Finding the Silver Linings in Mental Illness
I’ve talked many times before about my mental illness. I always try to be as open as possible. There are very few facets of it that I just won’t talk about because they’re too personal. If you don’t want to read about my anxiety and depression then, well, why are you even here? There are three things that I want to focus on in this post: How I got where I am with my mental health, how I deal with it, and lastly, why my anxiety is a part of who I am.
To start off, you must consider your genetics when it comes to mental health. I don’t believe that genes ALWAYS have something to do with it, but in my case, it definitely does. I’m not going to give specifics on parts of my genetics because it’s not really my story to tell. Depression runs deep in my family—on both sides. I recently learned that a few members from my family history committed suicide. My dad has had a couple suicide attempts. My brother and I have had many days where suicide felt like the only option. My sister has struggled with depression most of her life. My mom has dealt with depression at times. Then you get into the anxiety… I think most of my anxious tendencies come from my mom’s side of the family, but I recently read my Grandpa Hubbard’s (my dad’s dad) autobiography and it gave me some new insight. He mentioned that most of his childhood memories involved worrying about one thing or another. This made me think about my own childhood. To say that I was a worrier is an understatement. I have journal entries where all I did was list all the things that I was stressing about. I’m not sure where I learned that from, but it’s something that has stuck with me until even now. This is just a small peek into my family’s mental illness history.
Next, I want to talk about how, specifically, I developed my own mental illness. There are some key factors that stick out to me. The first time I remember my dad attempting suicide, my parents were still married so I was younger than ten. We were supposed to be going to get ice cream as a family to celebrate my sister winning some sort of award. We were getting ready to go and I went upstairs with my mom to tell my dad we were leaving. When we walked into my parents’ bedroom, my dad was just laying on their bed, I thought, asleep. My mom went over to him and started shaking him and he was barely responding. She kind of started yelling and asking him what he took. She moved the sheets around and found an empty bottle of sleeping pills. My mom immediately called 911. My mom, essentially, carried my dad down the stairs to our front room to make it easier when the paramedics got there. She was crying and yelling a lot. Us kids were all freaked out but weren’t totally sure what was going on—we just knew it was bad. My mom was on the phone with different people, while simultaneously trying to keep my dad awake. Eventually, it seemed like, a dozen emergency vehicles got to our house. My mom had called one of my aunts to come pick us up. I remember driving away from our house, staring out the window of the car, watching all the emergency responders taking care of my dad. My mom came and picked us up late that night. We, at some point, went to the hospital to visit my dad. As we were walking down the hallway, I saw him with charcoal all over his face and neck. In case you don’t know, they give patients charcoal to induce vomiting to get the pills out of their system faster (I don’t know if they still do this). This is pretty much where my recollection ends. My parents got divorced not long after this. I’m going to be honest, just typing this memory was hard for me. My chest got really tight. It got harder to breathe. I was shaking. I had to walk away from my computer for a minute before I could finish.
My next step was starting to mess around with alcohol. I drank for the first time when I was 12 years old. It was too easy for me to my hands on alcohol and I was struggling, so that’s where I turned. I started drinking codeine cough syrup when I was 13—this was a problem I had until I was about 18. If we had some and I was upset about something, I would sneak into the kitchen and just take a few swigs from the bottle. I had a very addictive personality. Both my parents deal with that as well, so I should have known to be more careful. Let's be real though, being careful was not slightly on my mind. When I was 15, I talked my dad out of suicide. His friend had meant to call my aunt, but dialed my number instead. The friend left a message saying that my dad had said some scary things to his ex-girlfriend and now no one could get ahold of him. I immediately called my dad and I got lucky… he answered my phone call. I think it was divine intervention that my dad’s friend called me instead of my aunt. My dad wouldn’t have answered if anyone else had called (My dad and I were VERY close at this point—I would have considered him my best friend). I don’t remember much of what was said. I just remember both of us crying together over the phone and me continuously telling my dad that I loved him, and I still needed him here on earth. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I was able to be there for him in this moment, but at the same time, was this something that a 15 year old should have had to deal with? The fact that I consider this a big moment in my life should answer that question. Right before this event occurred was when I had my first encounter with real anxiety—I didn’t realize that’s what it was until years later.
