Tomorrow (Oct 10th) is World Mental Health Day: a day that seeks to both raise awareness of mental health as a valid illness, as well as draw attention to the shocking lack of provisions in place for those who suffer.
WMHD is important for a number of reasons, not least in helping break down the stigma that still surrounds the discussion of mental health like a toxic nuclear cloud. As someone recently diagnosed with anxiety, it’s becoming increasingly apparent to me how little we as a society feel able to talk about our feelings. For that reason, since my diagnosis I have tried to be increasingly vocal about not just my mental health, but the subject as a whole.
So what better day to talk about the big fat ugly and oft-ignored elephant in the room that hangs over those who suffer from MH problems like a constant rain cloud.
It wasn’t until the later stages of my final year of university that I was fully diagnosed with High-Functioning Anxiety (a MH problem that still remains contested, and poorly understood). High-Functioning Anxiety is an anxiety disorder that on the outside looks sort of like you’ve got your shit together, but inside you’re battling with oppressive feelings of panic.
For me, I’d often wake up ridiculously early at uni to go to the library for endless hours, much to the mockery of my friends, followed by an obsessive exercise habit (sorry for all of the running FB posts), and then any time in between spent trying to be sociable with friends.
The problem was that whilst it looked like I had my life totally together (yes, I looked like an anal-retentive nerd who just LOVED the library with a quirky coffee obsession that kept me going), my obsession with work and exercise stemmed from a genuinely debilitating fear of failure. I would get home in evenings and be so paralysed by a fear that whatever I was doing was not enough, that I would end up awake all night worrying. I became tired, overwhelmed and yet dangerously obsessive. When left alone I found it hard to prevent panic attacks, as thoughts would often snowball and I couldn’t gain control of them enough to tell myself that the thoughts weren’t true.
The thing with anxiety is that you never stop panicking. Anxiety isn’t just neuroticism, it’s your everyday worries times a million. It got to the point where I would be hysterically crying in my room because I read a few less pages than I’d originally planned, or maybe I felt like I hadn’t exercised enough to burn off the calories of my most recent meal, so I’d have to go on a run twice as long tomorrow. My whole life, mentality and persona were defined by a constant black cloud of worry that followed me around to the point of suffocation.
Socialising became tiring. I constantly worried that I wasn’t being funny enough, that my friends would think I was boring, that I wasn’t interested in them anymore, or that I’d somehow offend them. A night in became easier than ever going out, because that way I couldn’t somehow do something wrong and spend the next week overthinking it. Even now, when I have what I like to call ‘bad brain days’, I withdraw into myself because I’m so worried I’ll say something wrong it’s just easier to say nothing at all. I became irritable, unpleasant, snappy and resentful, to the point where I was surprised I still had friends at all. But because I was still getting up, going to the library and making jokes about my now-crucial coffee-dependency, no one was any the wiser, and I wanted to keep it that way, because admitting that I was feeling as bad as I was felt like an even bigger failure.
I was so scared that my friends would judge me, shun me, not believe me that I just didn’t say anything at all. How dumb is that, seriously. That’s why World Mental Health Day is so, SO important, because honest to god people need to know that getting help and talking about how you feel is NOTHING to be ashamed of. Speaking to someone, getting the advice, help and support you need is only ever a good thing. It took me to the point of absolutely collapsing in on myself to reach out, and no one should ever have to get to that point. So if you don’t feel okay, and you’re struggling, be as VOCAL as possible with whomever you feel comfortable, and never be afraid to seek medical help either.
I have been so lucky. I have a number of beautifully brave, strong and supportive friends who have helped me feel comfortable discussing my problems, and encouraged me to seek the help I need. To all those who have asked me how I’m doing, how I’m really doing, thank you. To the people who sent me postcards, the ones who recommended books, those who left me notes in my room with chocolate: from the bottom of my heart: thank you.
Mental health doesn’t have to be something we’re ashamed of, nor should it be. The scars of mental health are as real as the scars I got when I trapped my finger in a blender, and they should always be treated as such. So this mental health day, don’t be scared to open up, talk, discuss and recognise: it’s okay not to be okay, and the sooner everyone accepts that, the easier it will be for all those suffering unnecessarily in silence.
(If you do need help, you can call the Samaritans here 116 123).
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