional, that I'm sensitive and protective of myself.

What they don't know is that I was raped by my boyfriend when I was 18. Shame kept me quiet, told me that it wasn't rape, that I let him do it, that it was my fault. I'm 25 now, and finally opened up to a close friend about what happened to me. I'm not whole, but I'm on my way to healing.

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"I don't want to be depressed, anxious, or suicidal. I want to let you in."

Sarah

I have had a long, tumultuous relationship with mental health issues. I come from a family that has, on more than one occasion, dealt with mental health issues, unexpected loss and subsequent post-traumatic stress, depression, anxiety and addictions. One of my two brothers died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of thirteen, many years ago. Our whole family naturally struggled with this loss.

It took years of battling the feelings of bitterness, anger and regret that came with losing a brother and son to start to feel okay again. Just when things seemed to be looking up for my family, my second brother began to struggle tremendously. He never properly dealt with his own mental health issues (Bipolar Disorder, ADHD, depression) and never fully faced the great loss within our family. His life began to crumble privately and it became easier for him to silently escape the pain, medicated by whatever drugs he could get his hands on. Not many of his closest friends even knew anything was wrong.

He confided in me and finally sought help after losing a life of normalcy, routine and happiness to his depression. For several months he succeeded. He worked tirelessly to maintain his sobriety and honesty. It was beautiful to see somebody who had so long lived a lie shed his façade of happiness, and allow his raw self to be exposed. It was hard on him, because his true self wasn't the beaming ray of sunshine most knew him to be. Learning that he could face the rain, and that he didn’t have to walk through the storm alone, was everything. It was a long, bumpy road to a recovery that he so desperately wanted.

Then, the worst thing that can happen to a family happened a second time: my brother relapsed and overdosed. By 25, I has lost both of my siblings. My family devastated, forever changed, and completely broken. Watching my parents suffer with their terrible, unthinkable loss, and dealing with my own was too much. I didn't know how to handle my deep desire to go on living a "normal" life for them despite my deep sadness.

"I have learned that mental health issues don't discriminate. They don't care about your age, your income, your appearance, your physical well-being or your popularity. Mental health issues can affects anyone."

Susannah

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Ate age 23, there was no mistaking the fact that I had begun to suffer from anxiety and depression. What I didn't know was that the following year would be filled with a nearly unbearable amount of devastation, disappointment, and pain.

Everything should have been great. I was a newly graduated preschool teacher. I had just married my high school sweetheart and moved back to my home town. We adopted a fluffy golden puppy, rounding out the image of a perfect life. But it wasn't. Every day I was filled with panic and dread. I felt so hopeless and distraught that sometimes I needed help to even put on clothes in the morning.

I quickly realized I wasn’t alright, and began taking Zoloft. It seemed to work for a bit, but soon enough my mind turned again to darkness. A pattern developed with Wellbutrin, Lexapro and Effexor. Read more

"I have started trying to thank my bipolar disorder for what it has given me, rather than mourn the things it has destroyed."

Aaron

Why is it that when a cancer survivor tells their story they are seen as brave, but when someone who suffers from mental illness tells their story, they are labeled “attention seekers”? Why is it that when someone screams for help after they’ve fallen and broke a bone, everyone rushes to help, but when someone with mental illness cries for help, people turn the other way? Read more

"Why is there a stigma surrounding mental illness, when its a disease just like any physical disease?"

Joy

When I first started high school, everything seemed to be going fine. I had my friends from middle school and was making a couple of new friends here and there. As the year went on, however, I noticed that everyone and everything were changing. My friends often left me out. I was the odd ball. I dressed differently, acted differently, listened to different music, and never felt like I belonged anywhere. My parents broke up and my grandmother was dying. My grades were bad, and I just wasn't into anything.

I felt like I was floating; pretending I was fine so no one would wonder why Joy wasn't so “joyful.” That's where it began. I always thought about cutting, but never did. I was too scared. I cried a lot for no reason, and the crazy thing was, no one suspected anything.

Thankfully, I made it through freshman year. Then my mom and I moved into a new apartment, just the two of us. I started at a new school, where I felt completely alone. All my siblings had left for college or moved out. I became withdrawn. I didn't interact with people genuinely. I smiled on the outside but I didn't feel anything on the inside. I was 15 at the time. Read more

"I can’t let my disease stop me from living and loving anymore."

Chandra

At a young age, I noticed a sadness residing inside of my body. At age 13, I began cutting. I knew it was wrong, and I did it in private, but I never voiced the reasoning behind it or ever really faced the cause of that sort of self-mutilation.

From then on, I battled with my constant obsession over relationships. There was always someone else. I lost my virginity at 14 to someone who was controlling, mentally and physically abusive, jealous, and overall a bad outline for my future boyfriends. I developed negative patterns and behaviors, and started to lose my will to live. I never faced the facts of my relationship.

My ensuing relationships were destructive, my habits were self-harming, my eating disorder was killing me. I dibbled and dabbled with substance abuse and co-dependency; never allowing myself to be happy alone even though I wanted out so badly. I didn't talk openly with anyone about any of it until I was 23. After a mistaken diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, I was finally diagnosed with Manic Depressive Disorder.

"He was controlling, mentally and physically abusive, jealous, and overall a bad outline for my future boyfriends...I started to lose my will to live."

Laura

It was a sunny day, 9 years ago, when I had my first date with Mr. Panic Attack. I was just 14; a shy girl, walking around the city with a friend, when I saw an ambulance crew rescuing someone. I started to sweat; I became confused. What if I became as ill as that person? I was suddenly scared to death. I thought I would die, so I ran back home immediately.

This was just the beginning of an endless adventure with psychologists, treatments, Zoloft, Xanax, Lorazepam, psychiatrists, and the feeling of being different. My life changed. I never went to my friends’ sleepovers, I started calling my parents when I was at school because I constantly felt as if I was dying, and I never wanted to be away from home because it was the only place where I felt secure.

"I never went to my friends’ sleepovers, I constantly felt as if I was dying, and I never wanted to be away from home because it was the only place where I felt secure."

Hampus Corneliusson

Life hit me hard last spring. While the leaves regained their color, my mind turned black. I was relapsing, and scared because the same old thinking patterns were beginning to rush back in again. Anxiety knocked, and suicidal thoughts and plans occupied my mind.

"I'm not enough, I'm not worthy, I'm a mistake. My friends don't love me. My family doesn't appreciate me. I can't do anything right. I'm a mess. The world would be better a place without me. I need to kill myself. I'm obligated to commit suicide.” These are just some of the thoughts that played in my mind for three days straight while I was lying alone in my bed.

I had people around me, but it wasn't enough. I kept myself in the dark. Help was right in front of me, but I didn't accept it. At that point, no one can save you. I had everything anyone could need to be happy, but I didn't value it enough. I had all these amazing things, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I just saw a blurred version of myself.

Help was vital. I was sick. Not just mentally, but I also had an illness that fucked me up physically. I had no energy, slept more than usual and had constant headaches for three weeks. I set an appointment at the hospital to see what could be done about the illness. It may seem irrational, and it was, but I was determined to commit suicide if they couldn’t find out what was wrong with me.

"Keep fighting for a better story. You deserve it."

Caroline

Something I've learned about mental health over the past couple years is that it is a spectrum. Some may be farther along the spectrum than others, but whether it may appear so or not, everyone is fighting some sort of battle.

I really starting struggling with my mental health towards the end of high school. I developed an eating disorder that took over my life, and as the eating disorder progressed I became severely depressed. I even became suicidal. I went through hell and back but I got the help I needed, and my life will never be the same. Read more

"Getting help is not weak, taking medication is not weak and talking about our mental health is not weak."

Helena

I liked to be nice. Or I thought I did. I was only raised to be nice, to be good. To everyone. Soon, that became all that mattered, but I didn't notice. I was supposed to be a role model who didn't care what anyone thought, and who was nice to everyone. The good girl, with my own little rebel side of it. I thought I was strong because I sometimes was considered weird, but I didn't care. As long as I was nice and never disappointed anyone. When I was 14 it slowly started to tire me. I tried to help people with depression or other problems by texting and listening to them. Without me noticing, I got depressed as well. I didn't manage school, sleep and other peoples problems and at the same time my own. I started to hurt myself 2-3 years ago, but the depression got more real 2 years ago, but I denied it. It couldn't be, I was just feeling sorry for myself. My dad has been fighting with depression since I was born and a little earlier, because he worked too much, he "crashed". So me being depressed couldn't exist, or at least that's what I thought. It made it even worse. I wanted to tell people, my parents, but I thought I couldn't and that suffocated me. I was depressed, suicidal and a cutter last fall. Then I finally told my parents about it. It was the scariest thing I've ever done, but I'm glad I did. Also, I went to school part time to regain some energy. I've seen a psychiatrist for a couple of months and it has helped me in a few ways. Sure, I'm nowhere near fine, but I've sen some changes. Mental health is shit, and some people go through so much. But no one on earth deserves it, and it shouldn't be such a shocking big deal to talk about. Read more

Bipolar Ballerina

Mental illness has always been something I've known. I began to struggle at nine with an intense depression and I wouldn't get out of bed because of. It escalated through anxieties and tendencies, but I eventually got my shit together again. In 7th grade I went on a diet because I was 'fat'. I restricted eating, starting feeling a permanent sadness and sliced open my arms. By 8th grade I knew that this was not a normal sadness. But I didn't understand because sometimes I felt so good about life as well. And why would a young, capable, economically stable girl with no traumas experience this? I told my mother that I needed help. She believed (and continues to believe that I am only anxious and if I ate some more protein I'd be better). Two years later I was diagnosed bipolar. My parents flipped and refused to believe any of it they insisted and I was fine and I still get no support from them, only verbal abuse. I have to pay for my own medications and trips to therapy because my family refuses to admit that we are not the picture perfect white suburban family. I realized that I don't need my family's approval to not be okay. Everyday is still a struggle, but I'm learning how to not feel so crazy. Read more

Kara

For as long as I can remember I've struggled with anxiety. My mom has, my brother has, it's in my DNA. But I always thought I could manage it, that I could use my anxiety to my advantage and push through. Recently though I discovered that was no longer the case. For about a month anxiety has officially taken over my life. I couldn't do school work without bursting into tears, I had panic attacks once or twice a week, and sometimes I struggled to even get out of bed. I was lucky to have some very supportive people in my life to convince me that this wasn't normal anymore, and that is was time to get help. I've personally struggled with accepting medication as an alternative to coping techniques, but I realized I could no longer control it on my own. I went to see someone and I was officially diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and started on a medication. I am a success story, I don't remember the last time I felt this good about myself, I don't remember the last time I felt like I could do anything I wanted without anxiety looming over me. I want my story to encourage people to seek help, because it's ok that the best version of yourself might be one with a little extra help. Read more

Nora

It was a Saturday afternoon when my dad called me and gave me the news: my brother had committed suicide. He was my brother, best friend, travel buddy, and confidante. He was my person.

I went into denial. The depression killed me slowly but steadily, and I started to cut my arms because I felt like I deserved it. I was just so angry about what happened. Those feelings got worse when I felt like I couldn’t remember his smile, the way he moved or our last moments together.

Over the years I disappeared a bit. I stopped calling my family back and seeing my friends. I developed a fear of getting close to people because I still am scared shitless that I will lose someone else.

"I went to work less often, and there were days when I didn’t leave my apartment, let alone my bed. Simple things, like getting in the shower, felt like climbing Mount Everest."

Joe S.

An undiagnosed bipolar disorder derailed my life. As I became more and more unable to control my emotions, I tried visiting my university’s mental health center. They told me that I was “only depressed,” and prescribed me with an antidepressant. This was the exact opposite of what I needed.

As I got worse, I did my best to appear alright. My parents where going through a bad economic situation, so I didn't want to worry them further. I began to struggle in class, and eventually failed out that semester. I lost my scholarship and had to leave school.

"As I got worse, I did my best to appear alright. My parents where going through a bad economic situation, so I didn't want to worry them further."

Alexandra

I wasn’t diagnosed with depression and anxiety until 2 years ago, but looking back, I realize that I’ve been suffering for most of my life. The disordered eating, the family problems, two sexual assaults, and the ever-present feeling of worthlessness all finally led to anti-depressants. In the beginning, I loathed the idea of having to wake up to a pill every day of my life. The very thought of it made me see myself as weak, as a failure, as someone who just couldn’t keep up with life.

Lately, that’s started to change. This morning I looked at myself in the mirror, at the pair of glasses perched on my nose. There’s no way I’d make it through the day without glasses or contacts. I’d trip and fall constantly, I wouldn’t see two feet in front of myself. Does it bug me sometimes that I don’t have 20/20 vision? Sure it does. But the fact that I don’t see well is not my fault, and that’s why we have glasses and contacts. Read more

"Put on those glasses. Swallow that pill. Seize the day."

Raquel

I'm 19 years old and I feel like I've seen the darkest side of the world, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a way back. It all started when I was 15, and not very comfortable in my own skin. I feel like that's when I lost myself.

I lost all my friends because of my anorexia. I felt so alone that by the time I was 17, I tried to kill myself by swallowing a bunch of pills. The pathetic truth is that I knew those 30 pills wouldn't kill me. Deep down, I just wanted to see if they would kill whatever was inside of me.