When I was in 9th grade, I suddenly started having this problem where I would feel fine during the day, but as soon as it came time to go to bed, I was instantly nauseous. If my mom agreed to let me sleep in her room, the nausea would go away. For obvious reasons, my mom was frustrated that I always wanted to sleep in her room. We tried every at-home-remedy for my “nausea”. Eventually, we turned to doctors. I had countless tests and scans done to me to try and determine the problem. They never found anything and finally diagnosed me with “chronic nausea”. Bogus. This was something I dealt with for almost a full year. When I was 15, my mom decided she wanted me to try counseling. The very first night after my counseling appointment, my “nausea” never came and it didn’t again for years after that. My "nausea" was never labeled anxiety. Only now, when I look back, do I realize that's what it was.
Over the next seven or so years, I constantly struggled with depression and I dealt with stress like any normal teenager. When I was 22 years old, I had my first real panic attack and it stemmed from a headache. Yes, something this small can trigger someone’s whole life to change. I had a swollen lymph node in the back of my neck (I had no idea you had lymph nodes back there) and I had been getting headaches... I was SURE that I had cancer. Go ahead and laugh... it does seem funny. But it wasn't funny to me. I was serious. And I was scared. I was driving home from work one day, with my little brothers in the car with me. I was, of course, thinking about what I thought was wrong with me... My left arm started tingling and it got worse and worse. Then my lips started going numb and my chest hurt. I called my mom. I told her that I thought I was having a heart attack. I was crying. I was scared of becoming too incapacitated and wrecking the car with my brothers in it. This is a very common reaction when people have a panic attack for the first time. The symptoms are very similar to what a heart attack feels like, I've been told. My mom was able to coach me through it until I got us all home. I had this happen a couple times before I finally decided it was time to talk to a doctor. When I tell people that I’m a hypochondriac, I don’t think they get it. I frequently get an “Oh yea, so am I.” So… you can become completely mentally incapacitated by a random pain in your side too? No. People also treat hypochondria as a joke and sometimes that’s my fault. When I talk about it, I often use a joking manner so people won’t be so freaked out by it, but don’t let that fool you… It is nothing to joke about. This event completely changed my life forever.
This is now something that I’ve been dealing with EVERY DAY for three years. Most days, I’m ok. Some days, I’m struggling but I hide it well. The worst days (usually nights), I am inconsolable. I’ve described it this way before, but nothing explains it better: Depression is like drowning and anxiety is like being set on fire. I’ve dealt with both and anxiety scares me most. When my brother first started dealing with his own anxiety, he text me to apologize for ever not being sensitive or understanding to how bad anxiety really was. During a panic attack, it feels like your brain is attacking itself. It tells you every little thing that is wrong with you—physically and emotionally. It spares no feelings. I have had a few attacks so bad that I was sure there was no coming back from them. I thought my mind had broken. I don’t want you to think that anxiety is all about the panic attacks. In the beginning, I did have panic attacks many times a day. It eventually became a couple times a week, and now I don’t have them very often. There are just a few things that really trigger them. Most of the time, I just have to deal with talking myself down from the ledge. It can take so much brain power that it physically exhausts me but I manage it.
This moves me right into my next subject: how I deal with my anxiety. I have three methods that have helped me over the years. The first is my religion. I won’t apologize to anyone for mentioning this because I absolutely would not have made it through to today without my religion and my God.
"And now my son, Shiblon, I would that ye should remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day." Alma 38:5
This is a scripture that has really been helping me a lot lately. I've actually really been struggling the past two weeks, but I haven't mentioned it to one person. It just didn't feel worth it. As if I needed any more signs that God is always watching out for me, even when I didn't ask for it... In my brother, Caleb's, weekly message he talked about an article he read in the Liahona (I looked for the exact article, but I couldn't find it). In the article, the gentleman testifies of the day our bodies and minds will be perfect. As Caleb was telling us about this article, I realized... This is for me. I needed this. And THAT is how I deal with my anxiety. In my moments that I know I can't take one more second of it, God lifts me up. Some days I am pushed to the very brink of what I think I can handle, but I've never been pushed over the edge. I am always provided with what I need to keep going.
