My Story
Every year on BellLetsTalk day, I prepare to tell my story with the hopes of encouraging just one person to feel like they are not alone. But every year on this day, I write, then delete, then rewrite, then delete again. I've built up this idea in my head that once I talk about my illness and experiences, that I will slowly lose the people I love, because my "fake" happy and perfect world will be revealed. I think, how do you trust someone who has been lying to you for so many years? Or how do you love someone who can be so unstable? Well, here it is...
My struggle with mental health began when I was 18. At the time, my life was rapidly changing, affected by circumstances out of my control. My family, my sense of belonging, and my stability all crumbled before me, and in the midst of the chaos, my illness took a back seat.
When I was diagnosed, I was by myself at a doctor's office near my bubbie's house. I remember thinking to myself, how in the world am I going to tell my family that an already terrible situation, is only going to get worse? I'll never forget that cold and snowy day in February. After that, I didn't know how I was going to seek help or treatment. I didn't know of any resources, and I was ashamed to ask.
Seven years ago, the conversation about mental health was very different to what it is now. There were no Facebook groups about mental health, and certainly no open discussions or resources. As a teenager struggling with this secret life (it felt like), I was terrified. I didn't know of anyone else that experienced life the way I did, or anyone who would understand me. As an adult, I was embarrassed and confused. I didn't want to talk about it, because even I didn't understand it. How am I supposed to explain something that I don't understand? I struggled to belong anywhere I could, which led me to live a life that I felt like I didn't belong in. Days became months, and months became years. I lived so long without addressing my inner demons that it festered into what felt like a monster.
One day, my brain betrayed me. I had thoughts that weren't my own, I saw things that weren't there, I believed things no one else believed and I felt things that weren't actually happening. This was it. This life I had built to cover up my truth was cracking. I had lost control - not to another person - but to myself. I lost control of my life, and now my illness was in charge. These episodes were the scariest experiences of my life. I would later discover that these episodes were not unheard of at all. In fact, they have a name, they are called panic attacks. At the time, I didn't know what a panic attack was, I didn't know what depression meant, and I certainly did not now how to regain control of my life. I cut myself out from the world, and existed in shame and confusion. I spent months alone, fearing what people would think of me. Eventually, my parents caught on, and worry set in. I was unaware of the extent and seriousness of my situation and put myself in danger more than just a number of times.
Finally, my family stepped in. They came together and decided that I needed to get help. I was so afraid of going to the hospital, because I didn't want to be that crazy person, meanwhile people with broken arms and pneumonia were visibly sick. I explained my situation to the nurse, and she said something that I had been waiting years to hear. She said, "I'm so glad you're here. You're in the right place." Sure enough, it didn't work the first time, nor the second; but I persisted. I was determined to change my life. I spent a few months after this getting myself steady and balanced. Eventually, I went back to school, and back to work.
I dedicated an entire year of my life to focus on myself. I knew that I not only had to accept my illness, but I also had to discover who I really was. I met a wonderful doctor, whom I visited regularly for a year. At the beginning of the process she told me how happy and successful I was going to be, and I won't lie, I laughed at that statement. But again, days turned into months and months turned into a year. This time, it was positive. For the first time in my life, I was in control. I had control of my thoughts and actions, and I had control over my emotions. I was finally me. Nonetheless, as exciting as this new chapter was, I had a lot of work to do. I not only had to mend broken relationships, my biggest challenge was to chip away at the barriers of years worth of hiding and pretending, because I knew that no one should live in fear or shame, including me. I had to be honest with myself and others, accepting who I was, trusting others to follow suit, and loving myself anyway.
Since this scary time in my life, I graduated from Carleton University with a Bachelors Degree in Criminology and Psychology (ironic, I know), I moved to Israel for a year to work with refugees and underrepresented minorities, I graduated from Algonquin College with a Business Diploma, and I started my career. Who knew that the doctor would be right? Years later, I finally felt happy and successful. (Wish I could find her to tell her!)
Still, there are good days and there are bad days. The bad days are hard, but I'm learning how to remain in control. As I learn about myself, I am able to develop coping skills to lessen the extent of these episodes. My hope is that anyone that reads this, doesn't think of me any differently than they did before. My experiences were difficult, but they made me into the person I am today. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't appreciate a smile, a laugh, a hug or a wave. We all have a story, and mine is just a bit different than yours.