"The pathetic truth is that I knew those 30 pills wouldn't kill me. Deep down, I just wanted to see if they would kill whatever was inside of me."

Amanda

I have struggled with depression and anxiety since I was 8 years old, when I was first abused my school principal and bullied by many of my peers. Not much has changed since then; life has not gotten any easier. In fact, the bullying I experienced as a kid only got worse when I started college.

I have attempted suicide a dozen times, and have been hospitalized twice. I have turned to sex, drugs, and alcohol to numb my pain; all of which only ended up making me feel worse. I have taken just about every antidepressant out there, and none of them seem to have helped me. Each made me feel like someone I’m not.

After my last suicide attempt, a few months ago, many of the people that I thought were my friends stopped being there for me. I dropped out of college and was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Now, I spend most of my days talking to my therapist or in support groups. I have alienated myself from many of my other friends, and removed myself from all social media platforms. I still think a lot about committing suicide. Read more

"Mental illness is the hardest thing to overcome, especially when we live in a world where people look down on those who are sick."

Spencer/Claire

I am 16 years old, gender fluid, and tentatively diagnosed with depression. I guess I’m lucky; I did not wait to speak to my doctor about feeling overwhelmed, tired, and occasionally suicidal, and I have family, friends, and an amazing girlfriend to support me.

But I don’t feel lucky. I started taking my medication relatively recently, and it should take some time to have an effect. There are many days when I feel overwhelmed and hopeless. There are days when my gender dysphoria only worsens the feeling, because I don’t have the resources to at least bind my chest and feel better. There are days when I have anxiety attacks. Read more

"I can make it through another day. And right now I think that's all I need to do."

Anonymous

Let's start at the beginning. I was in preschool being the happy go lucky little girl I was. I wasn't really used to any negativity in my life yet then this girl, (let's give her the name Lexi.) Lexi was the first bully I ever experienced. She would push me down and Tell me how ugly and fat I was. She would do this till I would run out of the classroom hide in the bathroom and cry till my mom came and picked me up. This continued till 6th grade then I just couldn't handle it and started cutting. My parents found out and I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression which I was put on medication for. I continued cutting just in secret. It got to the point where I was thinking about suicide daily. This went on till 7th grade and I met this guy. (Let give the name Alex.) Just talking to him makes me happier. He my life. I owe him my life and you may think I'm over exaggerating but I'm not. If I never met Alex I wouldn't even be alive. Read more

Meg

I am 17 (nearly 18) years old. I lead a pretty normal life except the fact I suffer with severe anxiety. Only in the past year have I become accepting of the fact I suffer with anxiety due to the endless list of doctors, GP's, councillors and family members telling me I do. It began when I was sitting my GCSE exams and lead me to a complete mind blank and a huge anxiety attack when sitting in one of my exams. The thought of being unable to leave the exam hall stays with me to this day and often the thought of similar experiences can trigger my anxiety. Profoundly, my anxiety worsened when I visited many councillors who seemed to have no time for me. This made me doubt the fact that anyone could help me, or that I could ever grow out of my anxiety. I've neglected the idea of trying medication to help me as I believe that if I'm going to sort myself out, it has to be for the long term rather than relying on a pill that lasts for a few hours. Which I believe everyone should try! I still to this day suffer with severe anxiety, although I'm looking to make people my age more aware of it, so they don't feel alone like I did when first diagnosed. Read more

Sashka

I think we all know the feeling of sadness, whether our football team just lost the grand final, our cat died or we didn't do as well on a test. But for me, that feeling of sadness just never left. Ever. For an entire three years.

At first, I thought I was crazy. Then I told my Mum and started to get help, and realized that I am completely normal; I’m just not what most people would define as normal. I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety, depression, panic disorder, self-harming and even being suicidal. Read more

"When I started telling people about my disorders, the exact opposite of what I expected happened: I received heartwarming comments of support."

Maddie Zambo

I said I was fine, and I looked fine, so naturally everyone assumed that I was fine. Pretending made life so lonely, up until the night that I tried to commit suicide for the third time.

For eleven long years, my life revolved around soccer. I scored my first goal at age five, but at sixteen, I scored my last. I suffered my second major concussion that year, so my days of playing soccer were over.

I believed soccer was my purpose in life, and without it, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital after I was caught with drugs and journals filled with pages of my pain. I also developed an eating disorder, and was put in a residential program to rehabilitate.

My biggest secret is that I'm not fine. I have scars up and down my arms and legs. My pillows have been soaked with tears almost every night, but I still manage to paint a smile on my face every morning. My knuckles are bruised and my walls are covered in holes. I take medication. My anxiety keeps me from having a social life, and it even keeps me from leaving my house. Read more

"My biggest secret is that I'm not fine. I have scars up and down my arms and legs. My pillows have been soaked with tears almost every night, but I still manage to paint a smile on my face every morning."

Meryl

About three months ago, my husband of three years had his first ever bipolar manic episode and diagnosis. We had made a cross country move the previous summer, and the anxieties of work, moving and familial issues along with marijuana abuse proved to be dangerous combination. We have been together a long time, and nothing like this had ever happened before in our time together, or in his life prior to our meeting. There were 911 calls, exhausting sleepless nights, ER visits, and ultimately admission to a facility where he stabilized and recovered.

It was frightening witnessing my best friend, the person who I love most in this world and know everything about, essentially lose his mind, become a danger to himself, and need to be on lockdown. Once he was finally home and recovering, it felt like I became the one who was not doing so well. I would wake up in the middle of the night panicked that something was wrong, and spent most of my time worrying about him. Read more

"We are both better equipped to manage our anxieties now and are on our way to being healthier together."

Zee

“Heal thyself doctor. Heal thyself doctor. Heal thyself doctor.”

As I sat in a packed room with 80 other newly-minted medical doctors, this was the phrase that kept playing over and over in my head. I’m sure many people have heard this quote before. What were the origins of the reference for me? A line from the much maligned sci-fi film “Supernova,” starring Angela Bassett and James Spader. The image of the two actors inexplicably reverberated in my mind as I sat in my hyper-vigilant state.

I should have left. I should have gone to the bathroom to regroup. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. In fact, the only coherent thought that I could muster was the decidedly accusatory and increasingly anxiety provoking mantra, “Heal thyself doctor.” It felt like a cruel joke my brain was playing, considering the circumstances.

I was a first-year psychiatry resident, feeling my resolve crumbling before I’d even gotten a chance to put a crease in my freshly starched white coat. I felt like a fraud. How could I help others when I couldn’t stop gripping the arms of my chair, trying to inconspicuously perform breathing exercises? Who was I kidding?

I remember being at work one day and my senior resident mentioning that two medical residents at a New York City training program had jumped to their deaths in the same number of weeks. I remember feeling scared. I wish I could say that these tragic incidents influenced me to seek help, but they didn’t. In fact, I recall justifying not seeking help by telling myself, “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that bad. Besides, I just don’t have the time.”

"I felt like a fraud. How could I help others when I couldn’t stop gripping the arms of my chair, trying to inconspicuously perform breathing exercises? Who was I kidding?"

Karen

Sometimes it feels like I am two different people, living two completely different lives. On the one hand, there is the is the 33-year-old woman who is career-focused, savvy, and content with her life. On the other is the girl who was abused by her father for years and tried to kill herself at 13.

In my late twenties, I was diagnosed with PTSD, Depressive Disorder, and General Anxiety Disorder. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders in that moment with my doctor. I knew I had been very sick and unable to function for most of my twenties, but giving a name to my struggle made it so much easier to deal with. Until then, everything I thought about mental health and depression was based on shame and misinformation. Finding out how much of a mind-body connection it is has helped me reclaim my life and feel well.

"Everything I thought about mental health and depression was based on shame and misinformation. Finding out how much of a mind-body connection it is has helped me reclaim my life and feel well."

Ellice

For so long I'd felt uneasy, as if the tiniest thing would make me explode into a thousand tears, at only the age of fourteen I felt compelled to lock myself away from the outside world. At the age of fourteen you'd be expected to be in moods for a few hours, not a few weeks. A few month before my fifteenth birthday I was diagnosed. I felt like a failure. Even after being put on medication I still didn't believe that I could have an illness. Then I began sinking, my thoughts began pushing me down, I had no one but myself, my boyfriend at the time shared a big part of my health and took up a large amount of my problems , but I shut him out. I had to. he needed to get away from me. I wasn't going to last long, not relationship wise but mentally. I could feel myself weakening, suffering, each night I spent alone in bed I sunk further and further into illness. I needed something but I didn't know what, I dragged a blade accross my wrist and I liked it, it gave me a sense of security, a release, an ease. But it began becoming persistent I couldn't go 5 hours without harming myself, hospital trips and having my own set of cleaning products and bandages at home didn't bother me in the slightest. It was when I stayed at my grandparents and all of the cutlery and prescripted medication was locked away that I realised what I was doing to myself and others around me. I'd noticed I was blinded by my thoughts, I glanced down at my thighs and saw the damage, I have scars that will never fade and that will always be stared at by strangers. I frowned upon myself, I was disgusted I had let myself go into the storm my mind had made, thinking this would have changed my life around and forced me to stop letting the pain I was in get to me it didn't. Unfortunately for those who were around to witness it I got worse, after slicing my wrist open and lying in a pool of my own blood only a week after my last suicide attempt of an overdose, I was put on high security with a higher, different dose of anti depressants and the nhs at my home 4 times a week not including group dbt therapy. There was talk of staying in a psychiatric unit not far from where I live, but I decided to make myself go numb. Instead of dealing with my thoughts the way I had been i didn't think at all , I barely spoke , I didn't eat and i never left the house. although all of that didn't help my mental state it still made the situation better as staying in a psychiatric ward alone scared me so much. I stayed like that for months, until my medication got upped and I began to feel a change in myself. Having severe major depression sucks as well as being on a strong dose of antidepressants and having mental health services at your door 4 times a week, but my eyes were opened and i began using my skills I'd leaned from CAMHS to be mindful , not long before my 16th birthday my cousin was involved in an accident which lead to her death, she drowned, a freak wave no one could have done anything about, ever since I've been told that it should have opened my eyes to how amazing life was and too appreciate it , I thought maybe if you told this to an alcoholic or some kid that's constantly getting arrested that would have opened their eyes but for some reason it didn't for me , I'm not sure if it's because Im off my face on my happy tablets or I was just ungrateful but it made me want to end everything sooner, In my head I was told that because everyone was already devastated I may as well do it then so no one had to suffer at a different time, then I had a talk with my grandparents, my psychiatrist, my care coordinator and my mam and for someone like me that was slightly abnormal, I then began feeling guilty and was tempted to go back down the dark road id just took a left turn off, I'd began planning, and looking for sharp things, but then I remembered I'm too stubborn to stoop to the level I once had been, I sat myself down and had a talk with myself and said "fuck that". I'd realized that as my cousin had died I didn't realize I was close to dying too, drowning, in my own thoughts, they'd come over me like a tidal wave, I was helpless, I couldn't swim. how the hell can you swim when the water your drowning in is your own mind?! I grabbed pens, the brightest colors, some paper, made myself a coffee and made a plan, this year I'm coming off my anti-depressants, this year I'm getting discharged from CAMHS, and this year I'm staying away from the water in my head, I'm putting barriers up, my waves might push me over, might get my clothes wet but I'm not letting them take my life, I'm currently in remission, and now I've realized not only do i need to do this for myself I need to do this for her. Read more

Isabella

For someone who is incredibly emotional, I have never been one to talk about my feelings. I always thought that if I could fake a smile long enough, I would start to believe that I was happy, too. Over the years people have complimented me on my "outgoing personality" and "cheerful disposition.” Little do they know, I managed to make it through three and a half years of high school with anxiety and depression, while never disclosing it to anyone. I felt as if I would be a burden, as if speaking up would inconvenience those around me, because surely I was in the wrong.

The pressures I put on myself were far too heavy to be carried by such a weak foundation. I pushed people away, people I couldn't believe would actually care about me. I self-harmed. It got to the point that I didn't care whether I lived or died, because at least then I might feel something.

"The pressures I put on myself were far too heavy to be carried by such a weak foundation."

Kate

It’s been more than twelve years since the first time I cut myself. Most days, I feel ashamed that I cut. I do what I can to hide scars and make them disappear, but I also try and remain open and honest about the struggles with mental health that prompted me to make them. That way, I am accountable for not making them again. Read more

"A cut is pain made visible. It's the idea that if you can point to where it hurts, maybe you can fix it."

Alexis Kahn

My depression started when I was thirteen years old. That was the year my adoptive mom, who had raised me from the age of four, died suddenly of a brain aneurysm.

I remember the months that followed all too clearly. I would watch the video they played at her funeral over and over just to see her face. I started having trouble sleeping; sometimes I woke up with my face drenched in tears while I shook uncontrollably. I started to hate myself and wish that I had died in her place, because she was such a wonderful person and so many people loved her while I felt forgotten and unloved.

Not long afterward, my adoptive dad invited his girlfriend to move in, and she instantly hated my two younger siblings and I. Suddenly, my adoptive dad changed. Instead of being our loving best friend and protector who did everything with us, he joined her in verbally and emotionally abusing us daily. When I was fourteen, the physical abuse started. No one knew about the welts on our backs from horse whips or the black and blue marks across our butts, legs, and lower backs from the thick boards they made. We did a good job of hiding it.

