Izzi G.
Photography by Jerry Stamatelatos
Dear Reader,
Before reading this letter, we'd like you to know it discusses my experience with suicidal ideation. If you think that reading about this will be distressing for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, you can read a letter on a different topic by returning to the New York University home page.
Warmly,
Izzi
If you’re reading this, you’re on your own path.
That’s what my therapist told me when I was transitioning into an alternative high school after being expelled from my first high school. When I was coming to terms with everything I had done during a months-long psychotic episode. When I was just beginning to process the childhood trauma and resulting delayed-onset PTSD that drove me to that point.
My school trajectory has been anything but traditional. I was homeschooled during elementary school, and I missed most of seventh grade due to mental illness and half of tenth grade for the same reason; I attended two more high schools after that. I was hopeless, not expecting that I could keep myself alive until the end of senior year, much less recover my mental health enough to attend college. Even after recovering from the episode, my depression, anxiety, PTSD, and residual psychotic symptoms caused me to exceed the class absence limit in my junior year. It affected my attendance at sports practices, volunteer commitments, and work. The summer after junior year, I dropped out of a pre-college program after the first week.
Finally, there was a shift. It was a gradual shift, but a shift nonetheless. Though my memory from that period is foggy, I remember enough to recognize two things that changed: I started speaking up, and I started acknowledging my need for extra support. The first step was truly opening up to my psychiatrist about what my symptoms were. He prescribed me a new medication, and after a few months, the symptoms were much more manageable. The second step was telling my parents I wanted to get back to regular therapy sessions. The third and most important step was rebuilding my support and resource system. I reached out to friends I had previously isolated myself from. I began being vulnerable with them and allowed them to reassure me. I called hotlines when I was in crisis. Once I was medicated, back in therapy, and had learned how to draw on my support system, it was easier to discover and encourage other forms of self-care — creative expression, time in nature, exercise, and sleep.
However, by the summer after 12th grade, when I had been in a state of relative stability for almost a year, I started thinking that I no longer needed to dedicate as much time to maintaining my mental health. Convinced I needed to make up for lost time, I increasingly exchanged therapy sessions, sleep, hiking, sketching, and outings with friends for academic and extracurricular pursuits. And naturally, my symptoms began to intensify again. Derealization became the norm, depressive episodes were longer and more painful, flashbacks increased in frequency, and anxiety caused me to dread and avoid social events. I managed to maintain a facade of functionality at the beginning of my first year at NYU, but then a major trigger virtually incapacitated me in the winter. I ended up withdrawing from a required class, stopped showing up to clubs and volunteering, spent hours in the bathroom crying every day, isolated myself from my friends, and walked through the city consumed by thoughts of suicide.
I was terrified of a repeat of high school. But this time, I had some hope and a rough game plan. I slowly began reincorporating my self-care routines, scheduling therapy sessions, following through more often on plans with friends, and reaching out when I was in crisis. I began reading or watching TV to wind down instead of doing homework right up until bedtime. I started making plans for Friday nights instead of turning in early to get a head start on schoolwork the next day. Eventually, I was going to the gym even when I hadn’t gotten through the day’s to-do list. I grew more comfortable taking breaks during study sessions. I started to enjoy sitting mindfully in parks for lunch instead of trying to save time by eating while walking. With my mental health becoming more of a priority, I couldn’t obsessively perfect my essays or be part of as many clubs or volunteer groups as my peers were. And I realized that I would need to take some gap years between college and medical school. But at the end of the day, I recognized that this is an unquestionably worthy trade-off to make my life livable.
All this to say, if you need to devote more time to maintaining your mental health, that’s completely okay. It’s more than okay. Like Billy Joel sings in “Vienna” (which I keep on repeat to remind myself):
“Slow down, you’re doin’ fine,”
“You’re so ahead of yourself, that you forgot what you need,”
“It’s all right, you can afford to lose a day or two.”
If you’re reading this, please remember that your well-being can and should be your top priority. All your ambitions are achievable, regardless of your timeline. You’re on your own path.
Izzi G., New York University
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