World Mental Health Day

Yesterday was World Mental Health Day, and in honor of that... I'm going to tell my story about my struggle with anxiety & depression.

First off, genetics weren't even in my favor when it came to mental illness. My dad has pretty severe depression, my mom struggles with depression & anxiety, & the Hubbard side, in general, just has some mental illness that so kindly got passed on to me.

I started struggling with depression when I was 12. The end of my 7th grade year I started "self-harming". I will admit, that I started for attention and because I had some other friends that were doing it. It quickly turned into something a lot more.

My parents got divorced when I was ten and it messed me up pretty good. I blocked out a lot of my childhood around that time. My mom told me that, when she told my sister & I about the divorce, I asked my mom what I could do to fix it. I don't remember it but I don't doubt it. I didn't want it to happen and I've always had a tendency for trying to fix problems and take blame that wasn't my own. I hate that I'm one of "those" girls, but I have daddy issues and they definitely contributed to my mental state. 

When I was in 9th grade; my anxiety started. At the time, no one knew that that's what it was, though. I couldn't sleep at night. As soon as night time got close, I would start to feel so nauseous. Most nights I ended up having to sleep in my mom's room. If I didn't sleep in there—I probably didn't sleep at all. If I knew that I had to stay in my own room, I would stock pile games that I could play in the dark, just in case I couldn't sleep. It got to the point that we started going to the doctor for answers. They did an ultrasound on my stomach, I had to do a Barium Swallow (most disgusting experience of my life), they did blood work, etc... They finally ended up diagnosing me with "chronic nausea". Translation: they had no idea what was wrong with me, but they had to tell me something so I would stop coming in. The medicine they prescribed, obviously, didn't help. 

Around the same time, my mom found out that I was still self-harming, so she decided it was time for a therapist. His name was Jared and he was a really nice guy. The night of my first session... I slept through the whole night. In my own bed. Without feeling sick. This was a huge deal. I continued the counseling for a few months, but eventually had to stop due to health insurance reasons. I don't feel like we ever got into the deep stuff in my sessions. Yes, I was only 14, but I had (and still have) some serious stuff that needs to be worked out under the surface. In my sessions, we always focused on what was happening in my day-to-day life and my self-harming habits. I know that they were just trying to make sure I was safe, and I will always be grateful for that. I haven't worked with a therapist at all since, but I know that, in my future, I really need to.

After that period of time, I still struggled with depression, but my anxiety stayed dormant for many years. I continued to self-harm until I was a freshman in college. Mike helping and loving me was the only reason I was able to stop. 

I just want to take a second on self-harming because I know that a lot of people don't understand it at all. There have been many studies done that show that cutting can be just as addicting as drugs. Cutting, for me, was about control. I didn't feel in control of any part of my life and I needed something. It was also about running from my emotional feelings. If something hurt me emotionally, I would take it out on my body. The physical pain made me forget about the emotional pain. The physical pain has always been easier for me to handle. I still struggle, on a daily basis, with the urge to self-harm. I haven't even done it in five years. Let that sink in. Next time you say that it's just a phase, or that it's stupid... Stop. You have no idea what that person is going through, but I PROMISE, if they are purposely hurting themselves... They need help. Don't yell or get mad. That doesn't help. They need love. They need attention. They need someone to make them talk. It is a cry for help whether they hide it or not. 

Mental illness is so real. I cannot express that enough. If there was a switch that I could flip that would make my depression/anxiety go away... I would. I don't want it. I hate it. It has ruined more days then I would care to admit. Please take it seriously, and don't EVER tell someone to "just forget about it" or "just get over it". If they could... they would.

My real struggle started in 2014. It all started with a lump on the back of my neck. No I did not have cancer. It was a swollen lymph node. That's it. I had no idea that there were lymph nodes in the back of my neck, and that just shows all it takes to trigger something like this. Because of the swollen lymph node, I went to the doctor. He told me what it was, but I didn't believe him. I had also started getting headaches around the same time. Luckily, I literally have the best, most patient doctor in the whole world. He's known me my whole life and he dealt with my craziness so well. I straight up told him that I thought I had a brain tumor. I know it sounds like a joke, but I was serious. It was keeping me up at night. I would bawl my eyes out to Mike about it. I ended up getting a lot of blood work done and eventually an MRI. Yes... I paid for an MRI. This sounds familiar doesn't it? This is exactly what happened when I was in 9th grade. This time everything was just on a much bigger scale. Obviously I'm fine, so all my results came back normal. I went to the doctor at least two dozen times and the hospital twice during this time period. My medical bills were insane. This should show you how real mental illness can be. I was not doing this for attention. I knew I was going crazy. I had become a very serious hypochondriac. I knew it. I told myself to knock it off. If a stupid thought popped into my head, I would try to ignore it. It never worked. 

