My contribution.

Here's something I wrote for a mental health awareness website that my university is setting up - I'll post a link when it's finished. I'm submitting anonymously, but if anyone puts two and two together, yep this is me!

It was really strange, writing it. I never thought there was anything wrong with me before, I was just a bit weird, you know? But writing it down makes it a bit more ... real. Keeping it to six hundred words was a struggle too; I have a painful relationship with word counts, as all of my seminar tutors have had to find out this year. Here goes.

Living with a mental illness is like living in hell a lot of the time. But actually admitting to yourself that you have a mental illness, and forcing yourself to get help – that’s the hardest part. When I arrived at university I knew I wasn't okay, but I’d grown up with the mentality that if you put your head down and get on with things, then the issue will go away. You’ll get used to it. You will get settled, and you will be fine.

I’d tell myself these things constantly, but every time I had a panic attack or spent hours trying to get to sleep at night, it would just feel like another failure. I wasn't getting better, I wasn't coping with the big change that everyone who moves to university goes through, and I was weaker than everyone else.

That’s what my head does. I think constantly, I worry and worry and it never stops. Sometimes, if I don’t close all the doors in the house or put everything in the right place before I go to bed, then the voice in my head gets louder. My own voice, over and over again, telling me that I’m not doing something right; I’m a stupid, worthless person who never does anything right. It’s like that feeling when you’re just about to fall off a chair, or drop a plate – it feels like that, but all the time. A heaviness on your chest, a hook in your throat. You’re going to mess up, you’re going to let someone down, maybe you shouldn't even be here. It never stops.

Suddenly after moving away, it became very easy to shut the whole world out and very hard to motivate myself to do simple things. I also felt guilty, incredibly guilty – all the people around me were handling all the things I was perfectly, so why was I struggling?

The more people I got to know, the more commitments I gained. I’d make myself as busy as possible during the day so I could drown out the angry voice, and collapse into bed at night so I wouldn't lie awake for hours. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please everyone. The pressure I had placed on myself kept building, and I didn't know how to be in control of what I was doing. It’s not like I could tell anyone either, I didn't want anyone else thinking I was pathetic – my own voice was bad enough.

When my trichotillomania started to pick up, and thoughts about hurting myself entered my head again, I knew it would get harder to stop. I sent in a self-referral form for a counselling session. It took a while, but I kept my head above water until that point when the counselling service contacted me. It was a target that I’d set myself: get to that meeting, don’t give in. I didn't even know what ‘giving in’ meant at that point, but I didn't want to find out yet.

The counselling service have helped, a lot. I still have panic attacks and dark days, but at least someone knows now. At least I know that my struggles aren't abnormal, and the help is there. It’s so easy to think that you’re on your own, but this university can put you on a path to find the means to feel stronger, and hopefully they’re getting better at it too.

Living with a mental illness is like living in hell. But it’s not a weakness, so don’t let it stop you getting the most out of life. 

I'm trying not to, anyway.