I needed to write this.

My alarm goes off around 6:30am most days. Before I even open my eyes I feel heavy. Rolling over seems like an enormous effort, god forbid getting out of my bed. By 6:31am, I am overwhelmed by the tasks of the day, the next week, and even those of the coming months. My morning breakfast of oatmeal (three years later and I’m still stuck on oatmeal) is usually accompanied by a slew of tears which I quickly wipe away before they run into my first cup of coffee for the day. No one likes salty coffee. Then I realize it’s only Monday, and wonder how the hell I am going to make it through another week. Another month. Another year?

I’ve needed to write this for a while. To preface, this post was not written to garner pity from others. Nor is this a cry for help. I’m doing just fine. I am going to end tonight just as I want to… going to bed at 10:30 and watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother. But I don’t want to be “just fine” anymore, you know?. I don’t even know if I will publish this post. I’ll admit I’m embarrassed to admit the text that follows. But I have to write this post; this post is written out of necessity. I needed to get these words down on paper, or rather, my computer screen. I am hoping in posting these raw yet real feelings maybe one other person can relate and not feel so alone in their battle; because that is what it is, a constant battle. Whether it’s this or something else, everyone has a battle! Big or small.

For starters, I’m not entirely sure exactly the vibe I give off to other people, but I feel like the majority of those who disclose their struggles with mental illness receive a response like, “Wow, I never would have suspected that from her,” “She never seemed like she had ‘something wrong with her,'” “I never would have guessed.” So if readers are surprised by this post, well then yay(?) I guess my fake-it-til-ya-make-it facade has worked! Ha ha! I fooled you. Got ya.

I suffer from depression and anxiety. This post is about my story, my struggles, and my journey.

I first experienced hints of depression during college. Stemming from a combination of reduced playing time on the field hockey field, a pretty serious injury which kept me from running, family issues, and the normal college stuff, I merely floated through my sophomore and junior years of college. I briefly experienced relief during my semester abroad and my depression was band-aided by surplus amounts of empanadas and Malbec wine.

Shit hit the fan during the fall semester of my senior year. I slept for 14+ hours a day, began missing classes because it hurt getting out of bed (not only physically but this hurt came from a deep place inside), I found myself overeating in attempt to fill the enormous hole I felt growing inside me, and I distanced myself from everyone. I avoided eye contact with anyone outside my apartment. I felt heavy, like my feet couldn’t support all the emotions bottling up inside me. This went on for a few months until my birthday, October 20th. I remember walking up to my mailbox at the student union because my dad said to check my mailbox for a special birthday surprise. Yay birthdays! Well, I walked the whole .25 of a mile (to be fair, this walk was at about a 90 degree incline, if you know you know walking up THE HILL absolutely sucks) to the student union only to realize I had left my mail key in my apartment. I politely explained the situation to the employee working the mail desk who told me she was unable to open my mailbox for me due to a new policy the college had just issued. I began sobbing. I don’t mean like quietly walked away with tears welling up in my eyes saying “Oh gosh darn it Sara.” I mean I was still face-to-face with this poor employee sobbing like she had just told me a relative had died. I couldn’t stop crying. I remember shaking because I was crying so hard. At this point, I didn’t even care that I was in the middle of the student union during lunch hour (REALLY busy hour) and that the entire football team was walking by me as I sat on the floor. The employee came around the desk and began to console me, saying she would make an exception in opening my mailbox for me. Little did she know this episode had absolutely nothing to do with my damn mailbox at all. Ok well I was a littttttle upset I had to walk down the hill and back up the hill again because again, large hill! I have short legs! But this day, my 22nd birthday, was my breaking point. I welcomed my Taylor Swift year with a mental breakdown.

