Mental Health Awareness Month, #2

Thank you for all of your support last week. The easiest way to support this cause is to spread the word. So like, really easy.

My mental health journey began at age 20. I was a full time biology student (see: hours upon hours of labs plus corresponding lectures) and I was working two part-time jobs. I was tired. I was stressed. I was emotional. All of the things you would expect.

There were also days that were frozen. I couldn't move out of my bed. I would wake up and know that I had to go somewhere or do something, and I just couldn't. You just can't. Insert missed classes and the beginning of numerous sick calls to work.

The bed was one place. My other place? My car. I would drive home from school and not leave my car. I would sit in my driveway and call my BFF and she'd be all, oh are you in the car again? Yup. And then she would talk to me until I was able to leave my car. Because she was my BFF and she did stuff like that. There were the typical signs — I stopped going out with friends, my appetite disappeared — but the one thing that has always stuck with me was that whole car situation. I mean, what in the ever-living-fuck. Couldn't I have gotten stuck somewhere exciting like in a park, or poolside? No, I had to spend many anxiety ridden hours in a goddamned Pontiac Sunfire.

The moment that made me go full Bynes had to do with a boy. How disgustingly cliché is that? And then I nearly stopped eating all together and decided that I should go get some medication. Even though I really liked wearing my little sisters' clothing.

I was the first of my family members to take anti-depressants. And they are incredibly lucky I love them still because the level of support I received was somewhere between 1 and 0. Why are YOU stressed? You don't need THOSE pills. You are fine. Not so much, family. Not so much at all.

Now? Now they understand. And now we probably qualify for some sort of discount because we are single-handedly keeping the anti-depressant companies in business.

So my story doesn't begin with a bang. It was a mild meltdown process and I am forever grateful that I took steps to get help before it had a chance to get worse.