If I am feeling ok, I don’t mind seeing prettier-than-life things, in fact, I often feel they inspire me. However, if I am a bit down on myself, the fire gets worse from the added coal of upward comparison. Is that anyone else’s fault? Not exactly. I compare myself enough to people in real life, that confronting more things I am bad at online becomes downright exhausting.Read More
The difference between me accepting my issues in the past versus now is just patience. Every time my mental well being makes a turn for the best, I get to reset my rejoicing, as much as I return to feeling hopeless when I am emotionally attacking myself for what feels like the 1000th time.Read More
Actually. There is no third person narration. There is no romance in suffering, even if it is together. But boy, isn’t it a pretty snapshot from my life. Two real people met as they were dealing with personal internal pain and without promising to fix each other, they helped each other through it.Read More
Like any person you might know, I’ve been hurt by other people. Particularly memorable experiences get thrown into my baggage, to be carried until some unforeseen moment. Now, having collected enough kick knacks in past relationships, unsure what to do with them, I have started a lot of my recent new encounters by boldly opening up the bag and showing off a particular piece to gauge reactions. At times I just can’t help it—I forget to distill my past experiences and express only the more palatable ones. It’s not the best gauge of character for the person I meet, and can be rather unfair from my end to do so. Despite all of that, if I don’t see clues of “fight or flight” kicking in, sometimes I can make a new friend because a very special type of connection is forged.
The contents of my baggage are often tied to my mental illness in one way or another. Likely, because our empathy is best engaged whenever we recognize an emotion we ourselves have gone through, I have found that those who carry similar pieces, or symptoms, are always the kinder, and more forgiving. They’ve been more patient when I have to explain my irrational behavior and less judgmental about the life choices I have to make to avoid triggers or something similar. Overall, they’re just incredible people who make me feel like I belong.
They’re Giving People to A Fault
As with any long-term condition, although I would hope it doesn’t define us, mental illness affects most aspects of life. It’s no small point to note that people who have lived experience with depression, for example, are more likely treat my knick-knacks gently, almost as if they were their own. So many fellow depression sufferers are the kind of people who, although depressed themselves, carry an antiseptic and bandages in case their friend, whom they’ve seen self-harm before, relapses. They are the kind of person who will reach out and listen to you discuss your tough day although they might not be having the best one either.
It’s no coincidence either that I am often offered love and care with no expectation of a return. I know it’s in part because helping others has been proven to help ourselves, but it’s also because we know how it feels to live with something outwardly inexplicable and invisible.
They’re Often Empaths
I wouldn’t wish being an empath upon anyone, but this makes this trait in others all the more valuable to me. Having empathy means when I come to that person with a complaint or a worry, they will respond as though it is theirs, the way they would hope someone would treat them when they’ve felt similar emotions. There are certainly those whose depression made them feel empty—those who have had to re-learn emotions. And I have seen even those people offer more moral support to someone suffering than someone who has enjoyed a fairly uneventful life overall.
I will say 9/10 of those who have also lived through a mental illness have more to offer emotionally. Someone who has confronted their depression instead of repressing it will be unlikely to ask you to repress your emotions. Indeed, they might prefer to dissect them instead. They will study them just like you do.
Questions like “why do you think this is happening,” “is this triggering a memory you don’t like”, “do you need to talk about it,” and my favorite, “isn’t it interesting how people…” will come out of their mouths. One of my closest current friends described exactly this quality as a reason she wanted to spend so much time with me. It was as though she always watched the world from the sidelines and just now learned that there are others watching from the same angle, while the rest of the world seems to be able to fully experience a wide range of emotional understanding without such observation.
I am not implying there is a league of nice people that are made such solely because they have a mental illness. I don’t want to encourage a victim-type mentality in order to gain friends. However, I have made new friends through having this common issue, and have strengthened my relationships with old ones by opening up on this topic.
Look into your bag. If you yourself carry similar items, take a moment. Consider their usefulness and beauty before you permit your mind to discount their value to others.
Depression might be a type of baggage, but it’s one that makes for some incredible bonds with exceptional people.
Nelson Sk, Layous K, Cole SW, Lyubomirsky S. Do unto others or treat yourself? The effects of prosocial and self-focused behavior on psychological flourishing. Emotion, Vol 16(6), Sep 2016, 850-861
Tania Singer T, Lamm C. The Social Neuroscience of Empathy. NYAS, 25 March 2009. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-6632.2009.04418.x
Cover Photo: Photo by Mike Scheid on Unsplash
Knowing what’s brewing inside your brain might not change much of your day-to-day, but it can certainly put you at ease from the fear that you are an other – too different to be helped, too odd to ever live a normal life. It shouldn’t be what defines you, but in a world of labels, it’s much more powerful to affix one upon yourself than to have to fight against anything someone might assume upon you.Read More
Out of the recent ten years I have spent one year following my dream, over nine with the love of my life, and four in an incredible home we built together. I still expect that this means I will eventually forget what suicidal ideation is, but that just isn’t the case.
