If you’re reading this, your storm shall pass. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been anxious. It has disguised itself in many ways, from being the obsessive fidgeter in class to oversharing in stressful environments. I get extremely nervous around new people, places, and social situations. I thrive under routine, and the world has always felt too uncertain for my liking. I left high school feeling like I was at the top of my game. I came to UVA in the fall of 2019 ready to take on the world. When I arrived on Grounds, I quickly became sick for what would end up being four months. It was a difficult time, but I returned for the spring semester with a renewed sense of hope for what my time at UVA could look like.
Then, March 2020 changed my life. Like the rest of the student body, I was forced to finish the remainder of my semester online. I ultimately decided to dissolve my lease for the coming year and remain home for my second year of college. My fall semester on Zoom was surprisingly uneventful. Sure, Zoom sucks and I hate it, but it wasn’t that bad. I missed my friends and my life, but I finished the semester feeling optimistic. I knew that I just needed to tough out one more semester before returning to Charlottesville. Spring had different plans. I started out the semester strong, eager to take on new classes and responsibilities. However, there were a number of new stressors I had to deal with. Also, the burden of being removed from social outings began to take a toll on my mental health in new ways. Under the weight of major applications and the pressure to live out a perfect college experience from my childhood bedroom, I finally cracked. It began with having multiple panic attacks per day. I spent more and more time in my bedroom to hide them from my parents. Eventually, I was spending weeks in my room, leaving only briefly to have a meal or work a shift at my job. My depression became a dirty secret, and I did everything in my power to make sure no one in my life knew how bad I was unraveling.
Every positive memory began to feel like a lifetime ago. At my worst, I remember laying in bed every night and sobbing. I would beg the universe to prevent me from ever waking up. I was wasting away into nothing, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. By the end of the semester, I realized I needed to make plans for the fall and envision what a “normal” college experience might look like. I became fixated on my third year and forced myself out of my depressive state without ever processing those emotions. I was gearing up to return to my life, so I needed to wake up and act the part. I returned to Grounds in the fall of 2021 with every intention of reconnecting with my friends. I said yes to every social opportunity because I had missed out on a whole year. When people would ask about my time at home, I would throw together some vague explanation of how it was boring and not terrible. I thought if I never verbalized my struggles, they would disappear completely. It was surprisingly easy to pick up my old life.
The side effects of my time at home were practically non-existent, and I was living the college experience I dreamed about during my first few weeks at UVA. Towards the end of the fall semester, the monsoon of school and club stressors caused my panic attacks to come back in full force. I found myself slowly making up more excuses to get out of responsibilities so I could panic quietly in my room. Over time, I began to confront the reality that these physical manifestations of anxiety were not remnants of the past. They were actively impacting my daily life again. I was running from my problems, but my mental health struggles were never far behind.
One of the hardest things I have ever done was starting therapy. I spent the past seven years trying to ignore my intrusive thoughts. With the support of a few close friends, I decided to set up a TimelyCare appointment in January. I tried to cancel my appointment 3 separate times, but I could never press the button. Something told me I needed to try at least once. I logged onto the session hesitant to disclose the reason for my appointment. Over the course of an hour, I began to feel comfortable opening up and sharing my experiences. I decided that I liked my therapist enough, so I signed up for biweekly meetings. At the end of one appointment, she casually mentioned how to book a psychiatry appointment for my panic disorder and OCD. Immediately, I began to freak out. For some reason, it had felt like she was peering into my soul and condemning me to a life of symptoms. I mulled over these words for the next week, wondering how I would have the strength to share this information with anyone.
I would be nothing without my support system of classmates, friends, and family. Turns out, they are surprisingly receptive when you disclose your mental health journey with them. I slowly began to let people in. I would tell them about my time in therapy and my goals for the future. With each new person, I can feel the words becoming easier to articulate. Tell your loved ones what they mean to you. People are always surprised when I talk about my experience with anxiety and depression. I never felt strong enough to ask for help when I was at my lowest point. You can never know what someone else is going through. I used to be scared of bearing my emotions to others. Now, I tell people why I love them.
I spent a long time running. I ran from my thoughts, my experiences, and from help. My attacks felt like a secret I needed to hide. There is strength in asking for guidance and using the resources around you. It will do wonders for your mental health, and you will probably end up inspiring someone else to do the same.
If you’re reading this, your storm shall pass. Sunshine is always around the corner.
Chris K., University of Virginia ‘23
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