There Is Nothing Wrong With How You Feel

Very frequently, we will feel the need to hide the way that we truly feel.

This can be in a very small way, like pretending that something that someone else said didn’t hurt you just to avoid unnecessary confrontation, or it can happen in a much larger way, like spending years of your life pretending that you’re straight, or that you aren’t severely depressed and considering taking your own life.

And, similarly, this can happen for several different reasons. Maybe we’ve been told in the past that other people aren’t interested in hearing how we feel. Maybe we feel like the way that we feel is inappropriate, that we’re simply exaggerating to ourselves or seeking attention, even if we haven’t even told anyone yet – we’ve just internalized this idea that the way we’re feeling is always associated with attention seeking. Or maybe we don’t want to burden someone else with our honesty, we don’t want to make them worry about us or angry with us or look down upon us. We want to maintain a certain image before them – a strong, healthy, normal image, even if we don’t feel like we match it.

And so we keep silent.

We say nothing, but we keep on suffering. We keep on feeling.

And we keep on feeling alone.

So let me take this opportunity to say this: you need to say how you feel.

Now, maybe you need to be selective about who you say this to. For example, if are currently closeted, I am not advocating coming out to people who you know are not going to accept you, but rather will try to hurt you, either physically or mentally. If sharing the way that you feel is guaranteed to cause you harm of some sort, then I am very sorry for you, because you do not deserve that. You deserve the opportunity to be open and honest about how you feel without fear, and if you can’t be, then that is not your fault. That is the fault of the other who is causing you harm, whether they are doing it intentionally or not.

But regardless, in every single situation, it is important for people to not shoulder their burdens alone. We as the human species need people; we need to open up, to communicate. And once you do that, whether you’re talking about a mental illness, your identity, or a mere fear or anxiety that has been plaguing you, a miraculous thing happens – the burden becomes easier to bare. All of a sudden, you are not alone in this world. There is someone else out there who knows how you feel, who understands you and shares in your experience.

And furthermore – when you talk to someone else about how you feel, it can either validate it, or help you to work through it. Too often, our own minds become toxic places to hold thoughts, especially if they hold them for a long time. The longer they’re in there, the more that they sour, becoming something that doesn’t even reflect reality, and sometimes, the only way to recognize what they have become is by getting them out there in the real world to be discussed. Maybe you’ll realize that the way that you’ve been feeling is ridiculous, and maybe you’ll realize that the only ridiculous thing about all this was holding onto it for so long, or thinking that you were wrong to think it in the first place.

Too often, I hear from people who have been holding onto thoughts and feelings for years and haven’t opened up, haven’t even explored them. We as a society tend to encourage others to bottle up their emotions, to buck up and be strong and go through it alone. But going through life alone is incredibly lonely, and sometimes we need to talk to others.

So let’s talk.

Let’s offer people in need our ears.

Let’s refuse to bottle up our emotions and leave them to fester.

Let’s stop promoting this idea that reaching out is weak, or that naturally occurring emotions can be wrong.

We all need to talk, and we should all have the opportunity to talk. Because there is nothing wrong with you or how you feel; there is something wrong with a society that keeps us all silent.

Don’t Be Ashamed of Your Mental Illness

In this post, I’m going to be talking a bit about my own experience with mental illness, not because I think that my way of experiencing it was “right”, or because my experience was universal or anything along those lines. I am not a trained therapist. I am not a definitive master in this subject by any means. All I am is someone with an experience, someone who took a lesson from what I lived.

I am mostly going to be focusing on my experience with anxiety, as well. And, of course, every mental illness is different, and even those with anxiety experience it differently, but my hope is that you as the reader might find something in my experience that you relate to as well.

Anxiety has always been prevalent in my life. It is something that has run in my family – something that plagued some members to the point that they refused to even leave the house if they could avoid it. Yet, for years, my family just thought of a person’s anxiety as their “quirks”. If someone didn’t leave his house, it wasn’t because they were mentally ill, but because they was quirky, they had a healthy dislike of crowds, it was nothing. That was the way that mental illness was discussed in my family throughout most of my childhood.

When I was eighteen, I identified my constant stress and outright illogical level of fears as an anxiety disorder – one that hadn’t quite reached the degree of some of my family members, but that plagued me nonetheless. I had a hard time applying to jobs, because the thought of doing so was enough to send me into a panic attack. I couldn’t talk to anyone without stuttering, and after talking to them I made myself miserable with thoughts of “I bet they hated me” and “god, I’m so stupid, why did I do that?” And while I excelled at school, a big part of the reason for that was because I needed to finish all my projects several weeks in advance because I couldn’t stand the stress of having essays that weren’t done yet.

