Anonymous

Photography by Matt Bourguignon

If you’re reading this, don’t silence yourself.

In high school, the only stuff I knew about mental health was from my own experiences and how it was portrayed in the media. I remember my school showed us the movie “Cyberbully”, gave us a worksheet, and called it a day. Coming to college I realized that many people came from schools very much like mine, where their only education on mental health was their own experiences. I remember the first time I heard a friend talk about mental health so openly, I was at a loss for words and wasn’t sure what to say. I thought problems with your mental health were something that you dealt with on your own, and you only saw a therapist when you could no longer function.

The thought of this sickens me when I think about all the times I could’ve when I should’ve, talked to somebody instead of bottling up my feelings and letting them destroy me mentally. 

I remember researching ways to feel better when having a panic attack and how long it took to figure out what helped me. I remember laying on my bedroom floor and listing the things I could see in my room. Sometimes it only took a few objects, sometimes I would take a full inventory of my possessions. 

I remember teaching myself ways to avoid crying in front of people, and eventually, how to avoid crying altogether. 

I remember reading online that I should be journaling all my thoughts and feelings to clear my brain of all the chaos. I would write a few pages and immediately rip it up and put it at the bottom of the trashcan because I was so terrified my family would find it. 

I look back at all these habits and wish so badly I could have told myself it was okay to talk to someone about my feelings, that it’s okay to cry, that I shouldn’t rip my journal up and instead keep it and read through it now and then to check on my progress. 

A lot has changed since I was that girl laying on her bedroom floor. I share my feelings with my loved ones and receive the support I need. I still have trouble crying, but I am no longer scared of the repercussions. Instead of ripping up my journal I now create art from my pages and hang them in my bedroom to remind me of how far I have come. I still have a long way to go, but now I have the support I need to live a happier life. 

For me, it took a long time to realize help is available and that I was not alone. Maybe you’re still on your journey of talking about mental health, I know I am. It’s scary to admit to yourself, let alone another person that you need help. But please, don’t suffer in silence, help is just a word away.

Sincerely,

Anonymous, Wake Forest University

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