When I turned 18, I left my childhood home and moved into a modest one-bedroom apartment. It was a humble space—just a small off-campus unit where rent was affordable and the furnishings were even cheaper. My decor was a mix of dorm-style items from the local store: a set of three nesting tables, two beanbag chairs, a blue card table with four folding chairs, a futon, and a flimsy white bookcase that I desperately needed for my countless books. (Yes, I was—and still am—a devoted bookworm.)
Although the place felt bare, it was mine. This space marked a significant milestone in my life, as I had just started college two weeks earlier and had spent that time in a hotel room nearby. Moving in was both exhilarating and terrifying because, in those two weeks, I was already spiraling. I went from a high-achieving student to feeling like a complete failure. I began skipping classes, choosing instead to stay in a dark hotel room, eating less and sleeping more.
By the time I held the keys to my apartment, I was deep in my first depressive episode, and it hit me like a freight train. As young adults, we receive countless warnings about the dangers of partying, drugs, and the pressures of academic performance, yet no one warns us about the emotional toll of isolation and anxiety. This life transition, a significant milestone, can trigger profound mental health struggles, especially for those with a prior diagnosis.
It didn’t take long for me to succumb to the weight of my depression. I withdrew from college during my second semester, keeping it a secret for months. I found myself going out less, drinking more, and spending countless hours hiding away in my boyfriend’s dorm room while he attended classes and embraced life. I was trapped under blankets, crying when he asked about my future or suggested I return home.
My life was undeniably chaotic, but it wasn’t due to reckless choices; it was a direct result of my mental illness. Instead of reaching out for help, I let shame, fear, guilt, and regret silence me. I tried various forms of self-medication—ranging from unhealthy coping mechanisms to expensive drinks—hoping for relief that never came. It wasn’t until I began therapy that I noticed any improvement. Things were still tough, but they started to get better because I took one brave step: I broke my silence.
It has taken me 16 years to feel comfortable admitting I have a mental illness. Despite knowing I shouldn’t feel ashamed, I did. Shame consumed me, taunted me, and I stayed quiet because I feared being seen as crazy. I worried that perhaps I was simply a failure unable to cope with adulthood. I thought no one would understand the depths of my pain or the emptiness I felt, and at times, I still battle those thoughts.
Talking about mental illness can feel embarrassing. It’s challenging to articulate feelings of emptiness, worthlessness, and the profound loneliness that can exist even in a crowded room. However, remaining silent only perpetuates the shame and isolation, which in turn worsens our mental health. Silence fosters sickness.
But I refuse to be ashamed any longer. Yes, I still experience fear and pain, but I’m done with the silence. I refuse to let my mental illness dictate who I am. Why? Because I deserve better, and you do too. You, my friend, who puts on a brave face but struggles behind closed doors; you, who takes too many sick days or remains quiet during family gatherings; and you, young person questioning your sanity—you are not alone.
Living with depression or any mental illness is undeniably challenging. There are days when it feels unbearable, but I assure you: you are stronger than you realize. You are a fighter, and you should never be ashamed of your struggle. Scared? Absolutely! But ashamed? Never. You deserve to acknowledge your worth and your journey.
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In summary, it’s crucial to break the silence surrounding mental illness. Embrace your journey with pride, seek help when needed, and remember that you are not defined by your struggles.
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