Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Before I begin today’s blog post, I want to go over a couple of things. First and foremost, there are potential triggers in this one. I’m talking about my struggles with anxiety and depression, and I don’t want to hurt anyone or derail their progress. Secondly, please know my advice in the last couple of paragraphs are what I seek or proven tactics when I am having a panic attack or an episode of high anxiety. There is no universally proven way to help, so don’t be afraid to ask your loved one what they need in a similar situation. Finally, know when to step in. If you or anyone you know is losing the battle with anxiety or depression, please step in. Call their parents, help them look up resources, or stay with them for a few nights. Do whatever your gut tells you because it’s so much better for them to be alive and angry with you than the alternative. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you like the rest of this post. It’s intimate and is simultaneously terrifying and relieving to share. Y’all can’t begin to imagine how grateful I am to those of you who read my entries <3.

It’s a well-known fact I can be somewhat neurotic; however, it is a lesser known fact I have struggled with anxiety and slight depression for a really long time. Why am I sharing this with you, my avid two or three readers? Well, I’m not afraid to talk about it anymore, and I think it’s good to hear from someone who often hides it well. I have fought my way through abuse, an eating disorder, teasing, heartbreak, the loss of loved ones, and everything in-between and was still standing when the dust cleared, but it doesn’t mean I came out unscathed. I feel like I have let you into every other area of my life, so I thought it wasn’t fair to leave a stone unturned.

I’m going to start out with my struggles with depression. When I was in eighth grade, I wrote a suicide note. I didn’t make any real plans, but I knew what I wanted to say when I was gone. Luckily, I worked my way through it, and all was seemingly well. The depression came back my freshman year when I struggled with my eating disorder. People still made comments because I had loose skin here or stretch marks there, so I kept trying to look better. Looking better on the outside made me feel worse on the inside. The depression only came in random bursts throughout my high school years. I internalized most of my feelings, and the truth didn’t really come out until my freshman year of college. During this year, I struggled greatly with depression. It also did not help that the goldfish friend I bought to help me survive my first semester, Cosmo, died in less than a week. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I would get down, and it would take an enormous toll on my body. For those who were there, this should explain why I was sick a lot. Sophomore year, a lot of family stuff happened, so I went down the same path. There were days I wouldn’t leave my bed. I fought long and hard through it and came out alive. Unfortunately, as the old adage goes, misery loves company, so depression decided to bring along a friend: anxiety.

I had my first panic attack my sophomore year of college. For me, a panic attack doesn’t focus on affecting my breathing; it makes my violently ill and can cause rashes. I don’t remember the exact context of what brought it on, but it felt like the first real day of having the flu. I shrugged it off as a stomach virus. I’ve had a view mini bouts of panic attacks where I break out in some sort of rash and itch uncontrollably. I get really withdrawn. It sucks. I didn’t have another massive panic attack until last August. Cue the Usher because these are my Confessions.

I’ve been really sick in my life. I’ve had the chicken pox, severe kidney infections, almost died at six, and had to miss two weeks of senior year with Swine Flu. I’ve never felt as though I was dying during any of those ordeals, but last summer, I legitimately thought I was. I threw up for almost a total of 12 hours. I was terrified of asphyxiating or hyperventilating because I couldn’t stop throwing up. I played it off as a stomach virus until I realized I didn’t eat anything out of the norm. After a serious moment of deja vu, I understood what was happening: I was having another full-fledged panic attack. I had recently finished a working binge of 15 days, including two doubles, most of which took place at a job I hated, I had never fully lived out on my own, I was financially responsibly for myself, and I was on the verge of moving home. I felt so alone, but I felt like I was bothering other people or being a Debbie Downer if I talked to them about my problems. I bottled everything up, and the cork finally came unscrewed. I didn’t realize until that moment how much disdain I felt for my life until that moment. That’s when I knew I had to quit one of my jobs.

I still find myself struggling with anxiety. There are times I want to stay in bed for days because I don’t want to interact with people, but I’ve gotten much better at trying to work through it (and chalk it up to being a temperamental writer and artist in my head). I try to start a craft project, cook, clean my apartment, go for a walk, or even as I am doing now, writing a blog post. I’m not letting my anxiety and depression control my like I did for over the first half of college, but I’m not totally ignoring or discrediting them. I’ve started texting my close friends when I feel I’m starting to get in a rut, as I call it, to start the conversation and attempt to figure out the cause of my present anxiety. I’m an optimist and fighter by nature, so I no longer have suicidal thoughts or tendencies, but I do have to fight through my own anxieties. Sometimes a week or longer is a constant struggle. Sometimes it’s only a few hours. Either way, I don’t think anyone should ever be ashamed or afraid of their issues.

It’s okay to talk to a friend about your anxiety. It’s okay to not be perpetually happy. You have to work through whatever issue is causing the problem not only with your friends and family but yourself. You have to realize it’s going to be okay, and that’s why I try not to shrug off someone’s worries and tell them everything is going to be fine because in that moment, you don’t feel like it is. For me personally, it makes you feel as though your problems are not being taken seriously. Help your friends by letting them talk to you about their issues by minimally interrupting them and letting them get an entire story out. It helps me personally because it gives the issue a voice outside of your own head while also having a good sounding board. Actively listen. Check in with them the day after to make sure they are okay. Make them get out of their apartment or even bring a movie and popcorn over to get them out of bed and moving. Don’t try to shrink the problem down but rather treat it with the same level of importance they are to prevent your friends from thinking you are being condescending or accusing them of being dramatic.

There’s never a perfect way to handle a situation, so don’t be afraid to ask what your friend needs. Validate their concerns while offering applicable and loving suggestions. If they want to do something crazy, like I don’t know, get hair dye at 3AM, take them. It’s going to make them feel better and let them know you care. Let them cry all over you and get snot on your hoodie while you hold them and don’t say a word. Make them feel needed and appreciated and loved. Don’t leave room for them to feel belittled or judged. Don’t act like you have all the answers. Help them when they are feeling alone, alienated, and fragile, and you have not idea what an impact you’ll have.

Feeling better has to come from the inside out though, so be sure to help yourself. It’s all about taking a single first step. Take time to walk to a thrift store and grab a burger alone. Take the bus and a book to your favorite coffee shop and treat yourself to a few hours of solitude. Take away the stigma of depression and anxiety by openly talking about them. Don’t let yourself think no one will understand. Don’t let your brain tell you no one cares. Don’t let other people define or categorize what you are feeling. Everyone’s feelings are totally different and should be treated as such. You are perfectly imperfect, and you shouldn’t be afraid to say it. I’m not scared anymore.