Finally, the panic attacks started. I'd had anxiety before but I'd never had a panic attack. The first one happened as we were trying to go to sleep. Mike was already asleep. Something about being alone with my thoughts and knowing that I was the only one awake... it triggered it. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was having a heart attack. Luckily, Mike woke up and just held me while I cried. I couldn't handle what was happening to me. I would have given anything to have it all taken away. During this period of time, I became so suicidal. I felt like I was letting everyone down. I spent a lot of time being really mad at my dad. I needed him to help me through this. He was the only one who knew exactly what I was going through. At least I thought at the time. It also opened up my mind to what, I think, my dad has gone through all these years. I don't want you to think that I condone my dad's drug habits because I absolutely do not. BUT! I started to understand them. There were times that I probably would have taken any drug someone handed me. I've never felt so dark or alone. I knew that I had Mike and my family, but it didn't matter. Everything felt 100% blocked out. And I didn't care. It sounds so harsh but it's just the reality. 

I was hardly functioning at work. I stopped hanging out with all of my friends. I didn't want to be around anyone. Every time my stomach made a weird noise or I got a little pang in my head... The anxiety would come rushing in. 

I know that this post is kind of all over the place, but that's exactly how I felt. Nothing made sense. I look back to this time and I feel like I was in a haze.

After wrestling with myself for a long time, I decided I needed to get on medicine. I felt like such a failure for this decision. I had wanted to fight it off by myself. I wanted it to just go away. I didn't want to accept that I actually had a problem, but I knew deep down that I did. 

They started me on a medicine called Celexa. It's an SSRI, which means that it makes your brain produce serotonin. It's an anti-depressant that leans heavily towards being for anxiety. My brain must HATE serotonin because it freaked out. Literally 15 minutes after I put the first pill in my mouth, I had the worst panic attack I'd ever had. My heart was racing so fast. My whole face was numb. I couldn't feel my hands. I suffered through this medicine for five days. I was a zombie the whole time because I had to be on Xanex constantly to deal with the anxiety. I kept hoping that it would get better. It only got worse. I wasn't sleeping at all. My heart felt like it was going to burn a hole in my chest. I know this all sounds so dramatic, but I'm being 100% real. I finally called my doctor and asked him if this was all normal. He said it wasn't, to stop taking it, and to come in and talk to him again.

The next time around, we tried a medicine called Wellbutrin. We decided to try this one because I had some family members who had taken it in the past and it had helped them. We started with the 150 MG dose. I didn't notice a ton of difference with this one, but it wasn't doing any harm either so that was good. After about two months, we decided to up the dose to 300 MG. This is when I started noticing an improvement. My depression & anxiety wasn't all of a sudden gone, but as weeks went by, I noticed that I was happier. I was willing to be around people. I wasn't getting mad at Mike for every tiny little thing. The suicidal thoughts were going away.

My way of life has gotten so much better since getting on this medication. I have now been on it for a little over two years and it still is working. This isn't to say that I don't still have bad days because I do, and somedays are still really bad. The only person that I openly talk to about what’s going on inside my head is my husband. The reason for that is… I still have some very dark places in my mind. Some so dark that they scare even me. I only tell you this to help you realize how bad it can be. This will always be something I struggle with, but with my medicine and loved ones, it is bearable. 

Please make sure that you're taking care of yourself. Love yourself. Give your body what it needs. Give your mind what it needs. Exercise, eat healthy, drink plenty of water, find good people who love and support you, and take some freaking time for yourself. Even being on medication, these are things that I need. I don't ever want to get to the low point that I was at again. 

I hope that in this post I didn't offend anyone. I just wanted to get my story out there. Mental illness is way more common than people realize (which is actually kinda sad... I wish it wasn't so prominent). If you have any questions, I am open to answering almost anything. Feel free to email me or comment on this post. 

Please, please, PLEASE, take mental illness seriously. You never know what's going on inside someone's head.