After I identified what I had as an anxiety disorder, I started to talk about it. And after I started to talk about it, I begin to identify the several others in my family who also dealt with their own anxiety, tracking the signs that should have been apparent to me from the beginning.

From there, I wanted to move immediately from identifying my anxiety disorder to curing it. I didn’t want to be swallowed whole by it, like so many others had. While they might have been perfectly satisfied living their days in solitude, I didn’t want that to be me. When I looked into my future, I longed for the image of a highly-educated, greatly successful writer with a wonderful partner who supported me through everything, and the way I saw it, none of this would be possible if I was still dealing with my anxiety at the time.

So, the logical choice: I needed to get rid of my anxiety.

The next year or so was spent trying to find ways to do that, although many of them only made things worse. I would intentionally do things that gave me anxiety because I knew that these were things I needed to do. But once these things would inevitably put me into a panic attack, my insistence on simply banishing these feelings wouldn’t work, which would only make me more stressed, which would only make me feel bad that I was so stressed. I got to a point where I was stressed about being stressed.

Essentially, I was telling myself that I couldn’t be a person with anxiety, which didn’t really work out because I was a person with anxiety. And throughout all of this, I had my mother trying to tell me that my anxiety wasn’t actually something to be ashamed of, that it was just a part of me that I needed to learn to live with.

But I didn’t want to hear that.

I didn’t want to have anxiety.

But eventually, I did come to the conclusion that what I was trying wasn’t working, and I was willing to try something different.

So when I got a panic attack, I stopped fighting it.

When something started to stress me out, I would slow down and talk to myself before a panic attack could start.

I learned ways of doing things that worked best for me, and before long, I discovered that I was capable of doing everything. At one time, I would have thought that anxiety stood in my way of getting the future that I wanted, but it doesn’t; all it is is something that I need to keep in mind and work with so that it doesn’t slow me down or stop me.

I still have anxiety. I do everything that I can to keep it controlled, which includes eating healthy, exercising, taking supplements, and, of course, designing my thinking around it, but every once in a while, it still props up. It just doesn’t stop me from doing anything that I want to do.

I am not ashamed of who I am, or the struggles that I have dealt with. If anything, they have made me stronger, made me realize just how capable I am. My anxiety has made me realize that the things that I want in life are going to make me uncomfortable, and they’re going to scare me, but that isn’t a sign that I shouldn’t do it. It’s just a sign that I need to change the way that I do it.

And this is the part of the post where I speak directly to you, because this is my message to you: not to be ashamed of who you are. Mental illness is not something that you choose to live with, but it is not something that needs to hold you back or define you. You can do everything that you want to do, even with it. As cheesy as it might sound, your only limits are the ones that you set for yourself, and that is just as true for mentally ill people as it is for neurotypical people.

And maybe you don’t completely believe it right now; I get that. Maybe it’s still difficult to believe that you can conquer the world when it’s difficult to even get out of bed in the morning, or leave the house. And I’m not trying to say that all of this will happen overnight. It didn’t for me. It will take time, and it will mean forming new habits and ways of thinking and doing, but it can happen. And the most important step in starting all of this is refusing to think that there is something inherently wrong with you. There isn’t. You are not wrong, you are just different, and you are not the only one who is different. Once you reach out and talk to other people, you’ll begin to realize that you are not alone. You are beautiful and you are strong and you are so much more capable than you know.

Why You Need to Talk About Suicide

Every once in a while, something will happen in the news that will bring the issue of depression and suicide to the forefront of everyone’s mind. Most recently, this news has been the death of Linkin Park singer Chester Bennington.

Bennington killed himself on July 20 after a lengthy and somewhat public battle with depression. And none of us can judge the choice that he made, or think any worse of him because of it. Even those of us who have dealt with depression and suicidal thoughts before do not know what his precise situation was or what he was going through. I wish his loved ones all the best, and I truly hope that he has found peace now.

But all that being said, we do need to talk about suicide. And not because Bennington killed himself. Not because it’s a trendy topic to pass around now. Because there are still people out there who are considering taking their own lives even now, and those people need someone to reach out to them.

Suicide is an awkward topic of conversation for many people, and it can be hard to approach someone who you know and love and ask them, “are you considering killing yourself?” Unless we have dealt with suicidal thoughts ourselves, we tend to think of it as something foreign, as something other, as something that can’t touch the people we care about, but it very much can, and it’s not as strange or unusual as you might think. In fact, according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, on average there are 121 suicides per day. The only reason why we don’t think of it as common is because we just don’t talk about it.

