#hashtag mom moment!! but maybe i could write like. a text or maybe an email with some sources. i believe i can pull off casual. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smalltriumphs · 7 years

Text

Let’s talk.

I don’t think many people know this but I started this Tumblr blog as a way to cope with anxiety.

If you have the time or interest to go back to my entries from 2010 - which I doubt you do - you’ll notice the posts were text-heavy. I needed to write my feelings down in order to make sense of them, to place the intrusive thoughts elsewhere instead of in my head. I’ve always kept journals and diaries as a kid. I’ve always felt the need to work my emotions out in that way.

Those closest to me know that something happened to me in 2010. Something in me changed, and I’m still not sure if it was for better or for worse. I don’t think I’ve ever explained it here or to even the people in my life. I think I’ve only described it in vague terms: I was overwhelmed. Stressed. I couldn’t take it anymore.

So why am I bringing it up now, nearly seven years later? Mental health has become a prominent topic since then, and it’s truly uplifting and encouraging to see public figures, strangers, and even close friends come to terms with and open up about their own mental health issues. Yesterday was Bell Let’s Talk Day, an initiative created to end the stigma around mental health and to raise money for mental health programs. According to the Bell Let’s Talk Twitter account, $6,585,250.50 will be donated to mental health initiatives in Canada. The money was raised by posting on social media with the hashtag, #BellLetsTalk. Each mention was worth five cents.

Not only were people sharing tweets and Facebook statuses, but also very personal stories in blog posts and Instagram captions about their own struggles dealing with depression, anxiety, and so on. I couldn’t imagine the amount of guts it took for some of these people to take ownership of their mental health issues. I admired their vulnerability and was in awe of their candidness.

And then I felt like a fraud.

Here I was, nodding along in agreement and admiration at everyone’s journey, but I didn’t have the balls to share my own. I shared this feeling of hypocrisy with Miller, and he encouraged me to write about it.

So here it is. I will try to be as honest as possible, but some things I just refuse to share and would rather keep to myself. I hope you understand. Also, since it has been seven years, I likely won’t remember every single detail.

In 2010, I was in my second year of university and I remember feeling incredibly uneasy most of the time. I was taking an ethics class, and not understanding the material at all, which was not a feeling I am used to. My grades were below average, and I didn’t have a single friend in that class to share my anxious feelings with. The teacher was no help either.

Then by the end of the semester, the teacher emailed me to discuss something serious in her office. As I sat down, she told me I failed the class. I don’t remember much but she said, “I’m sorry it had to end this way.” I nodded, fighting back tears. She let me out of her office, and I slowly walked away from her, but I really wanted to bolt.

I immediately told my parents I failed a class, and they were surprisingly supportive and kind, probably because they noticed my zombie-like behaviour and appearance lately. I was relieved to have their support, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like complete shit.

After that, things started to happen to my body.

I was having a lot of trouble sleeping - so much so that I needed my mother there in order to feel calm. One night, after hours of tossing and turning, I called my mother in. I was about to burst into tears, feeling so frustrated about life. My mom, who was incredibly groggy, tried to calm me down, but failed. Instead, I started shaking.

It was completely involuntary. I had never experienced something like that before. I tried to lie down but I still kept shaking. I asked my mom to hold my hand and sit on me to get me to stop, and she did. Moments later, the shaking ceased. My mom spent the night with me.

That was just the beginning. What followed were months and months of restless nights, random bouts of crying (I cried in the car after a dental cleaning), intrusive thoughts about failure, death, and illness, feelings of inadequacy, difficulty breathing in certain classrooms or public transit...

I went to a couple of doctors, starting with my regular family physician, who told me to stop being idealistic. At the moment, I was bewildered, but I kind of understand what she means now. The second doctor was a man who prescribed me anti-anxiety pills - I took them once and, oh my gosh, never again. I felt incredibly alert and lucid and weird - not really what I want to experience before bedtime.

However, he also recommended I talk to a school counsellor. At the time, it wasn’t widely accepted to go to a counsellor as it was to make a trip to the dentist or physician, but I was desperate and determined to get through this, whatever it was.

Once or twice a week, I met with a kind, softspoken brunette woman whose office was located in the basement of the university I attended. Muted pastels and light shades of grey surrounded me as I discussed things that I normally don’t bring up in conversation. My utter fear of failure. My affinity for control. The crippling desire to please my parents. I cried in that office more times that I can remember. I was embarrassed at first, but it felt good to finally let go and share the deepest, darkest, most hidden parts of me.

In those sessions, she recommended small things I could do to manage my anxiety. It was there I realized it was something I would probably never get rid of but I could learn to live with if I had the proper tools and resources. Most of them you can guess - friends, family, physical activity, self-care, etc.

Over the years, I tried my best to follow her tips (I have a Type A personality, after all...). Most days were good, but I also had - have - really bad days. And I’m still learning to be OK with the bad days.

I’m not sure what I hope to achieve by sharing this. Was it self-serving, to show how far I’ve come? Was it to participate in a conversation that I’ve been dying to be a part of since 2010? Maybe it’s a bit of both.

If this helps at least one person in any way, then I’m glad I’ve bared a part of my soul.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled programming of reblogged posts.

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