People who don’t understand anxiety will never understand how it’s like.
Having grown up in an asian family and country, speaking or even mentioning about mental illness is like calling upon Satan and inviting him into your house.
And yet people think that everyone with mental illness is crazy and is immediately stigmatised within the society. People tell us umpteen times that it’s all in our heads and we should get over it.
At the same time, society and parents place unrealistic expectations onto us and expect us to fulfil them.
They don’t see how much our hands shake when in public or when you’re having an attack. They don’t know how fast your heart races and how your thoughts spiral out of control. Like a hurricane that blows and shakes up your entire mental and physical state and then leaves you alone to clean up the mess every single time.
People don’t understand that mental illness is not being crazy nor is it not being good enough for society, it’s a burden we have to carry around everyday, it’s an ILLNESS. If it wasn’t, don’t you think it would have been named something different instead?
“Tell me you love me, I need someone on days like this I do.” – Tell me you love me, Demi Lovato.
This quote is so literal, everyone needs someone to tell them that they love them, that they deserve to survive and be here. For those with mental illness, we need to hear this everyday. And yet all we hear is that “It’s all in your head”, “Stop acting like it’s a big issue, you’re not dying” and only if a person resorts to suicide do people see how scary mental illnesses are.
There needs to be so much more awareness for this, people need to learn and most importantly, they need to understand how difficult it is.
It isn’t just feeling sad or lethargic on a monday morning when you need to return work. That’s something a good cup of joe or good music can heal within a few minutes.
It’s feeling that you’re not good enough for this world, that you don’t deserve to be here although you deserve every minute of your life. It’s waking up with tears in your eyes or falling asleep with tears streaming down your face, knowing that you’re not good enough for the people who’ve left you. It’s the painful sensation that causes you to grip your heart as though you’re having a heart attack and you’re dying and nobody’s listening. It’s like drowning in icy cold water and no matter how much you open your mouth to scream, it’s no use. No one is coming to save you.
It’s like having someone strangling you 24/7 and you can’t explain any of this. Like having someone punch you continuously in your gut and you get so breathless that you gasp for air, to no avail. It’s waking up everyday and having thoughts that you’re better off dead than alive, that everything would be easier if you were gone. It’s being so afraid and weary of everything that even the slightest noise plagues you for the rest of the day.
It’s waking up every fucking day of your life and feel that you want to change, but something is holding you back. You want to save yourself, but even yourself doesn’t want to be saved. Like being stuck in limbo and you can’t even help yourself because you’re so used to it, and you don’t know how else to help anymore.
I grew up being very considerate of other people, I was always afraid to offend them and was constantly walking on eggshells around people and never trusted anyone. They always end up disappointing me in the end, anyway. Even with my family I walk on eggshells. I never got the attention I needed and that always made me bitter towards my siblings because I knew that this girl inside could change the world, but she was never given the proper tools to.
So how can I find the strength to tell my parents about my suspicions of having anxiety when I’ve been expected to be the elder sibling and to be okay all the time? Having to set the good example for my younger brother, to do everything to utmost perfection, any less than that is not forgivable? How do you tell someone that you’re not okay, after you’ve been pretending to be okay all your life?
I see all my peers getting jobs and assimilating into society so easily and I yearn for that too, but it’s so difficult. Every time I convince myself that I can do it too, the next minute I’m jumping under my blanket and hiding from the world. I ended finding my solace in books and don’t ever want to leave. I’m always telling myself I’m not good enough for this and that company and just end up not doing anything again. I’ve tried so many times to break this cycle, and it just keeps on going round and round.
I know that I need to change and I need help in order for that to happen. Just anything that can stop this pain, this feeling. But what if the people around me are the ones not offering a helping hand? They’re so skeptical and don’t understand why I can’t be like the rest of the young adults and go out to get a job.
They don’t understand how amplified the anxiety is.
I keep telling myself it’s okay, lying to myself, because I know it’s there, but I don’t want to get shunned by society either. It’s not a crime to have a mental illness.
But I think it should be a crime not to understand it.
The Government claims that they want to help, but have they really? If they did help, then why are people with mental illness not able to openly tell others about it? Why can’t they be the treated the same way as everyone else?
They don’t understand that it’s science. Nobody chooses to have mental illness and nobody would want to. Maybe we’re just the unlucky ones.
My anxiety attacks started when I was 12, and now I’m 21 (this year will be 22) and it’s been 9-10 years ever since that attack and I still get those attacks every once in a while. Yet people have told me that it’s in my head, you’re just nervous, you’re just sad.
It’s nothing of importance.
I’ve even been gaslighted by people who have mental illness, the very same one I’m accusing myself of. I thought we were supposed to band together and help each other, I guess I was wrong.
I feel that mental illness fees should be free, and yet it’s one of the most expensive. We didn’t choose the illness, it chose us.
I find my solace between the lines of the words I read and write.
Urgh, it just sucks. I try to be strong, but maybe I’m not as strong as I thought.
I sometimes wish that the Government would be like the books, they should just place us into a job once we’re done studying, I think that would definitely help those with mental illness. If you don’t like the job, then you can switch, or something like that, you know. Or those with mental illness should, argh, I just don’t know, people should do something about it.