I'm in my early 20's and my family has history of mental illness. I've always been very aware of the stories I've heard and things that I've seen, and I've always felt like there was something inside of me that was like that, so in a way I have always had it in the back of my mind that one day I might just crack up and get carted away by men in not-so-stylish white coats.
Early last year, starting around Christmas, my stress levels were through the roof and I was slowly getting angrier and angrier at the silliest things. Sometimes I would just walk away from people that I truly care about because I didn't want to hurt their feelings because of my bad mood. After the holidays I expected it to get better, but it didn't. I started getting more and more upset and angry and exhausted until one day I woke up and realized I was having the thought, "It doesn't matter what I do anymore, because I will be dead soon." The scary thing is that it didn't even bother me that I was thinking that. Having thoughts of hurting or even killing yourself should scare you, but for me it felt natural; like it was just something I had to do at some point and that I was just waiting for the moment when I would get the courage to. I didn't tell anyone how I was feeling because I was terrified of having to take medication. I saw it as being labeled "Crazy" and giving up and having to numb my feelings to get through life and I didn't want to feel like I had failed. After a few months I started to slowly pull myself out of it, but even then I didn't feel like myself. I felt like a caged animal, and I started to wall myself off from my family and friends in an effort to keep them from seeing what I was and how I felt.
My breaking point came around September, when my family started to push me on something. I don't even remember what it was, but it just made me boil over and I ended up telling my parents and my grandparents about how self destructive I had become, and about how hard it was every single day to go out and have to make an effort to appear normal and happy when inside all I wanted to do was hide and sleep. I told them about all the feelings that I had gone through, and even about how I had researched ways to kill myself and the only reason I didn't try any of them was because I was too afraid of what would happen to me if I failed. I was exhausted, and I wanted it all to be over but the chance I could end up a vegetable or crippled was so terrifying that it was the only thing that kept me from buying a couple bottles of aspirin and helping myself to a little peace of mind(not a good idea by the way, trust me I've looked into it and it's not a quick painless death. There's lots of vomiting, seizing and a 75% chance that you'll just end up a vegetable drooling on your sesame street bib for the rest of your adult life).
I told them about how I felt like a failure, and true to form everyone in my family told me I needed medication and that they would help me in any way they could. My mom is one of those people that just wants to find a quick easy solution to things and even though that may work for some people I just don't work that way. I stood my ground and said that I wasn't going to a psychiatrist but that I would go to see a therapist. I wanted someone who would listen, not diagnose, treat and push me out the door.
At first I didn't trust her and I had made up my mind to stop seeing her after the first visit but I made myself give her a second chance and I was honest with her. I told her that I didn't think I could gain anything from seeing her, that I didn't like going and the way she responded surprised me and made a really big impression on me.
She didn't try to talk me into staying, and after I told her that I did not want to take any medication, and my reasons why, she was supportive. She said that in her opinion I could gain alot from trying anti-anxiety medicine, but that if I didn't feel it was the right option for me we could try other methods for controlling my anxiety and all the feelings I had been having. For me, when something is too hard or stressful I end up pushing it away and pretending like it doesn't exist. She made the point to me that if I have a habit of pushing difficult things away, what made seeing her any different? That maybe, just maybe, if I looked at a problem head on it might make a bigger difference than just ignoring it and hoping it would get better. She was right, of course, so I gave her another chance.
So far I don't see a huge difference in myself other than certain things that would have been impossible before seem easier. It's not because I've confronted some huge fear, but maybe because after talking about them it made me realize how different my life could be if I just tried to do them instead of instinctively pushing them aside and refusing to even try them. -shrugs- There's no real point to this post and there's no huge Hallmark moment where my life changed for the better, but to me I think it's important to share this part of myself. I don't want to push it away and pretend like it never happened.
Early last year, starting around Christmas, my stress levels were through the roof and I was slowly getting angrier and angrier at the silliest things. Sometimes I would just walk away from people that I truly care about because I didn't want to hurt their feelings because of my bad mood. After the holidays I expected it to get better, but it didn't. I started getting more and more upset and angry and exhausted until one day I woke up and realized I was having the thought, "It doesn't matter what I do anymore, because I will be dead soon." The scary thing is that it didn't even bother me that I was thinking that. Having thoughts of hurting or even killing yourself should scare you, but for me it felt natural; like it was just something I had to do at some point and that I was just waiting for the moment when I would get the courage to. I didn't tell anyone how I was feeling because I was terrified of having to take medication. I saw it as being labeled "Crazy" and giving up and having to numb my feelings to get through life and I didn't want to feel like I had failed. After a few months I started to slowly pull myself out of it, but even then I didn't feel like myself. I felt like a caged animal, and I started to wall myself off from my family and friends in an effort to keep them from seeing what I was and how I felt.
My breaking point came around September, when my family started to push me on something. I don't even remember what it was, but it just made me boil over and I ended up telling my parents and my grandparents about how self destructive I had become, and about how hard it was every single day to go out and have to make an effort to appear normal and happy when inside all I wanted to do was hide and sleep. I told them about all the feelings that I had gone through, and even about how I had researched ways to kill myself and the only reason I didn't try any of them was because I was too afraid of what would happen to me if I failed. I was exhausted, and I wanted it all to be over but the chance I could end up a vegetable or crippled was so terrifying that it was the only thing that kept me from buying a couple bottles of aspirin and helping myself to a little peace of mind(not a good idea by the way, trust me I've looked into it and it's not a quick painless death. There's lots of vomiting, seizing and a 75% chance that you'll just end up a vegetable drooling on your sesame street bib for the rest of your adult life).
I told them about how I felt like a failure, and true to form everyone in my family told me I needed medication and that they would help me in any way they could. My mom is one of those people that just wants to find a quick easy solution to things and even though that may work for some people I just don't work that way. I stood my ground and said that I wasn't going to a psychiatrist but that I would go to see a therapist. I wanted someone who would listen, not diagnose, treat and push me out the door.
At first I didn't trust her and I had made up my mind to stop seeing her after the first visit but I made myself give her a second chance and I was honest with her. I told her that I didn't think I could gain anything from seeing her, that I didn't like going and the way she responded surprised me and made a really big impression on me.
She didn't try to talk me into staying, and after I told her that I did not want to take any medication, and my reasons why, she was supportive. She said that in her opinion I could gain alot from trying anti-anxiety medicine, but that if I didn't feel it was the right option for me we could try other methods for controlling my anxiety and all the feelings I had been having. For me, when something is too hard or stressful I end up pushing it away and pretending like it doesn't exist. She made the point to me that if I have a habit of pushing difficult things away, what made seeing her any different? That maybe, just maybe, if I looked at a problem head on it might make a bigger difference than just ignoring it and hoping it would get better. She was right, of course, so I gave her another chance.
So far I don't see a huge difference in myself other than certain things that would have been impossible before seem easier. It's not because I've confronted some huge fear, but maybe because after talking about them it made me realize how different my life could be if I just tried to do them instead of instinctively pushing them aside and refusing to even try them. -shrugs- There's no real point to this post and there's no huge Hallmark moment where my life changed for the better, but to me I think it's important to share this part of myself. I don't want to push it away and pretend like it never happened.