The next method I use is: medication. I used to be highly against medication. I grew up with a father who was constantly medicated, and he abused many of those medications. I didn’t want to be like him; I didn’t want to need medicine. I also, like my dad, have a highly addictive personality, but I just learned to have someone to answer to when I need to take something. When I finally got to the point that it was Get on Medication or Kill Yourself… I took the lesser of two evils (IMO). The first medication I tried just made everything wayyyy worse. The second medication didn’t help very much—until we raised the dosage. Since finding a good medication and dosage that worked well for me… I haven’t looked back. It was one of the best decisions I ever made for myself and I will never be ashamed of that. It has helped me a much happier and more pleasant human being.
My last, and most important method, is: Love. Yes, it’s cheesy, but I’m serious. I need love for myself. I need love for others. I need love FROM others. I have had some people be really cold and insensitive to me about my anxiety. Let me tell you something right now… Tough love does NOT help anyone who is suffering from mental illness of any sort. It isn’t just in their head. They can’t just take their mind off it. It won’t just go away. Those beliefs need to end. Moving on… When I’m feeling anxious and I see it moving in a dangerous direction, one of the best things for me is to just talk about what is going on in my head. I am VERY lucky to have such an understanding husband who would literally do anything for me. Side note: sometimes the worst part of mental illness is watching your loved ones watch you deal with it. If needed, Mike will sit up with me ALL night, or he’ll just play with my hair until I’m calm enough to fall asleep (95% of my panic attacks occur when I’m trying to go to sleep and I would love to hear the psychology behind that because I’m not scared of the dark. That’s not the trigger). And this is what I mean when I say love is one of my methods of coping. More love is needed in this world, regardless, but especially when my mind is self-destructing.
The last thing I want to talk about is why my anxiety is a part of who I am. This is clearly something I’ve been dealing with for a long time, so that alone makes it a part of me. My anxiety has induced some not so positive qualities, but it’s also given me some good ones. I’m going to talk about the negative one first to get it out of the way. I am one paranoid human being. You know the aunt in The Series of Unfortunate Events… she lives in a house on the edge of the ocean and she’s scared of literally everything. Well, that’s me. Some days I’m like, “Come on, Danielle! You got this!” Other days I’m like, “I am not leaving this house. I don’t want to look at anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Please don’t touch me. That person just coughed… are they sick? They just said their stomach hurts… is that the flu? That guy has been watching me for a while. This car has been following me for far too long. What was that noise? I’ve been really shaky today… what’s wrong with me? Should I go to the doctor? Mike normally texts me at 10 and it’s 10:05 and he still hasn’t text me… is he dead somewhere?” I could keep going. It’s not fun, and you might find it pathetic, which, I sometimes do too, but it’s not even kind of easy to control. This is the biggest downside to anxiety.
As for the positive qualities, I have strength within me that I didn’t know was possible. You can’t even imagine the strength it takes to simply just not give up. Even the days that I am a complete mess, I’m stronger than I was before I had to deal with any of this. "I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me." -Joshua Graham I love this quote so much. And lastly, I am a much more empathetic and sensitive human being. If you know me now, you might think, “YOU’RE sensitive??” Well, you can imagine how I was before. I had to learn to let people in, and to let them love me. This might have been the hardest part and it’s something that I’m still working on.
I’m not totally sure what made me decide to write about this topic AGAIN. I just feel like I learn something new every time I have a hard day. I get stronger from every episode and I have a deep, deep desire to share my knowledge with others. I know how hard it all can be. I know that there are days that LITERALLY nothing could make you feel better—not even a million dollars. I know how lonely and dark it can be. I also know that my bad days make my good days so much better, and that is what I try to focus on. I don’t know how many people will make it through this whole post, but if you did, thank you. It means a lot to me, and I hope you got at least one thing out of this. Every day is a new day that I have no idea what will come, but I also hope that I will continue to grow and come out on top.
