Anonymous

Photo by Tyler Rover

If you’re reading this, I hope you jump in the thick of it all.

I’ve always been on the sidelines — staring outside car windows wondering about people in cars passing by, scrolling on social media wishing I was a put together beautiful girl, standing anxiously on the outskirts of groups wondering how they just seemingly knew exactly what to say.

I wanted to be perfect — perceived and seen as beautiful, kind, smart, witty, humorous, talented, personable and the labels go on and on and on.

I wasn’t miserable, but I wasn’t happy, just content. It had been a long time since I felt the type of full body laughter and joy that comes from doing stupidly childish things. But I never showed it and never admitted it to myself. Because as long as people perceive me to be happy, I must be, right?

And if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?

The depression hit the first-year winter semester of college, and I was put on antidepressants. I felt happy. The type of carefree happiness that I remembered feeling when I was young.

I became more outgoing, took better care of myself, bought clothes I felt confident in, felt like I was smarter, prettier, funnier, cooler — just all around better.

Finally, finally did I have the right words to say, the charisma, wit and humor to charm new people, the overall package to finally be cool, to finally be the me I had always wanted to be. Finally happy.

But as I got happier and happier, as the world became brighter and brighter, everything started whirling faster and faster and faster and faster—looks of wonder turned from intrigue to concern then fear

I went from a blank sheet to on top of the world — but as another old adage states

What goes up, must come down and down and down it all went. Bipolar I was the diagnosis.

Far from being perfect. Far from being perfect at all.

How did all of my worst fears come true — being unhappy, lost, lonely, and seemingly universally hated — grappling with past actions and a side of me I feared and abhorred.

I am lost. I am lost amongst the broken fragments of who I once was
But I am trying to pick up the pieces, however hard it is and how lost I may be.

There’s no bow-tie conclusion to this letter. But I write these words for me as much as I do for you.

Accept that you are lost right now, in this moment. But that will not always be this way. Try and give your past self grace even though others might not. This doesn’t pardon you from actions, but merely allows you to move forward. And that’s all anyone of us can really do.

Let yourself move forward.

Don’t just stand in the sidelines, letting time flit by.
No matter how lost and confused you may feel, leap into the thick of it all.

Anonymous, Georgia Tech

Connect With Us

To follow IfYoureReadingThis at GT on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to GT students, visit our chapter’s homepage.