I can’t
remember when it was that I began to feel ‘unhappy’. I guess that’s
because I never questioned it. There wasn’t a day as a child where I
woke up and thought, ‘today I feel depressed’. Rather, every day I felt
empty, hollow, numb whilst simultaneously feeling constantly panicky and
worried about everything. It was hell. But hey, that’s just life,
right? Get on with it. So I did.
I suffered in silence, scared to question my terrifying world and dreading a lifetime of feeling this way. I went to school each day and smiled my way through. I was always the joker of the class, the bubbly one, the smiley one. What did I have to be unhappy about? I went to a lovely school, had gorgeous friends and a beautiful family and home. I was lucky.
So
I kept quiet. But the more I silenced and forced a smile on my
terrified lips, the more difficult things got. I developed obsessive
thoughts around food and hygiene and began hurting myself multiple times
a day just to get through. Sometimes the pain was to numb the panic,
sometimes it was to make me feel less empty: to feel something. Often I
did it because I hated myself. I was only a little girl, but I hated the
way I looked and I hated myself for feeling the way I did. I’d tell
myself, ‘why can’t you just get on with things the way your friends do?’
I started crying myself to sleep, hoping that this would be the last
time I would close my eyes, hoping that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow
morning.
That’s when I
started to think things might not be quite right. The more I saw the
girls around me, the more they looked so care free, so un-troubled;
their arms unscarred and their laughs somehow more resonant and real
than mine could ever sound. I began to not quite believe that they too
had to bleed to get through, that they too had a dark cloud encompassing
their every move and that they too were waking up to thoughts of death
each painful day. So I reached out for help.
I told my amazing best friend who confirmed these worries. It wasn’t ‘normal’.
After
talking to her, I knew I needed help, it was my GCSE year. I had to get
better. But I was ashamed and frightened. I felt that telling more of
my friends and family would only disappoint them. I was so worried how
they would react. Thankfully, the school had a confidential counsellor
and I began seeing her on a weekly basis. It gave me a chance to let out
all the worries consuming me, but it wasn’t enough and as I began being
more open with the counsellor, she was worried for my safety and the
time came to tell my family.
Despite
my fears, opening up to my family was a huge feeling of relief. They
were not disappointed, only concerned and got me the help I needed
straightaway. After sessions with a GP, psychologist and psychiatrist I
was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, BDD and contamination OCD.
Rather than feeling overwhelmed by this diagnosis, it was a relief. It
indicated to me that life wasn’t ‘just like this’, I wasn’t going to
feel like this every day and I could get better! I was put on medication
and began weekly sessions with an amazing psychologist who I will be
eternally grateful to.
My
road to recovery was a long one and certainly not easy, with big ups and
downs along the way but I am proud to say that with the love and
support I now know what happiness feels like and look forward to my
future. Reaching out for help was the best decision I ever made and to
everyone that helped and supported me along the way (even if that was
just a hug one day or a squeeze of the hand) I owe my life and happiness
to you, so thank you so much. It is possible to get better and believe
me it’s worth it. Now that I am better, I want to make sure that fewer
children experience such pain and when they do, they are not afraid to
speak out and get the help they need and deserve, so #itaffectsme <3
Let’s get mental health education on the curriculum.
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