To start off, you must consider your genetics when it comes to mental health. I don’t believe that genes ALWAYS have something to do with it, but in my case, it definitely does. I’m not going to give specifics on parts of my genetics because it’s not really my story to tell. Depression runs deep in my family—on both sides. I recently learned that a few members from my family history committed suicide. My dad has had a couple suicide attempts. My brother and I have had many days where suicide felt like the only option. My sister has struggled with depression most of her life. My mom has dealt with depression at times. Then you get into the anxiety… I think most of my anxious tendencies come from my mom’s side of the family, but I recently read my Grandpa Hubbard’s (my dad’s dad) autobiography and it gave me some new insight. He mentioned that most of his childhood memories involved worrying about one thing or another. This made me think about my own childhood. To say that I was a worrier is an understatement. I have journal entries where all I did was list all the things that I was stressing about. I’m not sure where I learned that from, but it’s something that has stuck with me until even now. This is just a small peek into my family’s mental illness history.
Next, I want to talk about how, specifically, I developed my own mental illness. There are some key factors that stick out to me. The first time I remember my dad attempting suicide, my parents were still married so I was younger than ten. We were supposed to be going to get ice cream as a family to celebrate my sister winning some sort of award. We were getting ready to go and I went upstairs with my mom to tell my dad we were leaving. When we walked into my parents’ bedroom, my dad was just laying on their bed, I thought, asleep. My mom went over to him and started shaking him and he was barely responding. She kind of started yelling and asking him what he took. She moved the sheets around and found an empty bottle of sleeping pills. My mom immediately called 911. My mom, essentially, carried my dad down the stairs to our front room to make it easier when the paramedics got there. She was crying and yelling a lot. Us kids were all freaked out but weren’t totally sure what was going on—we just knew it was bad. My mom was on the phone with different people, while simultaneously trying to keep my dad awake. Eventually, it seemed like, a dozen emergency vehicles got to our house. My mom had called one of my aunts to come pick us up. I remember driving away from our house, staring out the window of the car, watching all the emergency responders taking care of my dad. My mom came and picked us up late that night. We, at some point, went to the hospital to visit my dad. As we were walking down the hallway, I saw him with charcoal all over his face and neck. In case you don’t know, they give patients charcoal to induce vomiting to get the pills out of their system faster (I don’t know if they still do this). This is pretty much where my recollection ends. My parents got divorced not long after this. I’m going to be honest, just typing this memory was hard for me. My chest got really tight. It got harder to breathe. I was shaking. I had to walk away from my computer for a minute before I could finish.
My next step was starting to mess around with alcohol. I drank for the first time when I was 12 years old. It was too easy for me to my hands on alcohol and I was struggling, so that’s where I turned. I started drinking codeine cough syrup when I was 13—this was a problem I had until I was about 18. If we had some and I was upset about something, I would sneak into the kitchen and just take a few swigs from the bottle. I had a very addictive personality. Both my parents deal with that as well, so I should have known to be more careful. Let's be real though, being careful was not slightly on my mind. When I was 15, I talked my dad out of suicide. His friend had meant to call my aunt, but dialed my number instead. The friend left a message saying that my dad had said some scary things to his ex-girlfriend and now no one could get ahold of him. I immediately called my dad and I got lucky… he answered my phone call. I think it was divine intervention that my dad’s friend called me instead of my aunt. My dad wouldn’t have answered if anyone else had called (My dad and I were VERY close at this point—I would have considered him my best friend). I don’t remember much of what was said. I just remember both of us crying together over the phone and me continuously telling my dad that I loved him, and I still needed him here on earth. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I was able to be there for him in this moment, but at the same time, was this something that a 15 year old should have had to deal with? The fact that I consider this a big moment in my life should answer that question. Right before this event occurred was when I had my first encounter with real anxiety—I didn’t realize that’s what it was until years later.