We are told, indirectly, that we should not talk about it. We don’t want to come forth because we don’t want anyone to worry about us, we don’t want to burden them with something that they don’t have to deal with. I know that when I was dealing with suicidal thoughts, one of the main reasons why I didn’t want to tell anybody about it was because then they’d think that I was going to kill myself, and I didn’t want to be thought of as a risk. We as a society hold such a huge stigma against mental illness and thoughts of self harm that we silence people who are actually dealing with them, people who don’t want to be perceived as weak or risky or bothersome or attention-seekers. And so, silenced, they deal with these thoughts on their own. They mull over these thoughts within a mind that is already ill, already enforcing beliefs that are not true, and so it isn’t at all surprising when they come to the worst conclusion.

The more that we talk about depression and suicidal thoughts, the more that we are willing to approach someone who we think might be dealing with either illness, the more that people who are dealing with them will feel comfortable talking about it themselves. We need to talk about depression and suicidal thoughts because talking about it could quite literally save lives.

And if you are a person dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts, then you deserve to have your life saved. You deserve to be listened to and loved and understand, and you deserve to live a long and fulfilling life. You deserve all the amazing things this world can offer to you.

And I understand that, if you are dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts, then you might not believe that right now. The problem with these illnesses is that they cause your mind to lie to you, to tell you things that aren’t true and skew your perception of the world. You see everything through the lens of your thoughts, like that old line about seeing the world through rose coloured glasses except the exact opposite. Your illness tells you that the world would be better off without you and that you don’t matter, but you need to know that that is a lie. You do matter. You matter so much that I don’t even have words to fully encompass it. And if you were to die, then your loved ones – friends, family, pets, maybe even that neighbour who says hello to you every morning and has come to depend on your smile and wave, they would all care. I would care. With you gone, there would be a great hole in the world that can never truly be filled.

But let’s ignore all of that for a moment, because I know that your depression and suicidal thoughts might be contradicting everything I just said: you simply deserve to live for your own sake. No one else’s. You deserve a chance to find something that makes you happy. You deserve a chance to feel the sun on your face again. You deserve a chance to chase your dreams and maybe see them come true, to fall in love with someone new (or someone old again) and to build a whole new life, different from the one you’re leading now. Because the only thing constant in this world is that things change, and maybe you aren’t happy with where you are now, but maybe you will be one, two, ten years from now. Maybe you’ll look back on this day and find it difficult to believe that that was you, that you ever felt this way. Don’t you at least deserve the chance to know if that’s true? Life, after all, is full of possibilities, while death is so final.

And maybe your depression will never fully go away, and maybe your life will never be entirely perfect, but pain can be dealt with. You can learn to live, not defined by your pain, but existing alongside of it, understanding and respecting it but not run solely by it. I know that I may never be completely rid of my depression, as it’s something that I’ve dealt with on and off for as long as I can remember, but that doesn’t mean that my life isn’t worth living. Quite the opposite, actually; the moments of pain and emptiness make the moments of joy and fulfillment all the more spectacular.

And if I can give you a bit of advice right now, since we’re talking about depression and suicide, I would say that you need to keep talking about it. Reach out to someone – a friend, a family member, a therapist, a doctor, a diary, a stranger on the internet, a suicide crisis line, your pet gerbil, whatever might make you feel comfortable. Because an amazing thing happens when you start to talk: you are no longer dealing with everything on your own. There is someone else in this world who knows how you feel, who can be there for you and make you feel like you aren’t alone. And sometimes, when you can hear or read your own thoughts expressed outside of yourself, you might even begin to realize that the things your depression have been saying to you are lies. And as much as it might be difficult to make yourself un-believe them, the first step in overcoming them is at least identifying them as lies.

Whenever anybody takes their own life, celebrity or not, it is always a great tragedy. It is someone who has succumbed to an illness that they could no longer control, and that is always a huge loss in this world. But so long as you are still alive, you still have a chance, and you still have control. You can reach out and talk to someone, you can seek help in dealing with your illness. In the words of the late Chester Bennington, “I came to a point in my life where I was like, ‘I can either just give up and f****** die or I can f****** fight for what I want,'”, and so long as you are still alive, the fight is not yet over. You are a warrior, you are stronger than you will ever know, and you can beat this. You deserve to beat this – for your loved ones, for the world, and most importantly, for yourself.

Your Reasons For Depression Are Enough

For as long as I can remember, I’ve either suffered from depression or depression-like symptoms. When I was ten years old, I started self-harming, first by digging my nails into my hands, then later by carving scars into my arm. When I was thirteen, I spent a lot of my time thinking about killing myself. When I was eighteen, I felt essentially empty, emotionless, just a shell of a person that walked and talked but didn’t actually resemble an actual human being.

But like a lot of people with depression (or any mental illness, for that matter), I told myself that I couldn’t have been depressed, that depression looked entirely different from what I was experiencing. Depression was something you had to earn a right to through hardship much worse than anything I had ever faced, whereas I was just wrong. I was just off.

