In college, I knew that something was wrong, but I didn't want to admit it. My 3.9 GPA tried to reason with that other part of my brain that was focused on one thing - trying to be perfect. Utterly lonely, yet surrounded by thousands of other students. Closed off, yet open to everyone. Sad beyond belief, yet smiling outwardly.
I chose to hide my secret, one that I knew was not right but one that I couldn't shake or make it disappear. I wanted to be skinny, I wanted everyone to like me, and I wanted to be accepted. And happy. I just wanted to feel happy again.
I stopped eating, I took pills, I worked out excessively. Unfortunately, no one really knew what was happening. My freshman year was extremely difficult for me: I made no real friends, I didn't socialize, I didn't call for help, I didn't reach out. It was only after I went home for the summer that my mother cried as she saw me in a bathing-suit.
"What happened to my baby? What happened to you, honey? What's wrong?!" She sobbed over and over.
I secretly was happy because that meant I was losing weight, but was I happy? Not even close. And I was clearly upsetting my family, the ones who knew me the longest and cared for me the most.
Back at college, I continued the same behaviors, for years on end. Abusing my body, getting angry with myself, and losing joy. My friends at the time only knew me as extremely thin and probably thought that if something was wrong, they would notice. More likely, they probably were just trying to have fun and didn't want to 'rock the boat' or upset me. Little by little, I became a shell of what I once was - a happy-go-lucky and energetic young woman with nothing but opportunity and dreams in front of her. Instead, I focused on the negative, believing myself a fraud, someone who was only defined by her looks, someone who wasn't even a person worthy of knowing.
I did have some thoughts of what it would be like to end that suffering. Help seemed so far away and at times, not even possible. One night, I remember writing this poem about what I was going through. My writing was the only way I could genuinely express my thoughts and emotions without worrying or upsetting anyone. Especially since Anthony Bourdain's passing, and countless others, I felt that it's the right time to speak up and share that mental health is overwhelmingly real, and we need to recognize that it's an oftentimes invisible disease, tormenting those who live with it and shocking others when they realize it too late:
Everything’s Not Alright
Everything's not alright
Darkness falls, light escapes
The night takes over with a vengeance.
Perfection's terrifying
Cracking like a mirror
Broken, in pieces, fallen
Destroyed, no hope for repair.
What happens next?
Heart's beating, mind racing
Thoughts of sadness, despair
Consume your head
Faster and faster it comes
Like a storm cloud filled with rain
Droplets fall, turn to hail,
Bigger, bigger
All consuming fear builds
Like an avalanche with a grudge
Growing, expanding, reaching new heights,
Shutting all of it out.
No, I'm not alright
No, I can't talk, I can't think,
Smiles nonexistent.
Tears, rage, anxiety amass.
Loneliness is my only friend.
Together we remain
Forever linked
No room for any more
We've become a two member club.
Private, our futures set
In stone, in sadness, in death.
I only hope that someone reading this will recognize my pain in theirs, and reach out to someone to share that pain. I eventually came to realize that I was worth it, and someone can love me, and that I could be successful and happy. Humans have universal feelings and experiences, no matter who we are, what we do, where we live, what our job is, or if we seemingly 'have it all.' Aside from all the outward things, we need to reflect inwardly and seek help and resources when we are feeling overwhelmed with sadness. The world is such a beautiful, loving and accepting place, and I hope we can all get to that place of calm together.
You are not alone - you never have been, you aren't now, and you never will be.
