What I am about to talk about is a subject I have never openly or publicly talked about. It’s something I have dealt with for about eight years and I am just now getting the courage to write about it. Disclaimer, this not me glorifying anything or seeking pity. I want to share my story to help anyone else that may be going through similar things, because you are not alone.
I have a mental illness. And that’s okay.
I have decided to share my story from the beginning, from when I first started struggling with depression to now. There have been many ups and downs and I am learning every single day how to cope. For those of you who don’t have it, you will never know what it is like. It can eat you alive and suck all the light out of you. The best way I can describe it is using a quote I read somewhere, “ Depression is like being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.”
So let’s go back in time to seventh grade Aspen. 12 years old, the age where everyone begins discovering themselves. I was actually kind of shy back then, and very sensitive. This was quite a long time ago so I’m recalling this the best that I can. I remember noticing that I would feel sad all the time for no reason. I found myself crying in the shower at night time at least a few times a week. But I thought it was normal, everyone cries. On top of that, I also didn’t have a great friend group, there were constant fights and drama and I found myself caught in the middle of it often. I was around people that tore me down and made me feel like I was beneath them. At that time, bullying began as well. I was made fun of for the way I looked. I was told I looked like a boy because I was super petite but incredibly muscular. I was vulnerable and not confident in who I was. Every single comment people made stuck with me. I would look at myself in the mirror and it was like I could hear a voice in my head repeating what they said over and over until I started to believe it myself. I was disgusted at the person I was. I hated myself. The girls I was friends with also never stuck up for me, they laughed at the comments which made everything worse. I thought that if they believed it, it must be true. Thankfully I never self harmed, but I began having sick thoughts. I began wondering if things would be better if I wasn’t around. I wondered if I even wanted to be alive anymore. I was TWELVE YEARS OLD. I was a little girl curled up in fetal position in the shower that wanted to die. But I pushed through. I convinced myself things would get better. I made it through the rest of the school year putting on a facade of this happy girl that loved everything. But in reality I was broken, so so broken.
Summer came and went and I felt better being away from school and all the negativity. Eighth grade began and I made some new friends and my confidence grew. I would still have random episodes some nights but not as often. I still was a “follower”, I just wanted to be liked and accepted. But a lot of the drama and bullying subsided. One night, a night I will never forget, I had an “episode”. I cried so hard I could barely breathe, and for hours. I felt so sad and I couldn’t explain why. In the middle of the night, I finally woke up my mom because I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t hide these feelings anymore and I just lost it. I told her about the thoughts I had the previous year and how I felt and I could practically see her heart break. She laid with me hugging me as tight as she could and we both cried. It was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. The next day we talked more about it and she made me an appointment to see a therapist. I did see one a few months later, but I can say that therapy was not for me. I was extremely uncomfortable and I didn’t open up about anything. It wasn’t helping and I was doing okay, so I only went a few times. That summer was fine. I had good days and bad days but I was coping.
I don’t have much to say about freshman year. I did get put on medication after being formally diagnosed by a doctor. I made a lot of great new friends and I was happy. Again, there were good and bad days but I was okay. I still found myself caring way too much about what other people said and I was a follower, but I convinced myself once again that this was fine. Sophomore year was about the same.
Junior year I started having “episodes” more often. I started getting sick of just being a follower and being somebody that I wasn’t. But I never did anything about it, and I am mad at myself to this day for not sticking up for myself. People walked all over me and I allowed it. My confidence was still so low that I felt like saying something would do more harm than good. I genuinely thought my friend group loved and cared about me and that’s all that mattered.
Senior year. The sh*t show. I don’t even know where to start. I had such high hopes for this year, but I was oh so disappointed. My friend group began kind of pulling away from me. I noticed the fakeness a little more but I ignored it. Everyone was preparing to go off to college and all of them were going to the same colleges and were planning out roommates and degrees, but my path was so much different. I couldn’t relate to them anymore. I started having episodes almost every night. I felt so alone. I was excluded constantly and my self esteem dropped to an all time low. This was supposed to be the best year of high school, but instead I hated my life. I spent every weekend at home alone instead of going to parties and hanging out with friends. Thankfully I had one friend that stuck by me and wasn’t fake. She made things more bearable. But things kept getting worse. Halfway through I tried switching to online schooling because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was willing to give up cheer which was something I had done for almost ten years and loved because I hated it so much. Unfortunately there were issues with my diploma and it wasn’t an option. I know my parents felt bad for me. I ended up getting mono a little after this and was out of school for weeks. It’s sad whenever I was happier at home and incredibly sick than at school. Nobody checked up on me. Nobody cared where I was. I found out later that the whole time I was gone my “friends” just mocked and talked bad about me. After this I just felt numb. I was beyond broken, I hated my life. Nobody even noticed, and if they did they didn’t care enough to ask about it. I was just the shell of myself, going through the motions, day by day. Everything was just falling apart and I felt so helpless. Eventually graduation came and I marched out of the school with my middle finger in the air and I didn’t look back.
I spent my last summer in Indiana at home and with family, but I didn’t care. I was leaving, I was getting the fresh start I always wanted. I moved to Miami at the end of summer and started school. I was the happiest I had ever been. I was making amazing friends and I loved going to school. Paul Mitchell changed my life. I got to experience what it was like to love what you were doing, and I was surrounded by so many positive people that just wanted the best for me. I was on cloud 9. I still had some bad days, but they weren’t that often. The funny thing is that depression makes you see the world in a weird way. Even though things were great I was always pointing out the negatives. I didn’t see the brighter sides of things. My friends called me out on it often, but I was doing it completely subconsciously. They made me notice things about myself that I never knew. It helped me grow as a person.
Unfortunately, things went south again. After I graduated Cosmetology School, I went back to Indiana for what I thought was for the summer, but it ended up being indefinitely. My Miami roommate plans fell through. I was stuck. I was alone again. I was angry. Angry that I got to see what my life could’ve been like and it was ripped away from me. My depression became so much worse and I didn’t know what to do. My mom was so supportive and we tried everything to get me back to Florida. I even auditioned to be a performer at Disney World, but I didn’t get chosen. This failed audition kicked me when I was already down. Every single chance I had to move back fell through. I started losing hope completely. I felt like I had no way of being happy again. I was back in a town full of negative memories and constantly reminded of the pain I went through. I wasn’t motivated anymore. I was convinced my life would never go as planned. Unfortunately I have always had very bad luck, to the point it’s almost comical.
A few months back I started a new job and met a lot of amazing people. Another family member reached out to me and helped me to talk about what I have been through and encouraged me to start praying again and he has been so supportive. Just sitting and talking to someone I know and trust was comforting, and he is one of the reasons why I have the courage to share my story. I began building a relationship with God again, which is something I am still trying to do. My coworkers became my friends, and from the start have made me feel loved and accepted like I did in Miami. I still struggled, but I started to see the tiniest bit of light at the end of a tunnel. So that brings me to today. With this whole quarantine I have actually found myself super motivated again. I am doing things that make me happy, like making clothes, painting, and singing. I am starting to feel content with where I am at in life. Everything happens for a reason, and I am just trying to find my purpose and what my path is in life. I’ve turned to God for guidance and I am doing everything I can to stay positive even though things haven’t gone as I originally planned. I want to be happy, even with a mental illness. I know that I can be happy. Things can and will get better.
Xoxo,
Aspen
Comments