why it's important:
This project is important to me because I have been through many of these same tribulations. I, myself, have suffered through depression and anxiety my entire life. I have found ways of over-coming it, some healthy, and some not healthy, and I have discovered that if someone were to have simply helped me through what I have been going through, that maybe I might not have actually done everything I have. I have been verbally abused my entire life, in the sense that I have been put down too many times to count, and, over the years, have believed what I have been told about myself. I now realize that this was the turning point for why I've decided to advocate so strongly for disorders and mental illnesses, along with bullying. If everyone is scared of controversy and being different from what the social media is telling us to be, then nothing will ever change and those who are in the most pain, and who are essential players in our community, will be lost and no one will ever address the reason "why". The start of my junior year, I had become extremely depressed, and even though I had suffered through depression my entire year, this was a new type of depression. Not in the sense that it was a different feeling, but in the sense that it was the worse I had ever felt, in my entire life. Even worse than my 8th grade debut of depression, which was unnoticed by all and never treated. I felt as though I could treat myself for this depression, in my junior year, but I didn’t know just how many factors play into effect when dealing with depression – such as social anxiety, school stress, friend issues, and family stress, to name a few. My case of depression got so bad that year, that I had formed a plan to kill myself, unless something could save me from it. It’s not that I wanted to die, but that I felt like I was a worthless human being with no potential of anything in the world. I simply wanted someone to take notice of me, and realize that what I was hiding inside of me, was clearly shown on the outside, but that I just wanted someone to care enough to say something. This never happened. I didn’t have a set day for killing myself, but I knew how, and at what time, I would do it, and make sure that I would succeed. Because of the fact that I had the “how” and “at what time” chosen, but I still did not know the “when”, I could feel my time running out. Each day my anxiety grew and grew, until it became overwhelming. I tried to do things to help me get out of these bouts of emotions, but nothing I seemed to do helped. I would take nightly bike-rides away from my house, in hopes that the fresh, cool, night air may help me feel something other than a deep void of nothing. I would write free-verse poetry; I would draw, watch television, read quotes, or listen to music, just to try to feel something. None of this ever worked, and my feelings of emptiness grew deeper and deeper each day. At one point, I even tried cutting. I loved the sensation of it, and I thought that if I couldn’t get out all the hurt, pain, and emptiness inside of me, why not try to show it? Why not try to show the world what they can push to people. I wanted someone to notice the scars, and possibly help me seek out help. There may have been one person that saw my scars, due to the fact that I covered them, but rarely would let my guard down on just how well they were hidden. However, she never said anything. Why? I will never know, but my best guess is due to the fact that cutting is one of the extremely common coping methods used in today’s world, that is frowned upon. Because it is frowned upon, people everywhere inflict physical pain on themselves, yet they feel incomplete in life because they have to hide it. They have to hide who they are, and eventually they don’t know who they actually are in life, due to the fact that they have pretended to be someone else for so long. I soon discerned that my pain would never fully show, no matter how many scars I inflicted upon myself, and that if I truly wanted to get help that I would have to search for it myself. When I realized this, I debated with myself about how I would go about trying to get help. It took weeks to finally come up with a solution. I knew I couldn’t admit to myself that I had let my emotions get that bad, and so I knew that I couldn’t ask for the help myself, not to mention that I had put on an act for so long portraying me as the happy-go-lucky girl without problems, who has control of her life and loves it. Because of this, I knew that the only way that I may possibly be able to get help was to talk to a friend about it. I didn’t know where to go, or how to even bring up the subject, due to the fact that it’s not one that people tend to talk about, and is extremely sensitive. In my mind, I thought that people would look down on me, just look at me as a “freak” and not bother to try to help me at all. I finally thought of one friend that may be able to help me, but I still knew that I couldn’t admit, to either her nor I, that it was I who let my depression reach the extent it got to. It took her a few days to fully understand what I was talking about, due to the fact that we were communicating through text messaging, and the fact that instead of telling her that it was I who was feeling suicidal, that it was instead a friend. The first night I was talking to her about it, she got angry towards me due to the fact that I was telling her that she didn’t understand the true extent of what I was truly telling her. When she realized that I was talking about me who was feeling suicidal, she immediately told an authoritative figure, that both of us trusted, who then proceeded to tell my parents, and later that night, at 1:00AM, I was admitted to Section 4A of the Mental Hospital. This was the section reserved for teenagers who are suicidal, but not harmful to others. Whilst I was in there, I learned a great deal about depression. I didn’t necessarily get the proper diagnosis of my depression, but I did learn healthy coping methods that wouldn’t destroy my psychological mentality. I was released six days later, and persisted my reflection on my depression, how it got to the extent that it had gotten, how I could cope with it while I was engulfed into society, and why I felt the way I did. Looking back on this, I realize that my mental health could have been saved much sooner if others had noticed and taken charge of showing some sort of compassion, empathy, or love towards me. When I was released, I had the authoritative figure tell me that she suspected something was going on, which got me to thinking, “Why did she never do anything then? Why was it that I had to seek out my own help, when I wasn’t even sure of what I wanted or needed?” The answer that comes to mind is that either it’s too sensitive of a subject, and that if she had brought it up, that it might have offended me instead of helping me. If not that, then she was lying about suspecting that something was wrong. I was lucky. I sought out the help I needed, yet I know that many others in this world and civilization shy away from the help out there, due to the fact that they know they would be cast as a “social outcast” if they truly open up about their disorders, feelings, and life. The signs are there, and everyone can see them. The obstacle is getting past your own personal social status, and addressing the problem at hand. If one simple person talked to me during my months of battling with extreme depression, I may not have gotten to the stage that I had. One suicide occurs every 40 seconds, and think what this number would be, if it was socially acceptable to talk about self-endangering issues in life. So many people keep their stories hid inside of themselves, just so that they know it’s safe with them and they can’t be judged by it. This isn’t healthy. Peoples’ stories need to be heard. Lives’ can be saved. All we need to do is make it acceptable to open up.
the plan of action:
My project is to advocate. I make posters, free-verse poetry, and do my best to educate people about just how serious issues like cutting, emotional abuse, and bullying can be. I tell people about my story - how I've been emotionally abused, over-come cutting, in the process of over-coming anorexia, and found healthy alternatives to dealing with my stress and anxiety - in hopes that something I say will spark a light in another to either get help themselves, depending on how far their problem has gone, or to simply create a thought in their mind that they are more than what they have been, and still are going through. I wish this project to help others be not afraid to share who they truly are, and realize that they aren’t weak if they need to seek out help. On top of that, I wish to make enough posters, poetry, and letters to those who have either hurt, or helped, me in my journey of depression and life, that I may help collaborate a book full of them, along with being filled with positive reinforcing quotes, that I may hopefully sell one day to help others in their lives’, if they don’t find themselves able to seek out help themselves. Also, positive reinforcement would be strongly advocated in the book, due to the fact that positive thinking can be the best medicine sometimes.
