Christine J.
Photography by Oviya Dass
If you’re reading this, there is hope in tomorrow.
Dear reader, this letter contains topics related to mental health, including depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. If these contents trigger you, please read with caution. As a fellow sister, I pray for a gentle spirit and healing on your behalf. This letter is dedicated to my family, both by blood and chosen, who sit with me in darkness and walk with me in light.
With gratitude,
Christine (or “yej”)
I can't breathe. It’s 12pm on a Thursday at the Student Center. My throat closes in. My notes on cranial nerves start blurring from drops of tears. My hand starts trembling and I can’t seem to make anything stop.
Not again. Not now.
I run to the bathroom and find myself stifling gasps of air, pounding my chest, reprimanding myself for another panic attack right before a pivotal Anatomy exam.
Get a hold of yourself. You’re overreacting. Just STOP.
The pounding of my chest intensifies and before I realize, my chest is swollen red, bottom lip bleeding, hands shaking uncontrollably. There I am. Helpless. I just wanted everything to… stop.
Like many other university students, I was balancing a heavy pre-med course load, undergraduate research, a full-time job as a program director, leadership in my fellowship, and a handful of over-commitments sprinkled in between. This was the “Christine” I presented myself to be - ambitious, bright, likable, put-together.
What people didn’t know was that I was hurting in an incredibly hostile apartment environment, struggling through broken relationships, a consuming eating disorder, an unhealthy reliance on pain relievers, and crippling mental health. This was the “Christine” only I knew myself to be - unqualified, a fraud, insecure, a failure. I hated myself, and I felt deserving of all the bad things happening to me.
Two weeks before my 18th birthday, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Two weeks before my 21st, I was re-diagnosed with severity in both.
Why can’t I just be grateful? Why can’t I just push through?
Depression is not always a state of constant sadness. For me, it’s a state of constant loss - loss for what has been in the past and for what will be lost in the future. It’s like wearing a pair of sunglasses in a movie theatre. You can’t quite see ahead, and you can’t see the color beyond the lens you are looking through. I wanted to experience the great cinematic piece of my life - but it’s hard when it’s too dim to recognize the sun as the sun, and not just a mere circle in the sky. Depression takes root where you are.
I say this with much weight and severity: suicidal ideation does not always look or sound violent and dark. I just wanted to … run away. My escape was a peaceful pasture, and I was in such a state of dysregulation, disconnection, and chaos in my body that I began to slip away.
My mental state began to manifest in my physical health. Food had no taste. My hair continued to fall out. A previous head injury left me with chronic migraines. My sacral torsion worsened. Facial muscle twitches distorted my smile. My hands shook uncontrollably, and my breathing tightened from a case of pneumonia that never seemed to heal.
I became a walking corpse - even as I presented myself not to be. I was merely surviving to survive, not to live.
I met with a psychiatrist for the first time, not because I wanted to, but because my other choice was to slip away and perhaps let go of a miserable, undeserving life I was too tired to fight for.
She said to me,
“If sad Christine means I’m meeting with authentic Christine today, I want to meet with sad Christine.”
I was so caught up in hiding and holding all of my brokenness that I didn’t even realize how disconnected I had become from my two split identities. The circumstances in my life didn’t change, but in that moment, something broke. And sometimes that’s what we need. We need something to break to notice that we were never breathing in the first place.
I asked myself, “Perhaps if I do die tomorrow, what would I change about my life today?”
Once I allowed myself to imagine a premeditated end to suffering, a surprising feeling tingled in my heart: joy.
It sounds devious and unnatural, but God began to reveal a new hope outside of the limited expectations guaranteed in this world. The rebellious question challenged the "perfectionism" I had enslaved myself to. Since I was challenging a life that would soon perhaps end, I began to muster up courage to “let go” of people, expectations, and past baggage that didn’t serve me any more. I began an endeavor not just to like, but to love, who I am.
Instead of surrendering to my “own self,” God spoke through the darkness, urging me to surrender to Him. He does not tempt, punish, or expel you - the brokenness we experience is a mere product of a broken world.
People struggle, but you can’t help them if you don’t know them. Be a friend, even when you feel like no one has been for you.
The same goes backward: How are people going to care about what you know if they don't know that you care? So take time to know what you care about, to care for your own self, and to care for one another.
Authenticity is a challenge to fear. So if you’re reading this - if sad, angry, resentful, shamed, joyful (your name) means I'm meeting with authentic (your name) today - I want to meet with them.
Sit. Take a deep breath in, then out, and share your story. The power of sharing is twofold: the power to encourage and to be encouraged.
Psalm 23
And I thank God for another new day.
Christine J., Virginia Tech
Connect With Us
To follow IfYoureReadingThis at Virginia Tech on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to Virginia Tech students, visit our chapter’s homepage.
AUTHOR CONTACT
This author has opted to allow readers who resonate with their story to contact them. If you would like to speak to the author of this letter about their experience, please use the form below.