Then, with all of that, he gradually started to get me alone. At first it was small things, like a comment here, or a brush against me there, but it soon escalated to climbing into bed with me and night and forcing himself on me while daring me to say a peep. That went on for over a year. I was too afraid to say anything because I knew that it would be a “he said, she said” ordeal; he was so careful that I would never have enough evidence to prove anything.

When my adoptive dad started molesting me I started cutting myself, purging, and thinking constantly about suicide. Sometimes I felt so empty and numb, but panic attacks would release all those bottled up emotions. I cut about three times a week, on my left wrist mainly from my inner wrist all the way to my elbow, but also my hips, my inner thighs, and even my chest, just to feel and feel like I was still in control of something. Whenever my cuts started to heal, I'd cut again. I couldn't stand it if they left me too, I needed them. I believed I deserved the treatment I was giving myself. I thought about suicide almost everyday. I hated myself and was so confused as to why I was handed such an awful life when I use to consider myself a good person.

"Does it ever really leave us, the darkness? I don't believe it does, but I think that it teaches us how to become stronger. We can learn how to fight it off."

Rebecca

I’ve been suffering with anxiety and panic attacks for about twelve years. They started in my early twenties because of a childhood phobia I had related to vomiting. I have since found out that this phobia is called emetophobia, the fourth most common phobia. It left me unable to eat properly and leave the house, and caused severe panic attacks on a daily basis.

With help from my Mum I was gradually able to get a little better, but it was hard. I've been through counseling, CBT, and hypnotherapy. While I probably appear very normal to other people, I am constantly tormented internally with worry and fear because of my phobia. Some days are better than others, and fortunately, I'm having more good days than bad days right now.

However, I dislike being around people who have been sick for fear of getting sick myself, and I wash my hands so frequently that I have developed dermatitis. I often worry about the cleanliness of utensils or surfaces in the kitchen, and therefore take longer to make food for fear of contamination. I rarely enjoy eating out as I worry about dirty restaurants. I will only put food in my mouth if I've been able to wash my hands first, and I hate when people touch my food, or even go near it.

"I often suffer in silence, making excuses to go to the bathroom where I can try to breathe calmly."

Jess Rauchberg

Neurodivergence and intimacy don't always go hand in hand. In my short twenty years, I've learned this the hard way. Through the constant cycle of embarrassment, tears, frustration, anger, and a few more emotions I can't quite define, I think I've gained some wisdom on how I should navigate intimacy. At least, I hope I have.

There are a lot of ways to define neurodivergence, and each neurodivergent person has their own personal definition for their identity. For me, it means I experience social interactions and perceptions differently than someone who is neurotypical, and I often struggle with processing them. But while it comes with its challenges, neurodivergence is, for the most part, a gift. Yes, I find some everyday things that are easy for most difficult, but lately, I've come to embrace my neurodivergence as something that makes me unique and beautiful.

But not everyone always sees that. Sometimes I am one of those people. Just like any given social interaction, intimacy can be confusing, frightening, and downright overwhelming for me, to the point where it has triggered some nasty anxiety attacks and subsequent embarrassment. Both physical and emotional intimacy are very challenging for me. Read more

"Believe you are bigger than what other people think of you. You are more than an opinion. You are beautiful."

Lucy

I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress disorder 5 years ago; when my therapist told me about it, I felt relief, and at the same time, I felt doomed. I remember being in and out of therapy for about 6 months prior to my diagnosis; 6 months of wandering, just to get lost again. I thought that if I was brave and strong enough, I could just "get over it". Or maybe just forget it. Just for one, two minutes. Stop thinking about it. Stop having nightmares about it. My friends and I used to go to the movies a lot. All of a sudden, I wasn't going to parties, missed classes, started giving cheap excuses in order to avoid my friends... When my mother started noticing my avoidant and self-destructive behaviour, she tried talking with me. It just didn't work out. She eventually got frustrated, and finally lost it when she entered my room while I was having my first panic attack and she discovered my bad self-harm habits. That's when I started my last therapy, in which I was told that PTSD and social anxiety actually exist. I felt relief because I finally found out about my illnesses, and the mere fact that they were actual illnesses made that relief even greater; as for the doomed part, I was just afraid that others would tag or make fun of me (that is, if they found out about it). During the first years, I remember crying myself to sleep just asking "why me?". I spent so much time thinking about my past, about what happened; I forgot who I was. And although my future seemed brighter thanks to therapy, I felt lost. One day, my therapist told me: "does it really matter, though? Not being able to remember who you were. It is scary, yes; but where you come from - your past - there's so much pain, and there's a reason why you can't remember. Instead of being angry or sad about it, why not focusing on the present? Who are you? How are you? Work from there, and I promise you: it gets better". So, for anyone out there who needs reassurance: it gets better! Read more

Elyssa

Approximately 1 in 5 youth aged 13–18 (21.4%) experiences a severe mental disorder at some point during their life. This statistic makes me sick. I am a 16 year old girl who takes antidepressants.I don't care who you are, but no one deserves to suffer from anxiety and/or depression. The sleepless nights, the passing out, the awkwardness while being around people. I hate to make this all about me. Society has done nothing but degrade people and convince them that it’s not okay. The truth of the matter is that it IS okay to not be okay. What’s not okay is to refuse help. Whether it be from your mother, your brother, your father, or your psychiatrist. You have to embrace that are in fact people that want to help you. To me it seemed inevitable. All I could think was,"If I can't help myself, then how could they possibly help me?" For months I would cry myself to sleep. All I could wonder was how or what I did to deserve this. It all seemed so random. People would ask me if I was "okay" and I would simply give an awkward, "Yeah, I’m fine!" It wasn't until I had a what seemed to be typical random panic attack in the backseat of a friends car to realize that I wasn't okay. When we got to her house, she didn’t know I was crying. When we got downstairs, something made her realize, possibly my awkwardness and avoiding looking at her or her parents in the eyes. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Hey. I know you're not okay." and hugged me and we cried. I'll give you the backstory. The previous weeks were rough and painful. I passed out twice from what I presumed to be anxiety attacks, which were becoming way too common for me. The worst part is that I still continued to believe and tell people that I was fine. These were lies. Nothing about me at this point in my life was normal. The inconsistent and sparse eating, the difficulty breathing, losing 15 pounds, passing out and not telling anybody, the extreme running and working out. I would not wish any of these on my worst enemy. I felt as if no one cared for me. While this is still a recurring issue in my life to date, I am living proof that things get better. Some days are not okay, but it’s encouraged to relish in the small victories that you experience on a day to day basis. Due to divine control, medicine, or whatever you choose to believe, I guarantee you that life is worth living. If you or anyone you know do not believe this for even a millisecond, please do whatever is in your power to seek help or feel better. Read more

Kayla Michelle Bowman

As a young child, I always felt a little different. I would worry about things that kids just shouldn't think about. Like the kids who didn't have parents. The kids that lost their parents. Little did I know, I would soon bare that pain. When I turned 14 I was in 9th grade. My parents were having marriage problems so it was always a fight. One night, my Mother decided she didn't want to live anymore. I remember seeing her lifeless in the recliner. Luckiky, she survived her attempt. However, January 1, 2009 my father was pronounced dead in Chattanooga, TN from a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. My Dad was my hero. My main squeeze. It was rough without him. I withdrew myself from the life I knew and spiraled into the life of drugs and addiction. By 18, I had went to rehab for pills and cocaine. Once out and 18, I started my life. I got an apartment with my boyfriend at the time, worked two jobs. I still used occasionally but it wasn't heavy. That's when I noticed my boyfriend, Michael, had a problem. Michael was diagnosed with bipolar depression type 2. He was on loads of medication daily including Xanax. But Michael was also an addict. His doctors weren't aware of that. After months of stopping him attempt to kill himself, he finally overdosed on his Xanax's one night. He woke up after a lethal dose that should have killed him. His parents and I sent him to rehab and a year after, everything seemed great. We were both clean and sober, going to college, engaged. I had everything I ever wanted. But Michael was still sad, he was still in pain and he wouldn't talk to me about it. I had no idea until May 15th, 2014 when Michael's mother found him in his truck, dead. From a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. After that, my life was completely shattered. I fell hard. Soon I was homeless, jobless, lifeless. So I turned to Methamphetamines. For a year, wallowed in my own sorrow, I screamed, cried, pleaded. Begged, to die. I did everything I could to make the drugs kill me but some how, I always survived. January 2015 I woke up one day and something just clicked. I wanted to live. I wanted to live for me, I wanted to live for my Dad and Michael. I wanted the world to know them and know that they aren't alone. That we all struggle. But we make it! I'm living with PTSD, medication free and addiction. I'm one year clean and I did it all on my own. No rehab. My goal in life is to end the stigma followed with suicide and mental illness. Thank you for letting me share my story! Read more

Madeline Nesbit

I'm currently fighting depression and anxiety. The social stigma that college is always fun, that you have to party to have fun, isn't true. My "friends" stopped hanging out with me because I suddenly wasn't this out-of-control girl who was always happy and loved to party. I'm still struggling today but know that in order to end mental health stigma I have to remember that those people don't define me- I define myself. To be kind and open is strong. Life is hard when you're 20 because suddenly *poof* all this responsibility is on you. I hope that my story could help others my age, or even at my university. You may feel alone and some people really won't be good to you-BUT- keep pushing through because you'll come up as stronger and more resilient than ever before. Read more

Carlos

I am an upbeat guy and have always considered myself an easy going, “no worries” kind of person. But I don’t let my feelings out as much as I should, or maybe I just don’t pay attention to them enough. I think this might be one of the reasons why I snapped a year ago. I was sitting at my desk one day, doing some design work for a client, when suddenly I felt my heart beating faster. My hands started to sweat, my breath shortened. I thought I was having a heart attack, and I freaked out.

The next day I went to the doctor and did some blood tests, but everything came back normal. But I still felt strange; I didn’t feel at all like myself. This is when my anxiety started. I began to avoid eating specific things, and then I started to be afraid of walking. I was so terrified of having panic attacks that it started to turn into a vicious cycle. I ended up in the hospital again and again.

“You’re walking down the street and someone shoots an arrow at you. So you ask me, ‘Who did that? Why did this happen to me?’ and I tell you, ‘I don’t know, but I can help you with it.’”

Ammar

When I was growing up, people would say bad things about people with mental illnesses. They would treat them like uninvited, unwanted beings. I did this too when I was a kid, at least until I turned fifteen. That was the year my life changed forever.

I remember my first breakdown so vividly. There I was, about to go to sleep. I brushed my teeth, made my bed and was ready to dream beautiful things. But then I saw a dark figure in front me. I closed my eyes and opened them again. I remember being scared, and sweating. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I thought that maybe God was trying to change my mind. I held onto my blankets like a shield. I was still sweating as the figure came closer, and closer, until we met eye to eye. He looked exactly like me, except that he had eyes as yellow as the sun, almost frog-like. His skin was as grey as the ashes of the dead and he wore clothes as dark as the heart of a murderer. He leaned towards me and said, “I’m your friend. I’m the only friend you’ll ever have in your life.” I burst into tears and cried until I fell asleep.

The next day I woke up thinking that it was just a bad dream. But I kept seeing the figure day after day, month after month, and year after year. We conversed a lot. Sometimes I ignored him, other times I didn’t. Finally I realized that he wasn’t a ghost. He was something else, something from another world. I kept it to myself, never telling anyone about my so-called friend. Read more

You may be different and that’s okay, because that’s what is so lovely about you. You are you.

Susie

I was 15 when I had my first panic attack. I didn't know what it was at the time; I thought I was dying. I walked to an information booth next to a bus station and asked if they could call my parents. By the time they picked me up, I was already calming down and fell asleep in the back of the car on the ride home.

For the next twenty years, anxiety and depression would be a dark cloud in my life; always there in the decision making process of my brain. The amount of parties and opportunities that I declined because of my anxiety is off the scale. Outwardly, I was fun and extroverted, so I suppose it would be hard for people to make sense of what I was going through. I started two degrees but didn’t quite finish either because of my anxiety. I also have never been able to hold down a proper job.

"Outwardly, I have always been fun and extroverted, so I suppose it would be hard for people to make sense of my struggle with anxiety."

Annabel Rose

338, 339, 340. I sat staring out the window, counting. Just counting. I’m not sure what I was counting, or why. I was just refusing to go to sleep. Nurses came like clockwork to slide open the little window to my room and check on me. 341, 342, 343. I kept counting until the sky grew lighter and I was allowed to go outside for a morning cigarette.

I never thought I’d end up there, being detained in a hospital wing with nurses peering at me round the clock. But there I was, age 19, standing in the smoker’s area of a hospital, in sponge slippers and the lace dress I had worn the night before. I’d been on and off medication and in out of therapists’ offices since I was 10 years old. I’d spent the previous year indulging in many of my most self-destructive habits: drinking excessively, falling for guys who treated me like dirt and smoking more than a factory chimney. Read more

"I never thought I’d end up there, being detained in a hospital wing with nurses peering at me round the clock. But there I was, standing in the smoker’s area of a hospital, in sponge slippers and the lace dress I had worn the night before."

