Nadia B.

Photography by John Tropeano

If you’re reading this, you should stay for a while.

As I’m writing this, I have just finished a long week of uncontrollably crying. In front of friends. In front of advisors. In Conn during peak hours, which is not the ideal spot for a mental breakdown, but I did it nonetheless. Pretty much any time a “How are you, really?” entered the conversation, the dam I’ve spent months building burst, and my tears spilled over and over. I’ve had a long history of bottling up my emotions, using any other method to cope and stay afloat while trying to mask my 10-year battle with depression. A lot has happened to me. I won’t go into detail about what those things are, but those experiences have shaped me into the person I am. They’ve warped my world in cruel and twisted ways, so much so that I’ve been fighting a war with my mind to keep on living.

Suicidal ideation is something that has stuck with me since childhood, and while it’s on the back burner most of the time, the concept hasn’t dissolved from my consciousness. It’s a subject I almost never seriously talk about, and I almost feel guilty to do so, because while my life may not be perfect, I have found so much good at Villanova. I have a loving and understanding girlfriend, and many friends who I know care about me deeply. My depression didn’t go away, but I now had a support system; I just needed to learn how to lean on them.

I make jokes about the matter from time to time, and that’s been my way of letting people in, just a little bit. Humor has been my go-to coping strategy, and those close to me can attest to how much I fill my private story with half-horrible, half-funny updates, which is indicative of my mental state. And for most of my life, this was all I could say about my issues. I’ve had a wall up ever since the onset of my depression as a child, and I purposefully isolated myself in my ideation. I was scared of being too much for people, so I never got into the muck of emotional baggage with anyone. It’ll drive them away, I thought.

So for my first few years of college, that was what I did. When times were tough, Snapchat was the first to hear, and that was that. At the time, most just tapped through, maybe swiped up and laughed at my jokes, and for the most part, that was the reaction I wanted. No deep conversation, just people having some insight into my struggles–that was enough listening for me. However, this non-therapy could only work for so long.

This summer, I made the decision to start prescription medication. The thing that’s tough with antidepressants is that they could go so right, but they could also go so wrong, and it takes months to know for sure which effect the drug is having. I was hopeful going into treatment that I would soon feel much happier, and it was soul-crushing when constant side effects from the pills made me worse, not better. I thought it would be my miracle cure, but chronic depression doesn’t just fade overnight; it takes time, time I thought I didn’t have.

I fell into an even worse depression this fall, with my academics suffering, unable to keep up due to my new handful of health issues on top of a rapidly growing sense of dread. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t see a way out of my problems. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, as far as I could tell. But old habits die hard, so after all the panic attacks, I ventured on over to…you guessed it, Snap. I posted a crying selfie with some vague summary of how I was feeling in a kinda joking tone, of course. But this time, people didn’t just glaze over the things I said; they started the difficult conversations I never wanted to have, but needed to if I was going to get better. I had friends reminding me why I matter to them, my girlfriend holding me tight so I wouldn’t slip away, and professors concerned about my well-being.

I won’t lie and say that every time you’re vulnerable, you’ll be met with the response you want, but what I can say is that those who care to hear you, they really, truly care at Villanova. A professor I had only taken for this semester wrote back to me the most genuine, sweet, and supportive email with resources for me to seek greater help. An advisor of mine scheduled a meeting and watched me sob for an hour as he told me all the reasons why I belong in this world, all the reasons why I’m worth fighting for. A friend made sure we had a serious conversation, no more mildly concerning jokes; it was a raw, honest confession of the emotions I tried to tuck away. She hugged me while I broke down in her living room, wanted me to stay the night at her apartment, and checked on me again in the morning.

I was met with so much love and empathy these last few days. People listened intently and didn’t make me feel like a burden for speaking up. This community rescued me when I was drowning. Things are not instantly better, but I’ve been reminded that there exists a safety net full of compassionate people if I give them the chance to hear me. Today, after crying my eyes out, I walked over the church bridge, and as I looked to my right, I saw the beauty of a typical Nova sunset and was reminded of a song. Sad music is another tried and true coping mechanism of mine. This song, “Daylily” by Movements, resonates with my continued fight against depression, so much so that I got “Daylily” inscribed on my class ring. That sunset over the bridge and the warm hearts of the people who help me keep going are just a few examples of my “reasons to stay for a while.” I hope you find yours, too.

Nadia B., Villanova University

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