With medication to guide me and a therapist I see regularly, I thought that anything pertaining to such darkness would be a thing of the past. And honestly, it largely is. But once in a while, the monster rears its head. It sneaks into the corner of my mind. The space where it’s dark, where there are cobwebs and old boxes that I don’t dare look into anymore. In that corner is where the monster plants its decrepit body and starts digging. It will unearth whatever it is that is relevant to my current life’s roadblocks and start throwing them around until there is so much chaos back in my mind that I cannot help but think about a permanent solution, feeling like death is the only way to be relieved from the torture.
To counter this, I have decided to take note of the biggest events in my life I would have missed had I given into this beast when it took total control first in 2014, and then again in 2017.
My magical engagement and wedding
Back early in 2014, my then boyfriend picked me off the bathroom floor in our apartment one evening. I was quite the sight, mascara streaking, hair everywhere, blubbering. He was scared. I was scared. I scared myself because I wanted to die but called myself too much of a coward to go through with it (there is nothing cowardly about pushing past your thoughts to survive).
I mumbled something to the effect of: “I don’t know why you are dealing with me.” As he carried me to the bed he responded, “I always thought you would make a great mother, but not if you are like this.” It was hurtful but sobered me right up. While wiping away snot I asked, “you would marry me?” The realization was the first time I thought of marriage having a place in my future. I just assumed people like me didn’t deserve that kind of joy.
“Of course, but, not this person. This isn’t you.”
I’m not going to say those words cured me or even inspired me, because that would be stupid. But they gave me a purpose and they hit the soul of what I actually was running from. In my flashbacks, in my night terrors, I always woke up after a relative or someone close to me told me they hated me. Well, here I had the opportunity to be loved and I was letting depression take that away from me. That could not keep happening.
I promised myself two things at this point: I would get better, and I would find a way to give back the love that I had been offered to those who felt alone due to their past pain or mental illness.
I started paying better attention to my therapist. I didn’t argue with my psychiatrist when he prescribed medication. I took a three-week leave from work. By the end, with three-to-four therapy sessions a week and without skipping medication, I started to feel better.
In September 2015, he proposed:
If this looks magical, it’s because it was. He got the idea from my favorite movie and made me feel like a princess. My worries melted away for a day and there was not a moment’s hesitation before I said, “Yes.”
About 11 months later, we both said: “I do.” In that time, I was so happy I went off medication, thinking if there was a cure, this would be it. Marriage means happily ever after, right? I am cured! How even…
Permitting Myself To Create
Severe depression isn’t like chicken pox — you can get it more than once. And I did. The second time, in 2017, proved to be just as bad, if not worse. I recognized when I started spiraling again but I was stubborn, I refused to go get help, insisting that I could just push through it.
I decided all I truly needed to feel less empty was to “shake things up.” I left secure job I enjoyed in favor of a startup. Six months into that decision, the long hours and lack of structure common in newer companies took their toll on me. I knew others did such jobs all the time, which just compounded my frustrations with myself. By the time I was ready to care for myself, however, the company explained that it could not accommodate my request to take time off once a week to see a doctor. I told myself things like “I am not a quitter,” and “I don’t really need to see a doctor,” to force myself past it all. I went back to my therapist a few times for the rare weekend appointment she had, but I wasn’t honest. I wanted to be strong, which meant going to therapy and venting out my anger without working on anything.
This anger fostered a realization. I imagined that there were other people out there who felt trapped inside of their minds, in jobs that did not permit the flexibility needed to maintain good mental health. I started writing about my experience as a way to cope, partly due to being lucky and finding a fantastic editor, and partly because I was tired of telling myself I didn’t deserve to do things I knew would help me feel better.
Finally, one evening a word came to me, a pseudonym: Mxiety (Marie/Anxiety). With this I had the cover I needed to publicly confront the emotional strain I felt trying to maintain my identity past my mental illness. I realized that I was ready to talk about what was going on inside, to fight the internal and external dialogue telling me I had to keep it all hidden.
Around this time, I also suffered a debilitating panic attack at work. A full crying breakdown, in front of my colleagues and bosses. It was agreed that it would be best if I took time off my job. Indefinitely.
I decided that moment was my “now-or-never”. Either I accepted defeat from my mental illness or I finally gave back, as I promised myself I would. With newly available time, I created my website and set up conversations via live stream to help others in real time. The resulting show, writing, and activism facilitated a community and fulfilling connections in ways I didn’t know I needed. There is now a small network of people who support each other via live chat and offline that I brought together. My goal was to put information out there to fill the gap I found when I needed help: reliable, researched discussions on mental illness. The achievement became so much bigger than the goal.
There’s been so much progress made. I am writing here, giving myself credit for both those things. That used to be near impossible. My now husband supports me just as he did before, but I am in a better place to support him too. The floodgates are open and now there is no pushing back my creative aspirations. All of this is not enough to remove scary thoughts completely, but it’s enough to feel empowered to hold them back.