When I was in 9th grade, I suddenly started having this problem where I would feel fine during the day, but as soon as it came time to go to bed, I was instantly nauseous. If my mom agreed to let me sleep in her room, the nausea would go away. For obvious reasons, my mom was frustrated that I always wanted to sleep in her room. We tried every at-home-remedy for my “nausea”. Eventually, we turned to doctors. I had countless tests and scans done to me to try and determine the problem. They never found anything and finally diagnosed me with “chronic nausea”. Bogus. This was something I dealt with for almost a full year. When I was 15, my mom decided she wanted me to try counseling. The very first night after my counseling appointment, my “nausea” never came and it didn’t again for years after that. My "nausea" was never labeled anxiety. Only now, when I look back, do I realize that's what it was.
Over the next seven or so years, I constantly struggled with depression and I dealt with stress like any normal teenager. When I was 22 years old, I had my first real panic attack and it stemmed from a headache. Yes, something this small can trigger someone’s whole life to change. I had a swollen lymph node in the back of my neck (I had no idea you had lymph nodes back there) and I had been getting headaches... I was SURE that I had cancer. Go ahead and laugh... it does seem funny. But it wasn't funny to me. I was serious. And I was scared. I was driving home from work one day, with my little brothers in the car with me. I was, of course, thinking about what I thought was wrong with me... My left arm started tingling and it got worse and worse. Then my lips started going numb and my chest hurt. I called my mom. I told her that I thought I was having a heart attack. I was crying. I was scared of becoming too incapacitated and wrecking the car with my brothers in it. This is a very common reaction when people have a panic attack for the first time. The symptoms are very similar to what a heart attack feels like, I've been told. My mom was able to coach me through it until I got us all home. I had this happen a couple times before I finally decided it was time to talk to a doctor. When I tell people that I’m a hypochondriac, I don’t think they get it. I frequently get an “Oh yea, so am I.” So… you can become completely mentally incapacitated by a random pain in your side too? No. People also treat hypochondria as a joke and sometimes that’s my fault. When I talk about it, I often use a joking manner so people won’t be so freaked out by it, but don’t let that fool you… It is nothing to joke about. This event completely changed my life forever.
This is now something that I’ve been dealing with EVERY DAY for three years. Most days, I’m ok. Some days, I’m struggling but I hide it well. The worst days (usually nights), I am inconsolable. I’ve described it this way before, but nothing explains it better: Depression is like drowning and anxiety is like being set on fire. I’ve dealt with both and anxiety scares me most. When my brother first started dealing with his own anxiety, he text me to apologize for ever not being sensitive or understanding to how bad anxiety really was. During a panic attack, it feels like your brain is attacking itself. It tells you every little thing that is wrong with you—physically and emotionally. It spares no feelings. I have had a few attacks so bad that I was sure there was no coming back from them. I thought my mind had broken. I don’t want you to think that anxiety is all about the panic attacks. In the beginning, I did have panic attacks many times a day. It eventually became a couple times a week, and now I don’t have them very often. There are just a few things that really trigger them. Most of the time, I just have to deal with talking myself down from the ledge. It can take so much brain power that it physically exhausts me but I manage it.
This moves me right into my next subject: how I deal with my anxiety. I have three methods that have helped me over the years. The first is my religion. I won’t apologize to anyone for mentioning this because I absolutely would not have made it through to today without my religion and my God.
"And now my son, Shiblon, I would that ye should remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day." Alma 38:5
This is a scripture that has really been helping me a lot lately. I've actually really been struggling the past two weeks, but I haven't mentioned it to one person. It just didn't feel worth it. As if I needed any more signs that God is always watching out for me, even when I didn't ask for it... In my brother, Caleb's, weekly message he talked about an article he read in the Liahona (I looked for the exact article, but I couldn't find it). In the article, the gentleman testifies of the day our bodies and minds will be perfect. As Caleb was telling us about this article, I realized... This is for me. I needed this. And THAT is how I deal with my anxiety. In my moments that I know I can't take one more second of it, God lifts me up. Some days I am pushed to the very brink of what I think I can handle, but I've never been pushed over the edge. I am always provided with what I need to keep going.