Even today, four years after I admitted to myself that I have depression, I still get that feeling from time to time. After reading an article written by a woman who overcame depression after years of childhood sexual abuse and being taken into foster care at the age of ten, my first thought was, “how can I claim to have depression when I haven’t experienced half of what she has?”

And then later that same day, I was talking to someone about their own experiences with depression, and they prefaced their perspective by saying, “I haven’t experienced anything close to the depression that you have, but…” They then went on to explain that when they were depressed, they would simply go back to bed after completing all of the errands that they had no choice but to run, seeing no point in being awake after that – something which I personally never experienced. My anxiety always kept me from going back to bed, even if I wanted to, because no matter how pointless I saw everything, I needed to keep going lest I make myself feel even worse. Whether you see that as a positive or negative is up to you, but it isn’t really the point – my point is that our experiences were different. And from my perspective, I have a very hard time seeing my depression as worse than another person’s because I clawed up my arms instead of going back to bed and giving up on the day.

But I think that that’s a common issue that many people with mental illnesses experience – the belief that your mental illness isn’t enough, that your reason for having it isn’t enough. After all, there’s always going to be someone out there who had it worse than you. No matter what you experienced, no matter what you went through, there’s always going to be someone who went through more.

And perhaps part of the reason for this is that mental illnesses like depression manifest themselves in different ways. Some people have an easier time hiding it than others. Some people cope with it one way, some another. And for those people who have an easier time hiding it, they’re constantly going to be looking at someone who has a harder time hiding it and wondering, “what right do I have to be depressed? At least I’m not like that!” But it really isn’t about that. It’s the same illness, just two different ways of dealing with it.

And perhaps another reason for this is the fact that it is a relatively common response to someone who has depression to ask, “why do you have depression? You have so much to be happy about!” This response is something that many of us have heard, but it comes from a place of misunderstanding what depression is. Depression is a mental illness. It is a disease of the mind, just as serious and crippling as any physical illness but invisible, more complex. Yes, depression can be set off by some occurrence in your life, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be.

And besides, if you have depression or depression-like symptoms, then you are not wrong. You are not simply off. The way you feel is valid, and it matters, and your reason for feeling that way, whatever it might be, is enough.

And why am I emphasizing this so much? Because it is important to recognize your own depression and to know that it is valid, because that is the only way that you are going to be able to reach out to get help.

As I mentioned, I have experienced depression or depression-like symptoms for as long as I remembered, but until I was able to recognize that that was what I had, that I was not simply ‘off’, I wasn’t able to reach out and ask for help, because I didn’t know how to vocalize it. And once I did know how to vocalize it, I was able to learn about it and find ways to cope with it. Only once I could talk about it without minimizing my perspective was I able to began the healing process.

And when it really comes down to it, pain is not a competition. It is important to help out and sympathize with people who have experienced worse than you have, of course, but the way that you feel is not invalid because someone else has felt worse. I mean, think about it in terms of physical health: why would you minimize and refuse to get help for a broken leg just because someone else had their leg amputated?

So let me leave you with these words: the way you feel is valid. Your reasons for feeling it are enough. And most importantly, you deserve to be happy and healthy and loved because you are an incredible, worthwhile person.

The Door to the Rest of My Life

I found the door to the rest of my life, and it is open.

Now, I am expected to walk through it.

Now I have no choice but to walk through it. It doesn’t matter that I never thought I would get this far. It doesn’t matter that my life was supposed to end several years ago, in a bathtub, in a pool of my own blood. It doesn’t matter that I was born to be a sad story stuffed into the smallest corner of the newspaper: TEENAGE SUICIDE, it was supposed to read, and people were supposed to hear about me and shake their heads and say “what a shame” before moving on, forgetting me.

It doesn’t matter, because it didn’t happen. I’m here. I’m alive. And I will never be a teenage suicide, because I will never be a teenager again.

I’m an adult.

I’m a possibility.

I’m alive. And there’s so much that I can do so long as that remains true.

Because death is so final, and life is ever changing.

I can walk through that door. I can follow the plan that I didn’t have until recently, the plan that I never made when I was young because I was never supposed to get this far. The simple plan: job, move, school, career, maybe get married, maybe be happy, run into problems along the way but always push through them. I can do that now. I can live a life.

And what a strange party it is that I hold for myself, alone, in private. No invitations can be sent out because no one can know the reason why life overwhelms me and thrills me all at once. No one can know why I think it’s a miracle to be alive. If they knew they would worry, but they really shouldn’t because I survived. I made it through. I didn’t kill myself and I won’t kill myself. Instead of cutting into my skin, I fortified it with armour so that when the feeling comes back, I’ll know what to do. I’ll have prepared for this.

And for now, I found the door to the rest of my life, the door that was never supposed to exist in the first place. And I am walking through it.