Hi everyone, it’s Mental Health Awareness month! I’m embarrassed that I didn’t know this until about a week ago—but, in some sort of defense, when you have a mental illness, every month feels like Mental Health Awareness month, because you’re constantly aware of the state of your mental health. (Hahhh.)
In any case, I saw that it was Mental Health Awareness Month on my friend Alex D'Amour’s website, On Our Moon. It’s a beautiful digital space and Alex is a beautiful soul and I highly recommend that your beautiful souls go check it out. The stories there are told with the intention of releasing shame, honoring diverse voices, and connecting over our shared humanity. (Alex can probably explain it better, but that’s my personal take.)
One of the recent posts asked: What do you wish people understood about your mental health? (In my case, that would be anxiety, though eating disorders often fall under the mental illness umbrella.) I didn’t know that I had anxiety for a long time, but I suppose the symptoms began around high school. I was obsessed with academic success, with other people’s feelings, and with getting parts in plays, among other things. I remember there being multiple times the night before a cast list would come out that I’d replay the auditions and callbacks in my head, wondering if I could have done something better. I remember getting a “good” part and feeling satisfied, or not getting a “good” part and sobbing to my parents, asking them what I could have done better, etc.
In college I was anxious over similar things, but with the added weight of thinking about my major. Post-grad, I stressed about what to do with my life, where to live, what job to pursue, what to say to my older gypsy boyfriend so that he wouldn’t break up with me (he did), and whether or not there was an afterlife… It got to the point where I was using CouchSurfing.com to meet with ex-pastors on my road trips and discuss their reasons for leaving Christianity. (But that’s another story for another day.)
Around this time, I met with a doctor and was diagnosed with anxiety, leaving her office with a note prescribing me with a cocktail of medication. I tried a few different ones over the course of two years, all of which yielded varying results. Some of them (Zoloft, Lexapro) made me robotic and void of emotion, some increased the anxiety (Celexa), some made any trace of alcohol unbearable (Wellbutrin), and all of them killed my sex drive. At 26, I lost my health insurance, and used this as an opportunity to wean myself off the drugs. (Note: this is not something I would recommend doing without talking to your doctor, as it can be very dangerous. Brain chemistry is fragile! Also note that I support prescription pills when they help, but ultimately I don’t think mine were helping, save for the occasional Xanax and a good lay-down.)
All this to say is that my journey with anxiety has been quite the roller coaster, and, as I near the hallmark that is my 30th birthday (!!!) I feel as though I’m finally getting a sturdy grip on my mental health (wee). Still, Alex’s post got me thinking: What do I wish people knew about my anxiety? And furthermore, what do I wish that I knew about my anxiety? What would I have told myself six years ago, when that diagnosis first came?
Hence, the meat of this week’s newsletter:
Living with mental health issues is a strength, not a weakness.
I can’t take credit for this point, as it was made by someone on the On Our Moon comment section, but my sentiment is the same. Sometimes I feel as though people look at my anxiety, my sensitivity, and my moodiness as a weaknesses—that I’m a “worrier” not a “warrior,” so to speak.
But learning to cope with anxiety healthily takes a great deal of strength. You, in a sense, must become Emotional Hercules. It’s very hard to hear a slew of criticisms and doubts and “what ifs?” swarm through your brain and function as normal. Overcoming those thoughts requires work—like mindfulness, therapy, and research. Coping with a mental illness forces you into self-awareness, because you’re forced to learn how your brain works and what you can do to operate more healthily and happily. That is not easy work.
Anxiety doesn’t make me a negative person.
On the contrary, I feel like I see a lot of good in this world. I’m the sort of person who gets distracted by a bird or a patch of wildflowers because of how infinite their beauty is. Prior to COVID19, one of my favorite activities was to run down a busy street filled with bars and thrift stores and observe the humans drinking outside, leaving with their purchases, walking their dogs, etc... I love to see people and connect with strangers. I love to love my friends, family, and boyfriend, and bask in the joy of our mutual affection. I love to celebrate. I love to talk about the things I love. Anxiety doesn’t change this.
The greatest gift is patience.
Sometimes people ask me how they can help, and my first answer is patience. I know that my anxiety can be frustrating (I get frustrated with myself), but then I get anxious that my anxiety is turning others away, and it’s a whole cycle. When I can see that someone is patient with me, I’m able to breathe a little bit. The anxiety over their thoughts/opinions of me is softens out, and thus the anxiety itself gets a little softer.
And that patience extends to oneself: Our journeys with anxiety, or any mental illness for that matter, are not linear. We will have good times and bad times. Let’s have patience for this journey, shall we?! Yes.
There are great tools.
The obvious ones, like therapy and meditation apps have given me a great deal of comfort. In the past few years, I’ve become cognizant of the different types of therapy (CBT, ACT, ERP, and more) and which ones work best for my brain. There are tinier tools as well: reading good fiction, wearing clothes that make me feel happy, and cooking. I use Lord Jones CBD products, which serve as “Xanax light” and are the only CBD products that, in my experience, get the job done. In addition to fiction, I’ll read books about the way brains work, and this sort of logical approach helps me to look at my anxiety with a more neutral mind.
And talking about it. Writing about it. This newsletter, in a way, has been very therapeutic. Thank you again for reading.
Also plants. I picked this one up the other day and named her Ginger. I love her.
I’m curious about your thoughts. If you experience mental hiccups, what is it that helps you? What do you want people to know? What do you wish you once knew, or could grasp now?
As for things that brought me joy this week, I recommend Harry Style’s “Watermelon Sugar” music video, which also sparked my first-ever argument on Facebook (who knew I was capable of a Facebook argument???) and the distinction between objectifying women and celebrating them. (FYI, I believe Harry’s music video does the latter.) I also finished Donna Tart’s The Secret History, which is an enthralling piece of fiction exploring obsession’s swift spiral into destruction, and have been devouring my friend Amanda’s “Amanda University” on Instagram TV, where she discusses what we can do to speak in a way that uplifts and celebrates all genders after a history of the patriarchy’s attempt to control language.
Until next time—I love you!
xo,
Amanda