Kylie H.
Photography by Dominick Fini
When I sank into my most recent depressive episode, I was scared of being alone with my own thoughts. My brain was attacking itself with regrets and I hated who I was; I would never have put up with a friend who treated me how I was treating myself. It was challenging to want to take care of myself or even think I deserved to take care of myself. Getting out of bed was hard. My appetite left me. Exercising was out of the question; I barely had enough energy to get through the day. I hated going to sleep at night because it meant listening to my own thoughts. My thoughts caused physical pain. They made a pit grow in my stomach and my throat tight and words impossible. During this time, I knew I wasn’t being a good friend, and that made me hate myself more: a vicious cycle. I was drowning and did things to escape my own head. I would watch Tiktok or Youtube 24/7 or turn to drugs. Distractions at least helped me avoid my thoughts temporarily.
When you are just trying to survive day to day, it is hard to think of the future or the big picture. You feel as though you have always felt the same way and will always continue to feel that way. I invalidated myself: How can I not even deal with my own thoughts and feelings? My life is fulfilling and I have so much, why should I, of all people, feel like this? Why can’t I just function normally like my friends? I thought I was pathetic and dramatic.
I reflected. I wrote down what I wanted. I wanted peace. I wanted the fight in my head to stop. I wanted to enjoy things I used to. I wanted to be a better friend, daughter, and student. Previously, I had worked through depressive episodes over time by myself. I knew deep down this time around was different. I was in way over my head. Accepting this fact was embarrassing to me. I was stuck in this awful headspace and knew I had to do something, and soon. I reached out, starting with my friends. Not surprisingly, they had noticed a big change in me. They expressed that they worried about me and wanted me to get better. I took small steps for myself, taking things one day at a time. I made a list of simple tasks: showering, eating real meals, going on walks. I made an appointment with a therapist. I was terrified before my first session– what was I even going to say? I was embarrassed of the things that triggered this depressive episode. I told myself they were stupid and I was weak. At the same time, I wanted to get it all out of my head, what was going on and how I felt. My first session I cried and rambled on for a long time trying to explain what was happening in my head. It was not neat or pretty. I was given tools to work with, concrete things to do. Small things at first and later bigger things to rewire my thinking habits. I was shown new perspectives. I later began taking medication. Healing is not linear. There is no formula. It can be frustrating and opening up can be painful.
In the end, I knew I did not want to continue to live how I was living up to that point. I wouldn't wish those feelings on anyone. Something had to change and I was not going to be able to figure it out alone this time. Asking for help is not easy or comfortable when you're struggling mentally. If you are prideful, like me, it can feel like a sign of weakness or feel shameful to ask for help. The reality is seeking help is a sign of strength and self respect, as it shows you know what you deserve. You deserve all that life has to offer. You deserve to be at peace with your thoughts and yourself. You deserve to take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.
An important skill in life is knowing when you are in over your head and need support. You deserve any assistance needed to feel better. If you’re reading this, please know seeking help makes you strong, not weak.
Kylie H., University of Virginia ‘24
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