I dedicate this final paragraph to that ugly creature which remains in my head. You may darken my achievements with your presence, but you are never winning. There is too much unknown in my future to give into your ideas. I am sure there are worse things ahead because I have seen them before. But I am equally sure that the good things can outshine those awful things. If you’re going to keep rummaging, I have to keep fighting. I wish I could get rid of you once and for all, but as long as you are here to stay, to keep me down, I resolve to keep you down.
Thank you for reading. If enjoyed this story, please clap and follow to let me know I am doing something right. Your support means the world to me.
I am pretty sure I actually teared up when I streamed one day back in October 2017 and not one person came for forty minutes. I was talking to myself while researching a mental health topic, but no one was there to care that I was doing so. I think I actually said out loud: “who cares if I’m here, I should just give up.” Then, quietly, I resolved to keep researching, because I knew I would be doing the same thing if offline otherwise.
At that exact moment someone popped into my chat and asked me what I was doing. I talked about my research topic and how happy I was to see this person chat with me because without interaction, I was just talking to myself about medical diagnosis, which I found to be ironic to say the least. We both laughed a bit. That was just about a year ago as of this writing.
I’ve learned more about my self-worth and image over the past year than in the preceding twenty-seven. I have learned to see myself as a person before I see myself as a streamer or a writer, where before I thought that what you do must define you. I’ve learned that you can be more than you can ever define yourself to be, because while public perception is close to what you put out, it is also completely nuanced. I did not start streaming thinking this would be something I learn.
I’ve also found out that people interact with each other based on their personal emotions and assumptions. Every struggle, every day for each person, is theirs and theirs alone. Every comment, every word we speak has little to do with the person we are speaking to and everything to do with the ongoing battle in our consciousness (and subconscious selves, if you’re into psychoanalytics).
Keeping all of that in mind, the one word that comes when I think of how to summarize it all, streaming, writing and discussing mental health online is: Community.
This has also been discussed ad nauseum as it is the cornerstone of Twitch, but from October to October, it’s the one thing that connects it all. Who reads my writing? My community. Who understands what my dysphoria truly feel like? My community. I started the project telling my husband: “If I cannot help just one person during every episode and with every piece of my writing, I will quit. But all I need to keep this up is one person.” That count’s a bit higher than one today, and I am grateful beyond words.
I frequently say that Mxiety is an idea of hope, which is bigger than the person who started it or any one person who supports it. It’s the belief that since we live in a time when the world doesn’t know how to feel about mental illness, it’s up to us to show them and take care of each other when no one else knows how. It what created Be The Light as our sign off.
Just over twelve months ago, I felt alone and scared, like no one was listening even though I was surrounded by all the love my incredible husband and friends could offer. I felt stupid, yet angry, and most of all, I felt like I needed some kind of purpose. Maybe if I let others know what I knew, I could make them feel like this less often. And, I just wanted to stop seeing people with mental illness misunderstood and mistreated because of things they had little control over.
Never in my wildest dreams, when I sat sobbing three years ago on the floor of my bathroom, wishing I could die, did I ever realize that I could incubate a whole community. When I was driving and talking myself into not ending my life, I could not fathom the number of people who had done exactly the same and were looking for someone to tell them they are not alone. I thought of making something like Mxiety, but in that moment all of those people I could be helping were faceless and nameless, just me working behind the scenes to help someone.
I know I found some version of a calling, when I noticed that I would not shut up when someone asked me what I could do if I could start anything. I would launch into detail about my plans for a website, a live-stream, and finally getting myself to write consistently.
It took a community of like-minded people to confirm to me, beyond a doubt, that there is a friend out there on the internet for all of us. That people want to help each other, especially those who’s hardship was invisible. Seeing others like them made them finally feel as special as every one of us wants to feel in our lives.
These are no longer just “people out there with mental illness,” but friends and kind humans who are willing to help others after knowing for years what being alone feels like. It became a group of people who work everyday just to be a functioning version of themselves. They all have names, they all just want to be loved like anyone else and many of them (50+) have given me the honor of appearing to share their story live on air.
Those who come back to read and see more inspire me to keep learning, keep pushing and keep trying, even though some days I am painfully reminded that I need more knowledge, more experience, more time and more ...everything else.
After listening to over 50 stories, I can conclude that while each of us lives a different life, which informs how we handle our hardships, the hardships themselves –the human experience—it's the same.
So, if you haven’t yet, come share your story, because every single one of them matters, each one makes at least one person feel less alone. Doesn’t matter if you have thousands of people following you online, or you work as an accountant, you too can be the light for others.
If you do currently follow me and are reading this because that’s a thing you do, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking the dream of a girl crying in her car and making me feel better than I ever thought I could. You have made my dream a purpose.
If you are struggling today, please don’t end your journey on this earth with us. I know how bad it can hurt, but amidst that I found my passion. I believe you can get up and find yours. Or tell me to F**k off, what do I know?