Katie H.
Photography by Hannah Facenda
If you’re reading this, change can be slow, the journey is a beautiful thing.
If you read my last letter, I’m sure you’d note that it ended on a very triumphant note. I wrote about the profound success I found through starting medication. Although I still feel that letter is a good representation of an integral part of my mental health journey, I think it needs an addendum to better represent the reality of my experience with medication.
My first semester of college was one of the best things that has happened to me. It was not picture-perfect or even particularly enjoyable, though I would be lying if I claimed that I didn’t enjoy any of it. It was indispensable because I grew more than I ever thought I could, and a significant part of that is because I gritted my teeth and started medicine for my anxiety and depression. After a few months, my medication started to work so well that I thought I was finally fixed and ready to take on everything. I was doing so well, but I soon found that my seemingly bionic brain was more fallible than I previously thought. I assumed that once I found my “golden dose” (which I’m not sure even exists), that my mental health journey was over. Anxiety and depression were deleted from my brain, a thing of the past.
It seems obvious on paper that this is not true, however, it is easy to create a blind spot to this fact when you finally feel a reprieve from inner turmoil experienced for years on end. Naturally, you want to believe that this moment would endure forever. While for the most part anxiety and depression do not rule my life anymore, they still find ways to creep into my mind every once in a while. I’d like to make it clear that I’m not struggling to get out of bed and suffering through daily panic attacks among other things anymore, but I do still experience these symptoms albeit much more rarely. People used to tell me, “You’ll never be rid of your disorders without medicine.” And now that I’ve been medicated for nearly a year, I’m not sure that I will ever be completely rid of these disorders with it either. I’ve learned to live between the extremes of perfection and desolation.
I still run pretty anxious, overthinking almost every part of my day, pathologically people pleasing, experiencing panic attacks if I think I failed to do so. I still don’t have particularly high self esteem, though it is definitely made higher by the pills I take. I still have small depressive episodes, though again, very rarely as opposed to several times a year, which I used to deal with. I may never be on par with people without disorders, but I have found that my mental health struggles have shaped parts of my personality that I love. My mental health issues have made me significantly more empathetic and tolerant. I have learned endurance, to be tenacious when I care about something, and how to be more vulnerable. This journey has led me to make more authentic friendships and has shown me how to better care for people. I have grown much deeper in my faith, learning to turn to God in times of turmoil and in times of gratitude. I have learned that God is present in every stage of my mental health journey.
I wish that I didn’t have to deal with the ugly sides of my mental health issues, but I would be remiss to disregard the immense blessings I have gained from my experiences relating to them. It’s trite, but I will say that the journey is never linear, and while I know that doesn’t feel preferable when you’re pushing through the lows, this path is a fundamental part of the human condition and paramount in strengthening character. Without the lows, the highs can feel numb and you tend to lose track of where you are in relation to where you came from and who you are in general.
If you’re reading this, don’t let the flagrant relapses let you lose sight of where you are and who you are. Do not discount the importance of the journey.
Katie H., Boston College
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