The next method I use is: medication. I used to be highly against medication. I grew up with a father who was constantly medicated, and he abused many of those medications. I didn’t want to be like him; I didn’t want to need medicine. I also, like my dad, have a highly addictive personality, but I just learned to have someone to answer to when I need to take something. When I finally got to the point that it was Get on Medication or Kill Yourself… I took the lesser of two evils (IMO). The first medication I tried just made everything wayyyy worse. The second medication didn’t help very much—until we raised the dosage. Since finding a good medication and dosage that worked well for me… I haven’t looked back. It was one of the best decisions I ever made for myself and I will never be ashamed of that. It has helped me a much happier and more pleasant human being.
My last, and most important method, is: Love. Yes, it’s cheesy, but I’m serious. I need love for myself. I need love for others. I need love FROM others. I have had some people be really cold and insensitive to me about my anxiety. Let me tell you something right now… Tough love does NOT help anyone who is suffering from mental illness of any sort. It isn’t just in their head. They can’t just take their mind off it. It won’t just go away. Those beliefs need to end. Moving on… When I’m feeling anxious and I see it moving in a dangerous direction, one of the best things for me is to just talk about what is going on in my head. I am VERY lucky to have such an understanding husband who would literally do anything for me. Side note: sometimes the worst part of mental illness is watching your loved ones watch you deal with it. If needed, Mike will sit up with me ALL night, or he’ll just play with my hair until I’m calm enough to fall asleep (95% of my panic attacks occur when I’m trying to go to sleep and I would love to hear the psychology behind that because I’m not scared of the dark. That’s not the trigger). And this is what I mean when I say love is one of my methods of coping. More love is needed in this world, regardless, but especially when my mind is self-destructing.
The last thing I want to talk about is why my anxiety is a part of who I am. This is clearly something I’ve been dealing with for a long time, so that alone makes it a part of me. My anxiety has induced some not so positive qualities, but it’s also given me some good ones. I’m going to talk about the negative one first to get it out of the way. I am one paranoid human being. You know the aunt in The Series of Unfortunate Events… she lives in a house on the edge of the ocean and she’s scared of literally everything. Well, that’s me. Some days I’m like, “Come on, Danielle! You got this!” Other days I’m like, “I am not leaving this house. I don’t want to look at anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Please don’t touch me. That person just coughed… are they sick? They just said their stomach hurts… is that the flu? That guy has been watching me for a while. This car has been following me for far too long. What was that noise? I’ve been really shaky today… what’s wrong with me? Should I go to the doctor? Mike normally texts me at 10 and it’s 10:05 and he still hasn’t text me… is he dead somewhere?” I could keep going. It’s not fun, and you might find it pathetic, which, I sometimes do too, but it’s not even kind of easy to control. This is the biggest downside to anxiety.
As for the positive qualities, I have strength within me that I didn’t know was possible. You can’t even imagine the strength it takes to simply just not give up. Even the days that I am a complete mess, I’m stronger than I was before I had to deal with any of this. "I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me." -Joshua Graham I love this quote so much. And lastly, I am a much more empathetic and sensitive human being. If you know me now, you might think, “YOU’RE sensitive??” Well, you can imagine how I was before. I had to learn to let people in, and to let them love me. This might have been the hardest part and it’s something that I’m still working on.
I’m not totally sure what made me decide to write about this topic AGAIN. I just feel like I learn something new every time I have a hard day. I get stronger from every episode and I have a deep, deep desire to share my knowledge with others. I know how hard it all can be. I know that there are days that LITERALLY nothing could make you feel better—not even a million dollars. I know how lonely and dark it can be. I also know that my bad days make my good days so much better, and that is what I try to focus on. I don’t know how many people will make it through this whole post, but if you did, thank you. It means a lot to me, and I hope you got at least one thing out of this. Every day is a new day that I have no idea what will come, but I also hope that I will continue to grow and come out on top.
Outfit details are posted below
Booties: Similar Style / Similar Color
Jeans: Similiar Moto Jeans
T-Shirt: Man Crush Monday Sweatshirt / Same Shirt but Different Saying
Cardigan: Option One / Option Two / Option Three
XOXO, Danielle ♥
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