BellLetsTalk day is important to me because it opens a platform to speak freely on mental health. This day is for all those who are scared, for those who are lost, for those who are confused, for those who think they don't belong, for those who are ashamed, and for those who don't think they're strong enough. Today, I hope we end the stigma, and encourage others to ask for help.
Thank you for reading my story.
Brittany
My struggle with mental health began when I was 18. At the time, my life was rapidly changing, affected by circumstances out of my control. My family, my sense of belonging, and my stability all crumbled before me, and in the midst of the chaos, my illness took a back seat.
When I was diagnosed, I was by myself at a doctor's office near my bubbie's house. I remember thinking to myself, how in the world am I going to tell my family that an already terrible situation, is only going to get worse? I'll never forget that cold and snowy day in February. After that, I didn't know how I was going to seek help or treatment. I didn't know of any resources, and I was ashamed to ask.
Seven years ago, the conversation about mental health was very different to what it is now. There were no Facebook groups about mental health, and certainly no open discussions or resources. As a teenager struggling with this secret life (it felt like), I was terrified. I didn't know of anyone else that experienced life the way I did, or anyone who would understand me. As an adult, I was embarrassed and confused. I didn't want to talk about it, because even I didn't understand it. How am I supposed to explain something that I don't understand? I struggled to belong anywhere I could, which led me to live a life that I felt like I didn't belong in. Days became months, and months became years. I lived so long without addressing my inner demons that it festered into what felt like a monster.
One day, my brain betrayed me. I had thoughts that weren't my own, I saw things that weren't there, I believed things no one else believed and I felt things that weren't actually happening. This was it. This life I had built to cover up my truth was cracking. I had lost control - not to another person - but to myself. I lost control of my life, and now my illness was in charge. These episodes were the scariest experiences of my life. I would later discover that these episodes were not unheard of at all. In fact, they have a name, they are called panic attacks. At the time, I didn't know what a panic attack was, I didn't know what depression meant, and I certainly did not now how to regain control of my life. I cut myself out from the world, and existed in shame and confusion. I spent months alone, fearing what people would think of me. Eventually, my parents caught on, and worry set in. I was unaware of the extent and seriousness of my situation and put myself in danger more than just a number of times.
Finally, my family stepped in. They came together and decided that I needed to get help. I was so afraid of going to the hospital, because I didn't want to be that crazy person, meanwhile people with broken arms and pneumonia were visibly sick. I explained my situation to the nurse, and she said something that I had been waiting years to hear. She said, "I'm so glad you're here. You're in the right place." Sure enough, it didn't work the first time, nor the second; but I persisted. I was determined to change my life. I spent a few months after this getting myself steady and balanced. Eventually, I went back to school, and back to work.
I dedicated an entire year of my life to focus on myself. I knew that I not only had to accept my illness, but I also had to discover who I really was. I met a wonderful doctor, whom I visited regularly for a year. At the beginning of the process she told me how happy and successful I was going to be, and I won't lie, I laughed at that statement. But again, days turned into months and months turned into a year. This time, it was positive. For the first time in my life, I was in control. I had control of my thoughts and actions, and I had control over my emotions. I was finally me. Nonetheless, as exciting as this new chapter was, I had a lot of work to do. I not only had to mend broken relationships, my biggest challenge was to chip away at the barriers of years worth of hiding and pretending, because I knew that no one should live in fear or shame, including me. I had to be honest with myself and others, accepting who I was, trusting others to follow suit, and loving myself anyway.
Since this scary time in my life, I graduated from Carleton University with a Bachelors Degree in Criminology and Psychology (ironic, I know), I moved to Israel for a year to work with refugees and underrepresented minorities, I graduated from Algonquin College with a Business Diploma, and I started my career. Who knew that the doctor would be right? Years later, I finally felt happy and successful. (Wish I could find her to tell her!)
Still, there are good days and there are bad days. The bad days are hard, but I'm learning how to remain in control. As I learn about myself, I am able to develop coping skills to lessen the extent of these episodes. My hope is that anyone that reads this, doesn't think of me any differently than they did before. My experiences were difficult, but they made me into the person I am today. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't appreciate a smile, a laugh, a hug or a wave. We all have a story, and mine is just a bit different than yours.
BellLetsTalk day is important to me because it opens a platform to speak freely on mental health. This day is for all those who are scared, for those who are lost, for those who are confused, for those who think they don't belong, for those who are ashamed, and for those who don't think they're strong enough. Today, I hope we end the stigma, and encourage others to ask for help.
Thank you for reading my story.
Brittany
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