Megan

I was diagnosed with migraines when I was four years old. They became chronic, and it was hard for my parents. They said things like, “If you smile, you’ll feel better.” But it didn’t make me feel better. In fact, I felt invalidated, like all the pain was in my head. It made me hate myself. I was confused. I was “too young” for anything to be seriously wrong with me. I was so anxious that I started to see things and people who weren’t there. Voices in my head said, “If they can see that you are hurting, they will help you.”

So, at age six, I spent my recesses looking for pieces of glass or tin cans to use to hurt myself. I went to the nurse every day until fourth grade because I knew that the nurse would take care of the cuts and bruises. I got in fights with the boys in my class. I spent a lot of time in detention. I was “happy” there. Still, no one suspected that anything was seriously wrong. I was just being a kid.

By sixth grade, I had developed an eating disorder. I’d starve, I’d binge, I’d purge, and I’d pop laxatives like they were candy. I tried killing myself a variety of highly creative but ineffective ways. No one knew. I became an expert at first aid. I suffered in silence, blinded by impulses. In high school, I was caught self-harming in class. The guidance counselor called my parents, and my father screamed at me, “Why are you doing this to us?! Don’t you know we love you?!”

"I am in charge of what happens next. It is hard to remember these things when depression hits, but I am determined to keep on living."

I have battled anxiety for years. I have had many trips to the E.R because I was convinced I was dying. I was called crazy for obsessing over "silly thoughts." But I wasn't. It takes a lot out of you to lose control.

Panic attacks alone are scary, but I was so afraid of my panic attacks that the thought of them could trigger one. I would have nightmares almost every night and could never sleep. My body ached from the stress. But I was told that it was all in my head. I never had much to say to a response like that. Maybe it is all in my head?

"I was told that it was all in my head. I never had much to say to a response like that. Maybe it is all in my head?"

Anxious Actress

To be honest, I'd never really thought about mental health for much of my life. It was never really a part of it. Nobody in my family suffered from any mental health issues, to my knowledge.

But I was always an anxious youngster, always wanting to fit in when I felt like all my friends secretly hated me. I’m a very sensitive person, and this isn’t something I’m ashamed of, but to some people this is very strange.

While studying drama at school, someone began to touch me without my consent. I remember feeling violated and dirty, and constantly washed my hands to try and make myself feel clean again. I went over and over the events in my mind, and asked myself, “Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I push away?” Read more

"Mental illness isn't a joke. I hope that no one else has to feel as alone as I did and still do at times. The stigma has to end."

Jenny

It started long before I realized it. For ten years of my life, my mother was in seminary and then graduate school. I don’t blame anything on her, but there have been many times when I felt like I couldn’t talk to her about how I felt.

I started cutting myself when I was fourteen because I felt like my parents weren't listening when I told them something was wrong. It started out as a way to tell them, “Hey, I need help.” But then, my aunt got breast cancer. Not long after that, I was molested.

Something inside me snapped. I felt like I deserved everything that was wrong in the world. Seeing so many atrocities in the news, like the Sandy Hook massacre, I found ways to feel ashamed for any happiness I experienced. I have always been overweight, and I stressed about that. It got to the point where I just wanted rest.

"Something inside me snapped. I felt like I deserved everything that was wrong in the world...I found ways to feel ashamed for any happiness I experienced."

Halee

My entire life, I’ve been different. I was born into an upper-middle class family, in a predominately white city. My family was one of the only biracial families in our whole town, and maybe the only biracial family with money. I was always the odd one out. I was a chubby, biracial girl who could somehow afford to be at a country club. While I managed to have friends, and hardly anyone was outwardly rude, I knew that my appearance contributed to my unpopularity.

In additional to all of this, I was diagnosed with Lupus at the age of twelve. So then I became the fat black girl with an invisible chronic disease. Everything went downhill from there.

I was diagnosed with depression, as well as social anxiety disorder. I began self-harming during my freshman year of high school, and had strong thoughts of suicide for almost three years. I stopped trying in school because I knew that at any point I could snap and kill myself, so what was the point? Read more

"It's easy to hate yourself, I think. It's easy to point out flaws and to see what's ugly about yourself, and find a million different reasons as to why you're not good enough. The hard part is loving yourself."

Shelby

I was just diagnosed less than a year ago with both depression and social anxiety disorder. While I don't particularly go out of my way to hide this fact, I also fear how people react toward me when they find out. Read more

"I've been coming to terms with the fact that it's a temporary part of who I am, and the people who stick around and support me are the people I want in my life."

Jahnavi Nirmal

I had always been a scared person since childhood. I would worry and overthink too much; but things were quite normal until this happened. It seemed like I was not the one talking, but my soul was. Going through de personalization for over a year, had not been easy, but it surely was a blessing in disguise. I thought I would turn crazy. There was a kind of a wall that separated me from the real world, and I could feel myself floating in the atmosphere. Everything seemed like an illusion, but this phase made me a very strong person. I used to hate being in that condition, for it was so suffocating. At one point, the phase reached its limit, and thoughts of committing suicide occurred to me. This was scary, but I kept telling myself that I was different, and I was lucky to go through something like this. After a few months, I felt myself coming back, but unfortunately, I did not like it. I was so used to being in my own fancy world, that coming back to the real world was horrific. Humans started to scare me, and I was afraid of socialising. Since It was my first year at design school, I began to push myself a little to talk to people. Doing that, I just moulded myself into a different person all together. One day I would wake up with a crazy mood swing, while the other day I would wake up being happy. Everything was unpredictable. Yes, I lost a lot of friends because I had stopped talking to them and had distanced myself way too much; but I was lucky to have a good support from my parents and a few close friends. Now, when I look back, I feel so blessed. The universe chose me out of a billion people to go through some thing so beautiful. I am so happy to gain so many philosophical thoughts about life. Being happy is the only thing that matters. You've always got to be a learner, and grow. You've got to smile. Read more

Racheal

I've struggled with depression since I was a teenager. It started when my parents went through an ugly divorce and my mom never did forgive and I've never really forgiven her. Depression and anxiety have ruined relationships. It's only now I've come to realize that. It's only recently I've reached out for help. I'm a single mother living on her own for the first time in years. I've lived with family or boyfriends since I was 18. The fear and stress of trying to make it on my own and raise my son has made the anxiety and depression worse. I've suffered numerous panic attacks that are debilitating. I don't leave my house except for work and even that's difficult. But I have reached out to a few friends and I'm now seeing a therapist and I'm taking meds and I'm slowly getting better. Just remember...you are not alone and you have to reach out to someone, anyone, before you can start getting better. And you can get better, I promise Read more

Yesenia España

The bathtub was full of water. Three quick breaths and I slipped under. I pushed my body up, took a long breath in, and wept. Several weeks earlier my nervous system was triggered and I had a panic attack. It felt like two fists were squeezing the air out of my lungs. I fled. But the panic and anxiety stayed. Depression found me. My interests and passions vanished. Connections with people I cared about and loved disappeared. Anguish and hopelessness took up residence in my mind. I crawled out of the bathtub and fell into bed. A powerful urge I'd never felt appeared inside of me. I gasped for air. My mind raced fast. It was an urge to kill myself. Deep in my prefrontal cortex was a tiny neon sign blinking HELP. I called my brother. Texted friends and neighbors. Emailed my therapist. The bed shook as I tried to contain the suicidal urge. Within an hour my neighbors brought me food, my therapist called to make sure I was safe, and my brother didn’t leave my side that night. I was in the ER by the next morning. Chaos surrounded me in the hallway where I laid in bed unmedicated, wearing nothing more than a hospital gown. Nurses and doctors asked, "What was your plan?" With tears streaming down my cheeks I said, "I was going to kill myself by drowning in the ocean." Hours later I was put on a 5150 hold. The cops interviewed me. An ambulance took me to another hospital with a psychiatric ward. For two weeks I ate food that tasted like rubber and slept in a bed that felt like cardboard. My blood was drawn each day. Several interviews later, I was told what I was up against: major depressive disorder, suicidal ideation, panic disorder, PTSD, trauma. It was a perfect storm. After my discharge, I took time off from work to begin an intensive treatment program. It's been emotionally and physically exhausting. As my brain rewires and I create new patterns of thinking and behavior, I'll think about my loving family, thoughtful friends, kind neighbors, caring boss and co-workers, magical treatment therapists, brave therapy group, nurturing social worker, honest psychiatrist, and long-time psychotherapist who'll catch me when I fall and continue to help me heal. https://instagram.com/p/BD2PvHSMvn6/ Read more

Nadindra

I know I’ve been living with it for the past 18 years of my life, but I never knew what it was. I had an accident last year, 2015, where I was driving and I hit someone on their motorcycle. It was mutual, both parties are wrong. A man, a woman, and their child. Nobody gets hurts, except the lady got a sprained ankle from falling down to asphalt from the motorcycle. Everything ended up fine, they forgave me and I paid for the medical bills. I haven’t had the chance to go and drive again, I’m not completely sure that I can do it again. The thought of that accident is still on my mind, being replayed every 10 minutes. What if it was more than that? What if there the woman turns out to have more pain than just a sprained ankle? And after that thought, it always ends up in a panic attack. I never really told anyone in my family that I couldn’t go back to driving, they would thought I was overreacting. They don’t even know I sometimes have panic attacks. Being born and raised in an Asian family gave you one thing, you never talk about your feelings. That’s why I am never comfortable telling my mom about my panic attacks, ask her how to handle it, and where do I get some help. These thoughts aren’t just about the accidents, it’s about everything and mostly little things that I said or people said to me. I’ve been living away from my family for the last 7 months, I’m getting more space to find out what I am going through, and it turns out to be so much more than just repetitive thoughts in my head. My mind become more uncontrollable, I need to do stuff the specific way and if I don’t do them right, I get my daily panic attacks. With being away, I learnt to embrace my anxiety and OCD more, I am not myself without them. I am not sure if my friends really know what I’m going through is serious, sometimes they think I am just overreacting and I seriously don’t know how to tell them. Especially my family, I don’t know if they will accept it. Read more

Caroline

I've had depression for as long as I can remember. I was in and out of foster from 6 til 17. I was serially abused as a child by my father. I guess these have all been contributing factors to my depression. It became worse when I was in high school. I never fit in anywhere and no one understood the constant battle I fought in my own head. I joined band,played sports,even joined some clubs but never found anyone who could relate to me. I felt so alone. I used to cut in high school. It was on my upper thigh where no one could see. I didn't do it for attention. I did it because cutting and the pain actually stopped me from crying and feeling anything. It was break from who I was in my own head. As an adult my depression has become worse and now anxiety plagues my mind too. Everyday I live in constant fear that I am not good enough for my friends, for my loved ones, for my significant other or even for my job. When I wake up I have to convince myself that getting out of bed today will be good for me even though I don't feel that way. It's a struggle not to just lay in bed all day and pretend the world around me doesn't exist. It doesn't help that I don't have many people,even now, who understand what it's like. I have people tell me over and over to stop being depressed that I have no reason to be. My adoptive dad passed away last November and the monthsame that have followed have been some of the worst in my life. I'm looking into therapy now. I think it may help to talk to someone about the chaos in my head. I think mental illness needs to be more openly discussed so those who suffer feel more comfortable talking about their problems. I am not my depression. Read more

Angela

About seven months ago I started to feel more anxious that I normally would. I thought I could solve it and get through with that but suddenly it became unbearable. I couldn't sleep at night and I didn't want to eat. Then depression started to kick in, as well as the panic attacks. I was desperate, I wondered why it was happening to me, what have I done wrong. I accepted that I had and have a problem and that I needed help. I am going through medical treatment and therapy and that helped a lot. Other things that helped a lot was knowing that there were other people out there who are going through that as well, sharing there experiences and telling you that that is not going to last forever, that there is a way out. I also learned to be kinder with myself, to understand that I'm not perfect and that I needed to change somethings in my life. Read more

Margaret Jacobsen

At 28 years old, I’ve learned a lot about myself with depression. I have existed with it every day for the last 14 years. Some days are easy—I’m able to jump out of bed without any fighting with myself—while others are battles. They are uphill battles, battles that I know I’ll lose, but I fight nonetheless. Some days feel like I’m in a pit that’s inescapably dark, but still I try without avail to find a way out. I try so hard, shouting, knowing I won’t be heard. It’s a tiring existence, and a frustrating one. I am not depression and depression is not me, yet it is a big part of who I am. Without it, who would I be? I don’t really dwell on that thought too often, because I’m afraid that I wouldn’t like the “other me” very much. In a way, that sounds crazy, because I used to beg my mind to calm down and be normal. Now, though, I allow it space, and I don’t beat myself up. I’m kind to myself, and understand that mental illness takes time. Like any illness, it takes care.

