By Brianna Adkins
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This story has a happy ending, but I think it’s finally time for me to be entirely transparent with all of you. The past year was onerous. While being 439 miles and approximately 8 hours—often 10 with traffic—away from home, my hometown became the one thing that replayed on a loop in my mind titled, “where I’d rather be.”
College wasn’t great. There, I said it. While I wanted to make it the year of a lifetime, my mind was bombarded with barrels of anxiety I never thought possible. I promise you, I wanted to be happy. I really, really, really wanted to focus on having the best time, but my own thoughts became hurdles with unreachable heights.
“You will never be enough. Everyone at home will forget about you. No one cares how you’re doing. You’re worthless. Nothing you do will amount to everything. Your work is shameful and lazy. You. Are. Not. Worth. A. Thought.”
Although my social media feed was full of body-positive inspiration and bright snippets of my life during New York Fashion Week, my brain was full of these intrusive thoughts. I couldn’t escape the barbaric critic that took hold of my emotions and dialed the negativity up to 11. I wanted to be better for myself. I wanted to be better for everyone who reads Pretty Smart. I wanted to get better for every reason possible, but I rebranded my mental illness as homesickness and stored it in the attic of my mind.
As I carried on throughout the year, the load became too much to carry. Many breakdowns and panic attacks occurred, placing me in a constant state of panic. My panic state became cozy enough to endure for a while. I snuggled against the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat and wiped my snot and tears away with my shirtsleeve.
“I’m fine,” I would say to myself. “It’ll get better.”
It didn’t.
The stigma around mental health is real, folks. I didn’t want medication or a therapist for many reasons. I didn’t want my mind to get foggy and my schedule was too full to see someone for an hour a week. I pushed my health to the back and pushed forward, but I only slowed myself down at every turn. I published less issues, shrugged when I received lower grades, and talked myself through panic attacks with the assistance of my boyfriend every week. But I was just getting worse.
My best friend/boyfriend finally woke me up with a simple statement: “Please get help.”
Hearing that from someone I loved really awakened me to my own status. I was hitting the edge of rock bottom without acknowledging it. It peeled my eyes open wide.
I’m finally taking care of myself. I talked to my health care provider about my options, started myself on a low dosage of a medicine to help lower the rate of my panic attacks, and I’m seeing a therapist to talk through ways to cope with this illness. I can finally say for the first time in months that I am truly happy. I’m getting help and I am not ashamed about that fact in any way.
If you have a loved one or someone you know who is currently struggling with a mental illness or personality disorder, please do not shame them for trying their best to get better. Do your part in shattering the stigma around mental illness by talking about these disorders openly. If you believe you have a mental illness, please seek out help from your doctor or therapist. Do not be scared to ask for help, because once you receive it, a brighter world appears before your eyes.
I am Brianna Adkins, Editor-in-chief of Pretty Smart, and I’m living happily with an anxiety disorder.
Go out and find your happy.
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