22. full time student enrolled in 16 units with a 3.83 GPA, intern, working 3 jobs.
That was who I was in 2016, just before my college graduation, when I stepped into a therapist’s office, looking for the help that I so desperately needed. My therapist then displayed a look of concern on his face, as if what I had said was something odd, or even something bad. And then he said it. He said, “You’re the most dangerous kind. You’re the kind of patient that often times scares me.”
Now I was confused, as if anything, I thought that it was a good thing that I was able to function so effectively considering that I have spent majority of those 22 years battling depression and PTSD. Shouldn’t it be a good thing that I am able to function properly throughout the day?
Then I began to think about all the times when I was told that I seemed to “have it all together.” Or even that time when my professor beamed at me and said, “Anna Melissa, you’re killing it. I wish college students would take advantage of their education in the way that you have. Example of a wonderful college student.” But what he didn’t know was that I had the most difficult time of my life the night before. Or that I spent the last four years recovering and rehabilitating myself from an attempted suicide. But to him, I was the perfect student. I had it all together. There was nothing that triggered even the slightest feeling of concern. I wasn't the student he would think about asking if I was okay. With tears welling in my eyes, my professor’s face dropped as though he would have never expected that kind of reaction. I told my story of triumph over my experience with domestic violence, depression, and PTSD. I was immediately met with the words, “I would have never known.”
But that’s exactly the point. Tons of people would have never known. As much as we’d like to say that depression and mental health does not discriminate, we have created a generic mental illness stock image in our heads that many people don’t quite seem to match. We see depression and anxiety in young troubled teens that struggle to finish school. We see grades drop, and we see maladjustment. We see depression in alcoholics, substance abusers, as well as those who are unable to get themselves out of bed. But we do not see depression in the hyperactive athlete, the student government representative with a 4.0 GPA and numerous extra curricular activities. We do not see depression in the mother that wakes up every morning to take her children to school, cook dinner, help with homework, and then go back to bed to do it all over again the next day. We do not see depression in our work supervisors or those in leadership positions that perform their tasks to the best of their abilities only to go home to be awakened by the reality of high functioning depression. We see these people and we let them slip through the cracks. No matter how many times we are reminded that mental illness doesn’t discriminate, we revert back to a narrow-minded idea of how it should manifest, how these people typically behave, and that is the most terrifying and dangerous notion. Recognizing that danger is what helped me come to terms with myself.
In 2006, when I first heard the words ‘mental health’ associated with the way that I felt and behaved, I had no idea what to expect. I was terrified, as my generic mental illness stock image told me that I was different or crazy, and perhaps that I would see my abilities as a student slowly decline. I was in denial. I thought that my diagnosis was wrong.
But if I kept allowing my perception of what mental illness looks like to dictate whether or not I would recognize myself as the person that needed help, I would not be here today. Because although I may not be able to check off every symptom on the list for those with debilitating depression, I was still heavily and negatively affected by my mental health and needed to seek that help.
But if you ask me today, I would say that I am eternally grateful for the life that I once would have done everything in my power to change. Because my experience with domestic violence, depression, and PTSD haven’t disabled me. If anything, they have enabled me. They’ve forced me to rely on my abilities and to believe in the possibilities. Because it was in this that I was able to successfully live my life beyond the limitations that depression often places on its victims. In December of 2015, I wasn’t even sure that I would be able to finish college. I wasn’t sure if I still had it in me to fulfill the dream of walking across a stage with a cap on my head and a diploma in my hand. But in May of 2016, I didn’t just dream about it. I felt it. I felt the wind on my face and the hope in my heart, for a future that was not promised, but was diligently and tirelessly worked for.
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If you or a loved one are survivors of domestic violence, realize that you are not a statistic. You are worth the recovery. DOMESTIC VIOLENCE INCLUDES BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO PHYSICAL, SEXUAL, VERBAL, AND EMOTIONAL ABUSE.
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