There was a time when I wouldn’t accept my depression, let alone be kind to myself about it. I wouldn’t talk about it. I cringed constantly when people asked if I was sad, denying it—because I wasn’t actually sad. That’s not what depression is. It was more than simply a feeling, it was a state of being. My brain felt stuck on autopilot. No matter how much I willed myself to be better, to be happier, my brain insisted “Nope, this is your new default. Apathetic”. Realizing this, I was afraid of what it meant about me as a person. It was becoming too much; I was getting tired of pretending that I was “okay” when I wasn’t. Constantly planning out your own death is exhausting. Eventually I admitted to myself that I needed help, but had no idea where to start. When everything I had seen in regards to mental illness, especially depression, was a narrative of sadness and brokenness, I didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if there could be no thriving within it, but that couldn’t be the case…right? I couldn’t be doomed to a lifetime of living in a fog, only half living... Read more

“Without it who would I be? I don’t really dwell on that thought too often. Because I’m afraid that without it, I wouldn’t like the person I am too much…”

Erin

Do you remember the girl in high school who was always smiling and making everyone laugh? The class clown, the most popular one around. She always came to school completely put together and seemed like she had everything. That was me, or at least the me that I wanted people to see. The reality was that I was dying inside. I was tired from spending all of my energy making everyone believe the show I put on for them each day. Read more

“It took me a while to realize that I made fun of others for the things I feared within myself.”

Alyssa DeGeorge

I've been a worrisome person my whole life, but the anxiety really kicked in a couple years ago after a busy month. Over the next few months, I had my first panic attacks. When the first one happened, I almost went to the emergency room because I couldn't understand why I couldn't breathe. I asked my boyfriend to check on me throughout the night to make sure I didn't just stop breathing in my sleep. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me or why this happened all of a sudden.

I didn't want to take medication, because that felt like admitting I had a serious problem and I didn't want to be numbed or become addicted to the pills. I thought I be able to just work through it and get past it. I started going to a Christian counselor, who helped me recognize that the anxiety didn't have to define me. But a couple months later I felt depression coming on, and after a night where I doubted if I'd ever feel joy again, I decided to start medication in addition to the therapy. Read more

When I started to open up to people about it, I soon learned that SO many people are going through these diseases. And they are just that: a disease.

Rebecca

The hardest part was admitting to myself that something was wrong, let alone admitting it to others as well. Throughout college I was the one who had everything together. Nearly perfect GPA, president of multiple extracurriculars, volunteering every weekend...but each time I heard the phrase "Oh, Rebecca, you're perfect. YOU are my role model," I felt like a rubber band was twisting tighter and tighter around my chest. I used to wonder how no one could see the fear and sadness in my eyes as my facial features forced themselves into what I envisioned as the phoniest smile. Read more

I am slowly accepting that I am a human being and we are all imperfect, myself included. And that's fine.

Dana Sharkey

Frankly, I don’t feel like talking about my story or the darkness that consumed my life for 6 years; I’d rather share about life and lessons from the other side, giving hope to people reading this. I’ll include one excerpt from my journal in 2003, during the beginning of my illness: “It may take years more, but I do believe one day it won’t be like this…I will be free.”

Three lessons that recovery taught me…

1. That complete recovery is possible.

I never really believed that my eating disorder would be my death sentence. What I didn’t realize was that it didn’t have to be a life sentence either. Throughout my treatment and recovery, it was often stated or implied that I would struggle, to some degree, with my eating disorder for the rest of my life (i.e., how alcoholism is often described – you’re always an alcoholic, even when you’re not drinking; you’re always an anorexic, even when you’re not restricting).

One night, after 6 years of physical, emotional, and psychological torment and self-abuse, I simply got tired of it. I finally became more afraid of missing out on life than I was of living without my eating disorder as a crutch. At that moment, I fully grasped that it wasn’t about the food—no amount of restriction or weight loss was ever going to make me happy or solve my problems. The real problem was that I didn’t love myself, and I was ready to change that. The eating disorder was simply not serving me anymore. So I let it go. I cried, and I prayed, and I took a deep breath; I knew I was done.

The next week, I flew to France for four months. I explored and got lost every day; I treated myself to whatever I wanted in the patisseries; I spontaneously traveled to other parts of Europe. I felt alive and at peace for the first time in my life, and I have spent every day of the past eight years looking forward instead of backward. Since letting go, I have not engaged any disordered thoughts or behaviors, and I don’t struggle with it at all.

Today, I am not anorexic. I am not in recovery – I am recovered. It’s over. Most days, I don’t even consciously remember that I was ever anorexic, much less consumed with disordered thoughts for every second of every day for six years. I didn’t think it was possible to take all of the hateful thoughts and nutrition labels out of my head, but the trick is making the conscious decision to instead fill your mind with love, gratitude, and living in the present. Our minds and willpower are incredibly strong and resilient when we believe in real change.

No two stories are the same, and I’m sure many people don’t fully recover in one specific moment that they can pinpoint – but I want people to know that it is possible. You don’t need to settle for believing that you will be stuck in the grip of an eating disorder for the rest of your life. Read more

I learned that fear isn’t real and that I have the power to face it. I learned that nothing in life is worth falling apart over.

Sunshine

My name is Sunshine. I am the mom to ten children, five of which are adopted from foster care. I was a foster kid myself, and lived in the same group home as two of my adopted children, 16 years before them. I ended up in foster care as a teen. Growing up with just my younger sister and father, I don't remember much from before the age of 10. I was molested and mentally abused. I went to bed as a kid afraid he would come in my room at night.

Locking the door didn't help, as he just used a hanger to pop the lock. I tried putting super glue in the handle, and I just got in trouble. I threw tacks all around the floor of my bed once, then hurriedly picked them all up, afraid. It was years before we were taken out of the home. During adolescence I had two major suicide attempts, and one in adulthood less than a year ago. I'm a quiet, introverted person by nature, and carry my burdens alone. I take care of everyone else—that is my job. Read more

I have a visible daily reminder that I can do this, that it's not my fault, and we truly are champions in this grandly imperfect world.

Kit Knight

The cold of the stock was immediately noticeable. It was lighter than I thought it would be, and the hammer looked easy to pull. I still don't know what 9mm was referring to. My hand was slightly trembling when the gun store clerk let me hold the Glock, but he didn't notice. In Arizona, it's easier to buy a gun than borrow a book from the library. That's the last time I held a gun. I had detailed plans to commit suicide so that no one, including EMTs, would be traumatized.

How did I get there? Growing up, I knew I had depression, but in Utah, mum’s the word. My narcissist mother once told me to "fight it," inferring that I can defeat depression by thinking about it. Trying to fight depression like that is like trying to fight a ghost. I did go to therapy, but I didn't tell my therapist the truth. I did benefit from the therapy a little, but when my second wife abandoned me and took our cute little Jack Russell terrier, I had to make a choice: get busy living or get busy dying. Read more

I don't give a shit how mentally "strong" someone is. We are all vulnerable to these conditions. I had to make a choice: get busy living or get busy dying.

Marlene Sauer

My mother consistently abused me and my brother. She would pin me down on my bed and sit on top of me, screaming into my face, her nose an inch from mine. She covered my nose and mouth with her hands until I couldn't breathe. She told me that I was the devil, that I ruined her life, that she should have aborted me, that she would kill herself to get away from me. She hit my father and bit my brother. Her moods shifted quickly and she sometimes would be praising me the very same day, telling me how much she loved me and how proud she was, holding me tight and stroking my arms and thighs. I survived the trauma by "going away"—dissociating so effectively that I have very few memories of my years living with my parents. Read more

I survived the trauma by "going away"—dissociating so effectively that I have very few memories of my years living with my parents.

Sara Romeo-White

I’ve written a lot about my story. There was even a period of time really recently where I made the conscious decision to stop. I couldn’t bare it anymore. I have done so much work on separating who I am and what my story is and constantly writing about it was making that difficult. I no longer wanted to define myself or be defined by the things I have been through or my illnesses. I wanted to find the real me under the layer of story and events.

The truth that I’ve come to realize, is that while yes those things don’t define me, they are and will always be part of me. I process through writing and always have. I journaled obsessively for most of my life. It was and is how I cope. I also know how important the value of helping people through shared experience is. So yeah, I still am getting to know who I am under those layers. And yes, I still am shedding my story to make room for new stories. But I doubt I will ever stop writing about those times and those experiences because while they are not who I am they have a large part to do with who I have become. And for that I am grateful.

By the time I was nineteen I weighed over 300 lbs., had been in and out of hospitals, diagnosed as everything from bipolar to ADD, and had dropped out of college in pursuit of health. A pursuit that was held up for two years and caused my second and most severe suicide attempt due to my insurance company claiming I wasn’t sick enough or big enough to warrant the treatment I desperately needed. I was begging for help and the stigma of mental health and the type of eating disorder I suffered from was overpowering that need.

I have a binge eating disorder. For years people didn’t look at this as a serious issue. They called it “emotional eating” and chalked it up to lack of self control. Because I didn’t purge I wasn’t considered a person who had a real problem. Yet I was prediabetic and had the beginnings of sleep apnea and barely left my bed or showered for days and very seriously wanted to die. Only recently within the last few years was B.E.D. (binge eating disorder) put in the DSM (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) as a classified illness yet it is the most widely spread eating disorder in the United States to date. Read more

I have a binge eating disorder. For years people didn’t look at this as a serious issue.

Chris Monson

When I was 15, I started binging and purging. I didn't know it at the time, but what I was doing would soon evolve into bulimia. l was so young, and I still am so young, and I've fought so many battles, mostly with myself. My bulimia triggered a landslide of sorts, because one day I was bulimic, the next I was bulimic and manic depressive, and then somewhere in there social anxiety came out. I was in what were supposed to be the most exciting years of my life! But I didn't want to go to any football games, dances, nothing. I would have rather stayed at home and laid in bed. Going from this point to now, three years later, I've learned a lot. I haven't binged and purged in two years. I almost killed myself a few times along the way, but thank god I didn't—I would have missed so much! I learned how to cope with my social anxiety, and although it affects my speech I'm learning to work through it. Read more

I have something really important that I didn't have three years ago: self love. I may be a gay, depressed teenager who's recovering from an eating disorder, but I love it.

Anna

I am a 27-year old filmmaker, and I have struggled with depression since I was fifteen. I’ve attempted suicide twice, been to dozens of different therapists, and have tried almost every antidepressant on the market, but none of that made a difference. I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover, and I’ve come to terms with that. The only things that provide relief are my creative work and love. Mostly love, and I’ve become a love addict—at least to the beginning stages of falling in love. Read more

“I’ve become a love addict—at least to the beginning stages of falling in love.”

Sarah

It was 12 years ago this month that my boyfriend Tim committed suicide violently and unexpectedly. In the years since, I have struggled with the residual PTSD and my own demons that have surfaced. I'm a bright woman with all sorts of possibilities and opportunities, but the depression and anxiety I face every day hold me back. I'm 28 and I still haven't gotten my life together. I depend on my parents, and I hate being such a burden on them, both financially and emotionally. For the first time in almost three years I have been able to face the day without tears, and I am just hoping that this might be the first step out of the darkness. Read more

Joanie

I've never told anyone this but I remember when I was little I knew I wouldn't live long. I never pictured myself getting old, getting married, having kids. For some reason I thought I would only make it to my early 20's. I knew this world was not for me. As I got older I started to struggle with anxiety, poor self-image and eventually bulimia. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression and went on medication. As I've tried to come off of meds in my 20s and 30s o always descend into hopelessness, despair, fear, anger, self hatred and Shame. If I had never gone on meds I'm confident I would have died long ago, from the eating disorder or the depression. I still don't want a family - how could I ever start something I'm not sure I'd be around to take care of? I'm still that scared, unsure, over contemplative little girl who has never seen happiness for herself. I feel too much, hurt too much, hope to much but don't know how to live with any of that because deep down...I've never thought I'd get this far... Read more

Amanda Tolka

A note to a friend last week: The anniversary of one of the more "profound" traumas I've experienced is tomorrow. My body holds these memories with an unbreakable, barely bearable, grip. Winter is nothing short of war. Hours, days, weeks, are spent in and out of paralysis - fear, anxiety, overwhelming, deafening, internal noise, can lead me to become afraid of my own breath. My body cringes and clinches and my mood and soul follow. My face...well, the scar in the middle of my forehead that wasn't there 15 years ago seems to grow deeper and from time to time I take on a nice black and blue tint, armed with stories, or the anger to just say bluntly to people, "I have PTSD and punch myself repeatedly in an episode"... no biggie, right, life does carry on...and strangely, it does. This year has been different, though. I have recoiled at times, but resisted my urge to go fully into myself or out of this world and sought connection with the nature, primarily, and only those who I felt reflected something back to me, of myself, that could resonate in the present. I became fearless about the idea that I can "start over" as many times as I need. There can be a million prototypes of Amanda...and that's okay, there is a story in that, a thread, that ties me together. I have found that there is some Self in there, after all and that my pure awe of this world is what has inspired me to fight so hard to stay. The marvel of my mind and body, its ability for the parts to connect, disconnect, leave this world as so many know it, only to come back again. It's like falling into water, straight backwards and as you sink, the layers of things become distorted, but even more disjointed, into so many tiny little bits, it's easy for them to mix up and then incredibly difficult to get them back into a coherent order...I digress. All of the various reasons I've been able to approach things differently, and the ways I've been working through it, deserve to be explicated- I feel the responsibility here, to understand and share whatever path I find to wellness through all of this. You and your little family are one of the great reasons for the difference this year. It's important for me to say that - and I wanted to say it tonight - and probably will focus for the next day or so on an outpouring of gratitude to those who have helped me find some sort of place here <- here, being the present moment or whatever this space is we're sharing. My body is so wrought with confusion about what time and where it actually exists in that the people who give me some sense of place, something to stick to, are profoundly important to me. Thank you for this. I know I've found a dear friend and comrade in you. I hope these words can resonate with you as the pure love that has ushered them out. Love, Amanda Read more

