Promise of Recovery

Depression. Self-harm. Suicide. Self-proclaimed “experts” of mental health believe that people are lazy or selfish if they are suffering from depression and resort to self-harm or suicide. But this is not true. Depression is a legitimate mental illness, and self-harm and suicide are not selfish desires or “the easy way out.” I’ve experienced the effects of severe depression first-hand, and believe me, as much as I loved everyone in my life and knew I was loved in return, depression made me feel like I could no longer keep living.

It all started during winter quarter of my freshman year. For seemingly no reason, I began feeling numb, as if everything around me was crumbling to the ground. This numbness slowly removed my ability to feel any emotion at all, and I had little motivation to do anything from having fun to taking care of myself. I couldn’t eat meals well or get out of bed on some days. I couldn’t help but ruminate, or repeatedly focus on how much of a failure I was. These dark thoughts became a spiral of negativity, and eventually, a danger.

I started to remember that people I had known had used the dangerously unhealthy coping method of self-harm. Daily thoughts about trying self-harm scared me into thinking that I may actually hurt myself. Then at the end of January, I reached out to my best friend. During a study session, I told him about the Butterfly Project, an online project designed to help people stop themselves from self-harming. You draw a butterfly on the section of skin where you feel like harming yourself, and if you were to actually do so, then that would “kill” the butterflies. The goal is for the butterflies to live as long as possible, and the process can be restarted as many times as needed.

With some hesitation, I told my best friend that I personally needed butterflies, and I could see the shock and anguish clearly on his face. It felt like I was drowning in vulnerability, but that quickly turned into relief when he told me that he would support me. I realized then that telling someone about my situation would help me out of this perpetual numbness. It showed me that I wasn’t alone and that people wanted to help. We agreed it would be best to call CAPS, the Counseling and Psychological Services on campus. However, I was initially reluctant at the time because I couldn’t pay $15 per appointment. Requesting money from my parents wasn’t feasible, and I didn’t have USHIP ( UC Student Health Insurance Plan). So I convinced him to push off calling CAPS until later. Thinking back on it now, I realize it was foolish to think that I could equate mental health to financial concerns.

Even with my best friend supporting me, the numbing continued to worsen, and in February, I tried self-harm. I knew I couldn’t push it off any longer, so we called CAPS. All I could think about were my parents and what they would think of me. I felt pathetic and worthless for needing help, but at the same time, I knew I deserved to feel safe in my own skin. The CAPS therapist determined that I needed bimonthly appointments and referred me to a psychiatrist. I wondered why I couldn’t just make myself happy, but that’s not how mental illness works. I had internalized the shame and stigma against mental illness, and this shame prevented me from accepting the help I needed.

Although I went to my appointments as advised, I still ended up barely subsisting on one, maybe two, meals per day so that I didn’t have to leave my room and I barely attended classes. By April, I had truly reached rock bottom. I thought that I would never feel better, and I was tired of having to fight my own thoughts. I began thinking about suicide, and I even admitted so to my CAPS therapist. At that point, CAPS called my parents to tell them what I had been going through, and my parents took me home for the weekend. While there, they failed to understand the root of my internal struggles. I told them that I didn’t choose to be depressed. Depression was a clinical diagnosis, and they didn’t fail me as parents at all. It became time-consuming to deal with their unwarranted guilt, and it felt like it was more to worry about on top of dealing with my depression.

When I came back to the dorms, I was punished. I had told my Residential Advisor that I was experiencing depression and suicidal ideation. Per protocol, the Office of Residential Life (ORL) forced me to sign a housing contract to “set some safety measures.” A barrier of stigmatization became apparent when I was put on housing probation. Beyond the contract, I also needed to submit signed proofs of my appointments and meet bimonthly with the ORL President. It felt like they didn’t care for my situation and just perceived me as a threat. This was the tipping point.

After months of numbness, despair, and running into internalized stigma at every turn, I couldn’t handle life anymore. Self-harm had been what I felt was the only helpful coping method, the only way to keep going, but I desperately needed some rest. I needed to be able to stop fighting my mind at every step of the way. So I began seriously planning the process of taking my life. I chose a time where no one would think to check on me, and I stockpiled bottles of painkillers. Just when I was about to go through with my decision, I was struck with fear. I realized that I would miss out on so much of what life had to offer.

At the end of April, I embarked on my road to recovery. I learned to cut back on suicidal urges through every coping method I could find. I kept up with my appointments and continued to reach out to my friends and family. However, in the midst of my recovery, my best friend abruptly decided to end our friendship. While I realized that being a major part of someone’s support system can be physically and emotionally taxing, losing him without an explanation caused me to relapse. Afterwards, I knew that I could not relapse into suicidal ideation again, so I made sure to use all my resources and remind myself that I was much stronger now than I believed.

I focused the entire summer after spring quarter on my recovery. I used every coping method I knew, such as writing, blogging, and continuing the Butterfly Project, and I finally began feeling “normal” again. As a result of my dedication to recovery and then to advocacy, I earned a Mental Health First Aid certificate and a Question, Persuade, Refer Suicide Prevention certificate, both of which are certifications offered at CAPS. I also earned a position as a member of a teen online chat-line. I wanted to show people who were struggling like I had been that it truly does get better. If there are any messages to take away from my story, it is this: It’s not anyone’s fault that depression happens, and it’s not going to feel like rock bottom forever. Please tell someone if you’re experiencing depression, and if you notice signs of mental health issues in someone try to be supportive. Depression makes it seem like you are not worth love, happiness, or help, but everyone is deserving of all of that. Furthermore, remember that everyone you meet has their own story and their own struggles. Judging depression, self-harm, and suicide on the surface level as a phase or as lazy and selfish is highly inconsiderate. If anything, they are all signs that someone may be in need of extra care and help. Lastly, I promise it truly does get better. After all, I’m nine months free of self-harm and counting!

My tattoo has a few meanings incorporated into it. Orange ribbons are used to represent self-harm prevention while yellow ribbons are used to represent suicide prevention. The butterfly wings represent the Butterfly Project as well as a new stage in my life.

#facingmentalhealth