Morgan Schutterle

I have a few friends who tell me I’m the calmest person they know and I find it hilarious. I can’t remember when my anxiety started, but my parents could tell you many stories that involve it. Between the ages of 9 and 11, I would have panic attacks consistently. It would always start with an insignificant worry (getting lost, sick, etc.) and snowball to the point where I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop trembling, and my fingers would go numb. I didn't know that was what a panic attack was because my parents labeled it as being “over tired”. It took me awhile to accept that I have panic attacks because I would justify it wasn’t THAT bad and I could function without medication. Accepting my anxiety helped me learn how to help myself and pay more attention to my self-care routine. Through years of trial and error, I’ve found ways to deal with my anxiety in a healthy way that have significantly reduced my panic attacks. I don’t tell a lot of people about my anxiety issues but when I have, I’m surprised by the understanding and compassion. I’m so lucky to have people in my life who either understands because of their own struggles or those who put in the effort to understand. Read more

Sami

No one in my family talks about mental illness. Especially my mother. She never told me her brother was a drunk or that my dad has frequent panic attacks. All throughout my life I was talk that mental illness was something to be kept private and quiet. Over the last 4 years I've gone through several boughts of depression. I never asked for help because I was taught that it was something you silently deal with and don't mention it. I was taught that to talk about it was attention seeking and that self harm wasn't a cry for help but a cry for attention. I told myself for years that if I talked to anyone about what I was going through was just a phase, just part of being a teenager. In reality it's not a phase. It's a life long disorder. It's something I will live with for the rest of my life. It's something that I will carry with me forever. I will have the scars for the rest of my life. But I will no longer be ashamed. Let's start talking about mental illness not as if it's a cry for attention. But as something that needs to be handled with care and treated with love and support. Read more

Akanksha Krishnani

I had just quit my job of over three years that morning, to focus on launching my own creative arts company. That night, I was with my sister on my way to a gig where I was DJing for the evening. On my way to the club, I suddenly couldn't breathe in the cab. I felt my heart beating 5 times faster than normal. I thought I was having a stroke, but a stroke at the age of 25? My sister freaked out when she saw me holding my chest. I stumbled out of the cab to get some air. It was the main traffic junction in Mumbai, at 9.30 pm. My sister helped me walk to the hospital, which was luckily right across the street. I was taken to heart specialists, surgeons, and all sorts of doctors, but nothing. Read more

I started going out in public places to trigger my anxiety so I could confront it and learn to accept it. I will never figure out why the anxiety started, but I have figured out that I am proud of myself for facing it.

Laura

I'm Laura, a 22 year old designer from Italy. It was a sunny day, 9 years ago, when I had my first unexpected & official date with Mr. Panic Attack. I had never met him before that day. He was not a gentleman, you know? He wasn’t nice; he treated me badly. I was just a shy, 14 year old girl, walking around the city with a friend when I saw an ambulance rescuing a person. This was the first time I met panic.

I started to sweat, and my head was really confused. I realized that I could be ill like that person, and it terrified me. I was scared to death of the thought that I could die. I ran away and back to my house immediately. I thought that day was the worst day of my life, and it couldn’t be worse in the future, but I was wrong. This was just the beginning of an endless “adventure” with psychologists, treatments, zoloft, xanax, lorazepam, psychiatrists, and the feeling of being different from the others. Read more

Anxiety, OCD and depression taught me many things. Before I had always helped everyone else, but I never helped myself. I realized I was living for others, not for myself.

Nadia Leiby

I've been hospitalized twice in the past 4 years. I am bipolar with psychotic features, and I'm currently on my 7th antipsychotic trial. A lot of people who aren't in the mental health system don't understand that the process of finding the right kind of therapy or therapist is something that both takes years and takes over your entire life. Read more

People who aren't in the mental health system don't understand that the process of finding the right kind of therapy or therapist is something that both takes years and takes over your entire life.

Diana Rinbo

Every psychiatrist I have ever gone to just wants to hand out more and more pills. I don't think doctors realize how harmful psychiatric medications can be. I lost two years of high school because of these pills for depression and schizophrenia (which turned out to be a misdiagnosis, by the way). I could barely get out of bed in the morning and the drugs had me sedated all day. Read more

Doctors won't accept that I don't want to take pills. I would like to go to private therapy but I can't afford it, and the health system doesn't give a shit about mental health.

Brittany Vadalabene

November 11, 2005 was the day that my life had changed forever. I was getting ready to leave for school and something just felt different. I was getting ready to head out the door and I said goodbye to my mom. Little did I know, that was the last time I would speak to her. I headed to school and my day went on as it normally did. It was lunch time when I heard my name called over the PA speaker. I walked into the office and I saw my aunt standing there, holding back tears. I knew something was wrong. We got out to the car and she told me that my mom had a massive heart attack, a complication from Lupus, amongst the other diseases that she lived with. We rushed to the hospital only to find that we were too late. She was gone.

She was only 40. I was extremely close to my mom so the pain I was feeling was unbearable. I spiraled into a feeling that I had known before but it was different–it was escalated. Everyone was worried about me and my dad took me to the doctor where I was diagnosed with depression.

I always thought depression was just a feeling, but I found out that isn't the case; I have a chemical imbalance in my brain. It turns out that the feelings I was feeling even before my mom passed away were a result of that. They put me on antidepressants, but antidepressants only made things worse. I was thinking of suicide, and how life would be so much better without me. However suicide wasn't an option, I was raised Catholic and suicide was a one way ticket to hell. So I just decided to cut myself. I cut my arms and my legs, and wore long sleeves to hide the wounds. But one day my baby sister walked in—I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I decided on my own to stop taking the antidepressants. Read more

Marissa

I didn't know I was depressed. Depression wasn't something that should happen to a privileged girl with no apparent traumas, but it did. I was fifteen years old and should have been spending my days gossiping about boys, complaining about homework, you know..."normal stuff." Instead, I found myself withdrawing into the deepest corners of myself, and I didn't know how to reach out. Not that I cared, since all I could feel was a combination of self-hatred and general apathy. I wrote suicide notes for comfort, and planned on overdosing on a series of pills. Read more

I didn't know I was depressed. Depression wasn't something that should happen to a privileged girl with no apparent traumas, but it did.

It's been 4 years since the suicide attempt that finally brought me to my Bipolar Disorder diagnosis. I've worked hard to maintain a healthy lifestyle since then and I am damn proud of it... But nobody else can seem to let go of the mistake I made that ended up getting me the help I needed. Not my family, not my past, and even the government won't let it go. How am I supposed to move past it if I'm constantly reminded of it? Read more

Elinor

I am sixteen years old. I have Obsessive compulsive Disorder, Severe Anxiety, and Clinical depression. Everyone thought that it was teenage angst. It wasn't. Three years ago, I felt empty. There seemed to be a vacuum in my stomach that ached. I was utterly empty. I would get flashes of feeling, and I didn't know whether or not I liked them. They were a pain that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but they were real. REAL people felt these same feelings. I wanted to feel that way. I wanted to feel SOMETHING. I don't know how it started. I think it was the day I was cleaning out my desk, and I found the blades. The extras for X-acto knives. I'm not sure how I began. I just know that I needed to feel something. To know that I was standing on solid ground. I would never leave marks on my wrists. They were too exposed. My thighs were the next best thing. The lines and scars would blend in with my huge, purple stretch marks. There are still 42 marks on my pale legs. I sometimes feel like an addict. I see knives and blades. I want to feel something. Anything. I haven't put a knife to my skin in 3 years. I think about leaving 42 more marks every. Single. Day. None of my friends know about the scars. There is one girl in my class. She has bigger lines, lower on her legs, spelling out a word. I'm not sure what it says. I've never asked. My friends dislike that girl. They say that she's strange, messed up, asking for attention. I know that I should stand up for a fellow sufferer, but I don't want anyone to start asking about my 42 marks. I am 16 years old. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Severe Anxiety, and Clinical Depression. It's not teenage angst. Read more

Laura

I have OCD. When I tell people this they just think i am a perfectionist and like order. In reality, my obsessive thoughts are about hurting people. I only found this out after visiting psychologists for 6 years and being hospitalised 3 times. I wasn't able to talk about these thoughts that were distressing me so much because of the stigma around mental health. No one talks about the realities of OCD, it is made fun of and used as an excuse. No one realises that having OCD is about thoughts that are so against your own character that they distress you to a point where you cannot function and you shut down. No one realises that people who suffer from OCD are on some of the highest doses of antidepressants that are safe to take. These things need to be talked about. Read more

Justin

I find out this year that I'm bipolar. I still don't believe it though.It feels like it shouldn't apply to me, yet I know there's something wrong with my mental state, and it scares me to take it seriously because once I admit it, then it will be true. I just withdrew from college in the midst of finishing my third year because I had zero motivation to move forward. I think it's because at one point I realized that I was, ordinary. It scared me shitless that I would never achieve greatness and I started getting vivid nightmares about 20 years from now when I'm stuck in a mundane office job counting the days till I retire and die alone sadly. I'd sometimes wake up crying and screaming. Read more

Nikki

When I was 3, my mom's best friends husband took a special interest me. He took me upstairs every time I went over. He promised me smarties, my favorite candy, if I kept it our secret. This went on for like 3 years. Now, 14 years later, I still worry if any given man I see is gonna try to make me do stuff I don't want to. Read more

hannah shaw

Here's something I don't tell many people. I Have depression. And Anxiety. And I Have for six years. When I was 14, I started to get sad but as I was a teenager figured it was just normal changes. Until it didn't go away. It got to the point that I was never happy. Even at exciting events I couldn't shake the feeling of depression. And then, in 2013 things got really bad for me. I started to self harm. I just wanted to feel something other than the crippling numbness I was used to. I planned my suicide and I wrote notes. But I could never hurt my family by going through with it. No matter how much I didn't want to be here I couldn't do it to them. After all, they didn't know i was so depressed. IN 2015, I developed Anxiety. Walking through college became my nightmare and being in a place where people might judge me terrified me to the point of not wanting to go out. I stopped going to see friends and avoided going to work because it was just another place that i would feel anxious. Phone calls are my worst nightmare. The idea of having a conversation with someone I cant see worries me because I have no way to see what they're thinking. It has been six years and I'm slowly starting to feel better but i know that it will be a long struggle until I feel totally, truly happy and safe again. So that's my story. Read more

Duffy

I had my first psychotic break between 19 and 20. I still dont understand it and its hard to accept that you never will, that its not real, thats its utter nonsence, that something that caused such intense fear was pointless, was chemicals not connecting, was going to ruin the rest of your life, would make you socially unacceptable, that would alter your behavior in ways you could not control and would inevitably be misinterpreted by others, be misunderstood by others always. Something that made me different. Something that took my emotikns from the highest of the high to the bottom of the pits. Something that has made me so emotionally exhausted. Something that possesses me and that I have to fight every moment to control and to be free from. The only releif is that I know my Lord snd Savior understands and holds me in his arms. I know that there are so many people with this whose experiences are so much worse. I understand from being there. Read more

Leah

My name is Leah. I struggle with severe depression with psychotic features (because I constantly think people are talking about me/making fun of me) anxiety and eating disorders. They basically rule my life. The past month has been very difficult. After a suicide attempt on Christmas Eve I have been on medical leave from work and in and out of psychiatric hospital stays. I fear I will never get better because I still think about death almost everyday and how badly I just wish it would end. Since being out of the hospital my whole life has fallen apart. My mom kicked me out of my house. My friends are sick of hearing about it. Which I don't blame them for I mean how much can they listen to the same crap. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I guess I just feel lost and alone with it now. I feel like I'll never get better. But now I have to hold it in cause I don't want to go back to the hospital. But I'm just so alone and sad with all of this and i hate it. I feel better sometimes, only cause all the meds I'm on now, but sometimes I feel the black hole sucking me right back in Read more

Sara

I always felt out of place my whole life. Since I can remember, I knew my father abused me sexually and physically. He locked me in a closet for days with no food or water. And when he finally was ready to let me out, he would beat me and make me perform oral sex. I was afraid of this man. I would hide for days, and to make me come out he would shoot my animals right in front of me. I always wished someone would rescue me from this monster. I hated that man. Read more

I tried to kill myself too many times to count, and when the doctor came in he would tell me I have an angel at my side because my heart stopped several times.

Steven

For the majority of my teenage years, I was locked into a state of mind that I couldn't control, I can only just now understand who I am and who I want to be. I was admitted to SLAM at the age of 15. I spent some of the darkiest days in there which led to me being very suicidal. Being diagnosed unspecified led to me mass confusion and depression and left me without a life. I turned it round and I am now in the process of building and managing a Mobile Network that donates Back to Mental Health Charity at no additional cost to help support the funding of NHS beds, NHS Therapy, NHS Staff to build up a better NHS Mental Health System. Using Kent's MVNO Calls4Charities who have a network donating to cancer and sport called C4CMobile. This project should be up and running at the latter part of this year. You can find out more of C4CMobile here www.C4CMobile.com It's time we gave back to those in need. Stop isolation. Stop Losing Faith in MP'S and Government.You can Make a difference to mental health just by making a call or sending a text. Read more

Dena Paolino

Bipolar, manic depression. I grew up hearing those words.i knew my dad had " another side". When he snapped in the past he broke my mom's friend's knees. Then he shot his woe and her mother. He robbed banks too. But he was always good to me. Although we always sensed that he could snap any time. I grew up scared, not of him but of what mood he'd be in that day. He confided in me at times. One day he told me he was going to rob a bank and if the police showed up he was shooting his way out because he refused to go back to jail. I was leaving for California with my 2 year old. I said Dad, don't be stupid. I am not coming back early from vacation for your funeral. Those were the last words I ever said to him. 3 days later my daughters father called me. He send don't get upset but your dad was arrested for robbing the bank. Upset? I was relieved!! He didn't die in a shoot out!! 2 days later the phone rang at 5am. My dad hung himself in jail. Read more

Melody

I've suffered with anxiety my whole life, but in the last year it has become unbearable. Because of suffering with anxiety I developed OCD. I became obsessed with the thought of having anxiety and whenever I wasn't worrying, my OCD would make me think "why aren't you worrying right now?" Or "well does this mean you've given up?" And I just can't handle it anymore. There isn't a day where I'm not worrying and because of this I am too scared to get help, even though that is what I need the most. If i could give any advice to people who suffer from anxiety, it would be to get help- right now. Read more

Marisa

I've been suffering from depression and anxiety since I was six years old. It started with a traumatic event. I was molested by a family member several times throughout the year. I never told anyone about it until I was 16. I had destructive behaviors in my teens, but my parents always thought that was "normal" behavior. The first person I told was my boyfriend, who I really liked and felt safe talking to about what happened to me. He was very sympathetic, and still is. I´m now 26 years old and we are still together. Read more

I was molested by a family member several times throughout the year. I never told anyone about it until I was 16.

Katie

Bipolar. Biracial. Bisexual. I live in the shades of grey. The mask that kept everyone else away was locking me inside. 6 months away from my LCSW so I can say, I've been where you've been. Felt similarly. We're all different but those similarities can be a good thing. Embrace a label instead of a brand. Read more

Lauryn

I lead a great life. I’m the lead social media manager of a large brand, my friends are fucking awesome, and I couldn’t love my life living in New York any more than I do. Occasionally, though, I suffer from panic attacks. It's difficult to put the feeling into words, but I can tell you that it’s terrifying. Read more

“I lead a great life. My friends are fucking awesome, and I couldn’t love my life living in New York any more than I do. Occasionally, though, I suffer from panic attacks.”

Chloe

I'd always been a worrier. I would worry about travelling, my parents dying, my friends leaving me. None of it was ever much of an issue until I started having panic attacks and having to avoid social situations because my head was telling me no even though my heart wanted to do the things I enjoyed. I had to stop school because I couldn't physically walk in anymore. My moods became so unpredictable and still are - I think I'm mostly shocked by how suddenly and forcefully this came on, although looking back I probably should have seen it coming. My brain has betrayed me, and I no longer feel like I am in my own body. There is always a sense of detachment. But I am hopeful that I will overcome my anxiety,and that it won't stop me from living my life. For now I may be trapped in my own private mental hell, but I believe that I can beat this. Most days are bad days but in the seconds of hope that I grasp at when I can, I can see a better brighter future for myself. Read more

Paige

I have been dealing with anxiety and depression since I was 13 years old, triggered by my parents' divorce. Getting through high school was like fighting a war against myself. It was so hard for me to make and keep friends. Somehow I made it to college. The first semester was great, I had tons of friends, I went to parties. My depression was under control, I felt great. And then I got raped at a party. The investigation and court dates were traumatizing and demeaning. My friends acted all supporting but when I came back to school second semester things had changed. My friends had moved on and I was still reeling from the changes in my life forced on me. My depression got worse and worse. I started cutting myself. Every time the people I called my friends ignored me, I cut myself. I had a line of scars down myour leg, but still none of them knew how much emotional pain they were causing me. I don't think they care. I started getting into trouble. I got arrested. I almost got kicked out of college. I'm trying to help myself now. I'm trying to focus on school and feel better about myself. The loneliness is killing me inside. Read more

Tori

I had a pretty normal life I guess; until I was in my late twenties. In 2013 on New Year's Day (I'll never forget that day) my best friend came out as bisexual. This was a huge blow to me emotionally in a way I can't describe. He was like the other half of me in a way and learning this about him made me feel extremely unbalanced. I had my first panic attack that day I didn't even know what was happening like I was somewhere outside myself looking in I couldn't breathe and everything else seemed disconnected somehow. I had another panic attack about six months later and while I didn't have another one for another few years my journey was far from over. Fast-forward about two years later I had another bad flareup of anxiety, but this time it was coupled with what turned out to be moderate depression. I had depression on and off every once in a while and it usually went away but this time it didn't it was steadily getting worse and worse. Finally my friend suggested I go to the doctor, which I did. I am now on medication daily which helps a great deal but I still struggle from time to time and am still learning what it's like to live with this thing called mental illness. extremely unbalanced Read more

Sara

As a child,I was used to getting A's on my tests.Dancing,singing..I was kind of an all rounder.But in 2nd grade,it all changed.We had to move.Switched cities,schools and then I started developing social anxiety .I didn't talk to anyone at school.The fear of being judged kept on rising. I was bullied, most of us have been,But at that point of time,it felt like my worst fears had come true.Name calling,discriminated..But I thought "well,I'll grow up and turn this all around." Years passed by,my social anxiety kept on rising and grades kept falling . I was in the last year of middle school,when the bullying started again.Sobbing was like a reflex to everything for me. Then came high school,I made new friends,everything seemed to be falling back in place .. But in the first year,things at home started falling apart.Screaming,fighting,it was a daily routine.And my social anxiety was at it's peek.And for me,even though I had a lot of friends,all I thought was that they don't really like me. . On the outside,I was lauging,cracking jokes,but as soon as I got home,it all faded away.Every little thing made me cry. Again things got better,or they seemed like to be. Then came our final year .I was finally a little at peace,I decided to face my social anxiety .But,Things at home got worse.Waking up,with not wanting to wake up.Sobbing through the nights,I felt like a bird stuck in a cage. Eventually,I started scratching myself.I knew something wasn't right.I decided to talk to a friend,told her to just stay in touch on a daily basis. What she did was completely ignore me. I didn't want to tell my parents,because I was scared.For them,it's just a tag for being crazy.By that time,self harm was my way of coping with everything.I tried talking to another friend and he,in response made jokes about my problems.I decided to give up,wrote down a suicude note and I just sat for an hour trying to fathom the courage,but couldn't do it. I told my mom,and she took me to a therapist. I was so scared that I couldn't say much.He diagnosed me with depression and prescribed some anti-depressants.After talking to my parents,all they said was what every one says to someone with depression."Try to be happy","Think about us,what are you doing to yourself!","You have everything,Why are you depressed then!" The medication seemed to be working.For a few days it felt fine.But a few days later,it got worse than before.My body was covered with scars .I hated my self,purely. I wanted to quit but didn't have the courage to. By that time,I had accepted that I was supossed to live this way.I was faking a smile when I had to,and cutting was my way of stopping the mental torture. A few weeks later,my mother accidently noticed my scars and in terror,rushed me back to the therapist.I finally spilled out everything,and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and ADHD. But I'm not allowed to talk about it.AT ALL.Because apparently,it's something to be ashamed of. All of this made me feel ..sick.I wanted to feel normal again,for a change.I knew the only person who could do that was me.So I decided to change. I took up meditation,started reading more,cut out all the bad influences,because I had no choice but change my lifestyle or live like a dead man walking. Now,I've decided to overcome my social anxiety by finally facing it .I won't say I am fixed,I'll never be.You have to keep working on yourself,because no one else will do it for you.I'm finally starting to accept myself.Because honestly,it is never be that bad,that you give up on life.I have scars that probably won't heal.But in a way,I'm proud to have overcome all that,by myself..Well,my therapist too. Read more

Anonymous

There's a voice in my head. It's different every day - sometimes it's kind, sometimes angry, disappointed, upset, ashamed, happy. But it's always there. It gets louder when I'm alone, when the voices of my friends and family aren't there to drown it out. It whispers to me, constantly. Sometimes the whispers become shouts. But I always, always hear the message - you're an ugly, fat, stupid, worthless girl. You don't deserve to live. And when I eat or go out or do anything at all it gets louder, angrier, meaner. If I cut or starve myself it tells me I've done well and it'll be a little bit nicer for a day or two, before going back to what I hate to call normal. But... you know what? It never, ever leaves. Read more

Andy

In 2014, I developed a full on eating disorder. I would binge eat anything in sight, and then try to run 10 miles to burn it off. The cycle reached to an end when I developed running injuries. The binging continued but the running was out of the question. Simultaneously my brother was unemployed and our parents were pressuring the both of us to find a job. His anxiety got the best of him, and ultimately he committed suicide some months after the had finally found a job he actually liked. He had depression, and he was probably bipolar, but we will never certainly know because there is a stigma about mental health. He never went to get help. His death worsened my anxiety and brought a depression that has been eating away at me ever since. The slightest thing like a late payment on my bank account or my dog having fleas triggers me into a spiral of overthinking and deep crying for hours on end. I will go online and try to find answers for questions I make up in my mind that are twisted and out of proportion. I will scratch at my hands until they become open wounds. One night I had such a bad anxiety attack I just knew I'd throw myself at a train if I didn't get out of my room. That night I ran and ran until I thought my heart was going to burst. I'd like to say I'm getting better, but I really don't know. All I know is that there's seasons where I can handle a lot of stress and seasons where I want to drown in the pool in my gym. Read more

Judy Donnelly

I have had anxiety and depression all my life...I was born anxious and depressed ...I have taken pretty much all the drugs out there and have struggled to get to a place where I feel "whole" and not like some crazy woman....I'm now 61 and finally have come to a good place in my life, helped by drugs..but still , I'm doing OK and don't spend my life wanting to die ... I'm very fortunate, have had a great life, never really wanted for anything and have been lucky enough to get a great education, which gave me a fulfilling and well paid career...so on the surface, why would I be depressed? I don't know, but I do know it's my reality and some years ago after a really bad episode, I started admitting to people that I have a mental illness and talked about my struggles...I'm amazed at how many people have said "what you ?????" As I have very good control and didn't want to admit to how I felt...but it surprised me at how many people recognized themselves in my issues and have thanked me for being so honest about it, and it has , I think helped a few friends to get help for themselves. I don't believe that the general run of the mill doctors have any clue about mental illness and I've been lucky to find a really good therapist and a brilliant psychiatrist....but it took YEARS!!!! Telling people freed my mind and freed me to admit that Im not this perfect human who can do anything and sometimes I'm a basket case, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other and I thank my lovely husband and friends for understanding that I have times when I not OK and need space and safety to survive...this is s a tough world and we need to be supportive of each other to survive....thank you for letting me tell you a little of my story.... Read more

Roberta

I have struggled with depression since I was about 15, I watched my father struggle as well as my sister but we still didn't talk about it. I was assaulted when I was 18 and I I was sucked even deeper into the black hole that depression created. I continued to struggle for another 17 years before I realized that life didn't have to be so hard or a constant struggle just to function. I finally went to see my doctor, through decision we decided on a medication and I have been blessed that it was exactly what I needed and for a year now I am finally back to me! Read more

Amanda

It's almost impossible to get someone to understand "my mother is trying to ruin my life" and have them take it seriously. All my life all I get is a constant reminder that I'm never good enough, that no matter what I do I have to try harder to please people. Sure, I get it I can't please everyone but in the end I end up sacrificing what I want in order to get the approval of my "mother". My passion has been in art, it's my way of escaping the harsh reality, my love. Yet no matter how many times I come to her and show something I'm proud of it's always the same response "oh, that's nice" I push myself to get better, receiving As in art, selling my art for some in-game currency, getting praised for them yet that's not enough, I wanted my mother's approval. It was time to start applying for college and I hear her say "you're a woman and your husband isn't going to let you work, pick something else" as I was halfway through building my portfolio to get into art school. I finally found something that we can agree on, accounting. I tell myself I love maths, I love maths, I love maths hoping that if I say it enough times I would start to believe it, and I did. I was ahead in class, all the while juggling work and extracullicular activities and volunteer work. I'd like to believe I had a good future. I left for college and the divorce happened. Things escalated from her cheating on someone, throwing things in my room, stealing from me and when I gave her asylum to stay in my apartment, she slapped me during an argument. Every time we meet she would point out my flaws, how fat I was, and how she's beautiful. I tell myself again "it's ok, it's ok, it's ok. She's just upset". 3 years later she started asking me when my exams are and on the day would drop bombs. For example, on the bus going to my exam she left me a message saying she was going to commit suicide. I was in tears and couldn't pull myself together as well as I use to, I failed. This behaviours kept repeating itself I kept hearing "She's still your mother!" I started to feel like I was wrong I was evil I was the bitch. Depression kicked in but my need to please people and not be a burden cause me to power through it, "I can cry later" everyone has problems and mine isn't important. No one knew what I was going through and I wasn't planning on letting them know either. I started being anti-social, I felt like I was suffocating and I need to just be alone. I graduated with a mediocre grade, and I felt guilty for wasting my father's money on my education. I haven't got a job since I have a degree in something I don't love. My mother stole my papers and I can't renew my passport. I'm physically stuck for 6 months now while my papers are slowly being retrieved. My country isn't the fastest with issues like this and I'm sitting here depressed, leeching off my hard working father. I've lost my creativity, ambition and will power. I'm stuck physically and mentally - nothing is in my control anymore and I wish, I wish I would eventually believe the words "I'll be okay". Read more

Deanna

I've suffered from Chronic Depression more than half of my life; I'm now 40 years old. Things got really bad a few years ago. A stressful and toxic job broke me. It culminated in a suicide attempt, almost 60 days in hospital and a concurrent diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. It's been a year and half since that diagnosis. There was one more hospitalization about 7 months ago. Today I'm in dialectic behavioural therapy and doing better. But the disorder and my underlying sadness are things that can overtake me at any moment. Something I cannot remember severely traumatized me and all I got was this disorder... (Humour helps :)) Read more

Chris

since I was 13 I have been treated for mental illness it take me to the age of 33 to be comfortable enough to open up and share my issues with people outside my family I have always hide it from the world now I have friends in my life that care enough to take the time to understand my issues and not judge I have not been manic or depressed for ten years I have even been able to travel one of my big steps was recently taking a plane I m proud of where I have been and my struggles have mad me have made me the powerful woman I m today and the stigma has subsided Read more

Grasy

There's just so much sadness and worry in my heart. I stopped felling;nothing excites me.I want to be left alone but there are so many things I dreamed of doing before my anxiety and depression overtook my life. My tiny self confidence that I had vanished.I wish I could turn back time to when I felt comfortable and happy. I'm scared of what the future holds. Read more

Rebecca

The hardest part was admitting to myself that something was wrong, let alone admitting it to others as well. Throughout college I was the one who had everything together. Nearly perfect GPA, president of multiple extracurriculars, volunteering every weekend...but each time I heard the phrase, "Oh, Rebecca, you're perfect. YOU are my role model!” I felt like a rubber band was twisting tighter and tighter around my chest. I used to wonder how no one could see the fear and sadness in my eyes as my facial features forced themselves into what I envisioned as the phoniest smile. What no one really knew was that I kept lighters throughout my apartment and that burning my forearm was the only way I could take out the stress of upholding "perfect.” Read more

Estefania

I distinctly remember the first day I decided to throw up my lunch. I was fifteen years old, and I desperately wanted to be perceived as beautiful. Looking back, I recognize now why I felt so out of control. I was a new girl in a very small school and I was severely bullied. My father and I stopped talking—he had started a new family with my stepmother, and my mom was suing him for child support. He asked me to choose a side, and when I chose my mother's, he stopped speaking to me. I was dating a boy I was hysterically in love with, and would continue to be in love with for the next eight years even though he was adamant about cheating on me. I had my first panic attack, and I was sick of not having any control over my environment and my body.

I somehow came to the conclusion that a thigh gap and a sharp collarbone would solve all of my problems. The first meal I ever threw up was penne a la vodka. I lost 25 pounds within the next few months. You could see my ribs, pick out every bone in my knees, and count my vertebrae. I loved it. I loved the attention and feeling like I was cheating the "eating game." I was not only bulimic, but also obsessively exercising (sometimes three times a day) and taking laxatives regularly.

I did self "checks" frequently: pinching my stomach and analyzing the fat, double-triple-quadruple checking my thigh size. I drank 2-3 gallons of water a day. This is where my obsession with perfectionism really began. I had to be the funniest, thinnest, smartest, most accomplished, and most disciplined out of all of my friends. I was bulimic for the next eight years. I never spoke to my father again, but I forgave and befriended some of my bullies in college. I continued to see the boy until I was 23 years old. It was extremely toxic, but I needed to feel loved. I needed a man to tell me he loved me and that I was worthy of love. Read more

I am so much more than numbers on a scale or a pant size, I am so much more than "perfect." I'm my mother's daughter, I'm a great friend and sister. I'm me, and today I really really like me. And carbs.

James W

I suffer from the demon that is anxiety. I worry about letting people down and/or being judged. I hate not having an escape plan. I often choose not to go out with my friends; because there wasn't a way for me to leave if I wanted to, I wouldn't go at all. Read more

I suffer from the demon that is anxiety. I worry about letting people down and/or being judged. I hate not having an escape plan.

Debbie Millman

I was wearing my yellow coat, back when I wore yellow. I brought B with me—B, the bodybuilder and the boy from high school whom I loved—to protect me. How ironic, given that I would have to get a restraining order to protect me from him just a few years later.

Anyway.

B knew where the man’s house was, and after we rehearsed what I was going to say, B looked at me and declared, “I’m proud of you.” When you don’t feel proud of yourself, it’s hard to respond to a statement like that. I was sheepish and scared; I was about to face the man I hadn’t seen in thirty years.

It was a white-gray autumn afternoon and I was almost 40. What happened had been over 30 years before, and I was determined to finally find closure. B was going to escort me to the house and I was going to do what I’d been planning for decades. I would be vehement. I would be fierce.

We drove the few blocks from B’s house in silence. He reached over once or twice in an effort to hold my hand, but I was stone. I was being vehement and fierce and was shaking somewhere so deep inside that I couldn’t feel his touch. I could barely see.

B and I had agreed that when we got to the man’s house, I would go up to the door alone, and he would wait on the sidewalk near the stoop. He’d be close enough to hear and see everything but far enough away to give me the privacy to say what I needed to say.

We got out of the car and I suddenly realized that the man might not be home. Why hadn’t I considered that? I’d come this far, and now I might not get any further. My heart beat faster, and for a moment I considered turning around. B placed his hand on my back and urged me forward. I grabbed the wrought-iron banister and made my way up the steps. I rang the bell.

A woman in her 60s opened the door and peered at me. “Yes?” she inquired. “Can I help you?” Read more

“I had no idea that in the years to come, B would become a tormentor as well. Ah, the patterns in my history.”

Leah Goren

This is my biggest secret. I don’t try to hide it as much as I used to, but I’m certainly not going to bring it up. I’m afraid that everyone will think they understand it, but I know that they have no idea. I’m even more afraid that I don’t understand it—as hard as I’ve worked, as much as I’ve tried to figure it out, I am trapped inside of it forever.

I’m 27 years old. At the end of this year, I will be ten years into recovery from anorexia.

My disease could have been the outcome of an infinite number of factors. I understand it best as a painful, beautiful distraction from traumas I was unequipped to confront in any other way. I constructed an alternate reality, and I lived in it. I felt entirely alone, but at the center of everything—the star of my own dreamy, sun-bleached movie about what it was like to be alive in high school in Southern California in 2005. I cast myself as the tortured heroine: unbearably sad, full of deep secrets and complexities, walking around with the sun in my eyes, stacks of bangles clanking on my wrists. I pretended like everyone was watching. Everything around me buzzed with meaning. I was 16, and I wanted to be very, very skinny.

In 2006 I became a patient at a residential treatment program. I was taught that anorexia existed on the obsessive-compulsive spectrum, though this belief isn’t held among all mental health professionals. The thoughts—about food, calories, my body, control—were the obsession, and the rituals—my endless lists and schedules, the ways I prepared meals—were the compulsions.

In group therapy, we talked about our traumas over and over and over, with the hope of working through the emotions and allowing them to become stories that would no longer plague our lives in such a visceral way. I have a whole story to tell you—about how my dad wasn’t very nice, about huddling in the closet with my sister on bad days, about the muscle relaxants and how they lead him to drive off a cliff in Palm Springs when I was 14, about the subsequent coma that lasted 19 days—but I’m going to tell you about it later. I’m going to skip to the ending now. Read more

“I have a whole story to tell you—about how my dad wasn’t very nice, about huddling in the closet with my sister on bad days...”

Timothy Goodman

I had just graduated from college, and I was feeling extremely unstable and anxious about my future. At the same time, I had recently gone through a rough breakup — a relationship that I had pretty much single-handedly ruined. I was depressed about my future, I was heartbroken, and I wasn’t handling anything well. That was the worst summer of my life. Read more

“I'd lay in bed for 18 hours straight on the weekends, trying to hide away from reality. I couldn't get a grip on it, nothing felt like it had meaning, and I even entertained the idea of suicide.”

Jamie Franco

September 25, 2002 8:24 PM Bad Day. Very bad day. I feel more depressed than ever. It’s like every step I take and everything I do is just a struggle to not break down & cry. That’s the only thing I feel like doing anymore. It’s really scary because I’ve gotten to the point where I just hate life and every day is a struggle to get through. I’ll always just be the ugly girl with no friends. I’m being forced to gain weight and I don’t want to anymore. What’s the use? My weight is fine where it is now. I feel fine physically. Mentally? I’m deteriorating. I just want to have friends. I want to be pretty. I want to be happy. I want to be how I used to be.

November 28, 2002, Thanksgiving 12:51 PM Oh my god. I just passed out two times. When I was getting out of the shower, I just passed out on the bathroom floor. My head kills. Then I managed to get up, walk to my room, close the door, and collapse and pass out on my bed again.

December 3, 2002 9:07 PM Yesterday was so horrible. After my Mom weighed me on Sunday, my extreme depression from my gross weight gain carried over to yesterday and today. I cried all day yesterday, and at one point I was really going to hurt myself. I still am. I don't understand why I’m alive if I’m going through so much pain. December 23, 2002 9:47 PM So tomorrow is Christmas eve. Did very good with keeping my weight down the past week, so hopefully the rest of the holiday vacation won’t be too bad. I’m at my all time low weight- 73! I’m actually sort of aching and having trouble breathing, my chest hurts. The past couple of nights I’ve been scared, so here this is just in case: I love you all so much. Mom, Dad, Brit, and Sasha. You’ve done nothing but make me happy. I love you.

“My journal entries showcased a troubled, confused girl who was retreating further into her own mental prison.”

Sienna

I’m my own worst enemy, and my most difficult battle in life has been the one against my own soul. My anxiety knows all of my worst fears and insecurities, and it plays them on repeat as I lie awake each night wishing I was one of the lucky people who can gracefully fall asleep as soon as they touch a pillow. I’ve begun to hate evenings for that reason. Read more

“My anxiety knows all of my worst fears and insecurities, and it plays them on repeat as I lie awake each night.”

Andre

When Jessica asked me to contribute a story about Mental Health issues, I almost lied and said I had nothing to offer on the topic. However, I realized that if she has the balls to share her story publicly, I could grow a pair and at least be honest about my own. When I was 15, I was diagnosed with OCD and anxiety. It started with cracks in the pavement. I wouldn’t allow myself to step on them, and I feared that something really terrible would happen if I did. I became obsessed with making sure everything was in order. The obsession developed into a constant fear of all kinds of contamination. I wouldn't touch anything in public spaces. I didn’t want to use public restrooms. I didn’t want to eat out. Read more

“Her own past struggles made her empathetic to mine. I think love can heal everything, and I haven’t had many OCD tendencies since.”

David

It was noon on a normal day and there were a million reasons to be happy and love my life, but instead I found myself going over the million reasons why I wanted to die. That’s essentially all I have to say about the 10 years during which I battled depression. There was no cause. No childhood traumas or defining memories or parents’ divorce led to this. I had normal experiences, normal friends, and normal grades in school; I received a rather normal college education, graduated, got a normal job, and wound up in a normal healthy relationship. Read more

“It was a normal day and there were a million reasons to be happy and love my life, but instead I found myself going over the million reasons why I wanted to die.”

Alexa

I started struggling with depression and bipolar disorder when I was 16. I kept silent and found temporary relief through drugs and alcohol. My ex-boyfriend would steal valium and oxycodone from his mom’s parents, and we’d take it regularly while drinking. Unfortunately, regular use of these drugs only compounded my existing issues, and I quickly became caught in a cycle of dependence. Over time, I started experimenting with other drugs as well: ketamine, meth, even heroin. I almost overdosed one evening; thankfully, my ex-boyfriend found me and brought me to the hospital. Those five years of my life are mostly a blur now, and I rarely talk about them. Read more

“The things that have saved my life are my new boyfriend, my cat named George, and finally finding my calling in life as an event planner here in Brooklyn.”

Maria

I guess that wasn’t a complete lie.

Eight years later – still bumping early Cudi – I witnessed singer Kehlani try to do what I never had the courage to do: share her depressive state with other people.

Unfortunately, it was like watching another painfully awkward presidential debate. On the one hand, she gained a slew of supporters sharing their own personal battles with suicide and depression (something you need to see after feeling alone for SO long). BUt on the other hand, her actions leading up to the suicide attempt became the butt of everyone's jokes.

I was laughing too.

Maria

Our New Year’s resolution was to have another baby. We really wanted a second child. By the end of January 2015 we were told I was pregnant again. We expected some discomfort as I didn’t feel well during my previous pregnancy, but never expected what we would have to go through.

As the weeks passed, I started to feel tired, cheerless, and suddenly, distressed. By the end of April, my life as I knew it became completely paralyzed because of a deep depression. I was supposed to be one of those happy pregnant women. I was supposed to keep going to work and produce perfect products while expecting my new boy, but I just didn’t have the strength to even answer one single e-mail from home. Nor to spend five minutes reading a story to my elder son before cuddling him in bed.

I was not a happy pregnant woman. I was depressed for no apparent reason. A desired baby was arriving; he was ok, I was ok…but pain was everywhere. Read more

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