After I got my mail (a really cute card from my dad that also made me cry), I walked straight into the health clinic. I remember walking through campus with tears rapidly falling down my face, my eyes bloodshot from all the tears. For the first time in my life I didn’t care about what the people I passed were saying about me, most of whom were staring at me because I probably did look a little scary in all honesty. However, at this point I was legitimately concerned about my mental state and what was going to happen to me if I didn’t get help. My thoughts were scaring me. They’d been telling me I wasn’t good enough for so long that I believed them full-heartedly. These thoughts weren’t me but had become such a part of me that I didn’t know how to distinguish the two. I was scared of myself.

After what I now remember as “the mailbox incident,” I felt really awkward getting my mail from that same employee for the rest of my college days. But this “incident” needed to happen. I began seeing a therapist twice a week and while at first I will admit I thought the whole therapy thing was dumb, week by week I began to feel a little lighter. I began to interact with my social circles again. I stopped binge eating Denny’s at 3am (didn’t stop that entirely because Denny’s rocks and is great drunk food, OMELETTES. Shout out to Denny’s). I began to feel like myself again. That is the greatest feeling in the world. I was so proud of myself, I still am. I checked this breakdown off and thought that phase of my life was over and done with. I was cured and would never have to experience those emotions again! ha ha haaaa

Fast forward to law school, last fall. Legally Blonde teaches us the basics (kind-of?) accurately: law school is hard, the people are competitive and sometimes not super nice, and there will be tears (many). Once again, I found myself feeling this floating sensation: floating out of bed to classes, interacting with my classmates but only on the surface level, and crying. A lot. To be honest, it’s easier for me to remember nights that I didn’t cry myself to sleep over those that I did. I usually woke up to wet pillow from crying myself to sleep. While obviously the coursework is challenging, the environment is competitive, and I had been out of school for two years traveling around Latin America (what’s a schedule?), I started making connections to my senior year of college. And that scared me. I remember thinking to myself, “I CANNOT go back to that. I am not thatttt bad. Everyone is in the same position here. I need to get over it. I’m being a baby.” So I tried. Hard. I told myself that I just had to get to May 3, 2018 (my last exam). Once I left law school, these feelings would disappear and I would go back to being happy, I would go back to being Sara. I made a countdown to May 3, 2018 in September 2017.

Somehow (I really don’t know how but humans can really pull off amazing things you know) I made it to May 3, 2018. I had an amazing summer lined up doing work that I AM extremely passionate about: advocating for immigrant rights. However, once I arrived in Mexico City I felt just as alone and in my head as I did during law school. But this was worse, because I kept telling myself I shouldn’t feel like this. I can’t feel like this. I’m not allowed to feel like this. I was in one of the coolest cities in the world, doing work that I was passionate about, and surrounded by AMAZING advocates in the field… how could I still feel like this?! How could I feel so alone in a city of almost 9 million people?! For those who have experienced similar feelings, there is NOTHING worse than feeling like this and convincing yourself that you SHOULDN’T and CAN’T feel like this because of all that you have in said moment. That feeling absolutely sucks. So I spent my summer trying to make it through the day without crying in the office and resorting to crying myself to sleep, just in a different country, so I can check that off the list.

Now I am here. I just started my second year of law school and honestly still feel like poppycock most days. It’s hard for me to get out of bed because I am worried about things completely out of my control. My concentration levels are slim to none. My sleep patterns are weeiiiird so I really sleep for about 2 hours a night consistently. Defo need to invest in some serious eye cream, thanks depression. Last week I made myself drive home during a ten minute break between classes because I was anxious to a new level about potentially leaving the garage door open (For the record, it was closed and no randos were chilling on the sofa in the house, whew!). Making it through the day is a huge feat and making it through the day WITHOUT tears or an anxiety attack is a gold star day (NOTHING wrong with crying. your emotions are valid! However I cry if someone looks at me weird, that’s not okay because lots of people have RBF you know?). If I can read a case assigned for homework all the way through without my mind diverting to some other worry it’s a miracle. Un milagro!

Everyone has good days. Everyone has bad days. I know I have to do a little more than a “normal” (what does that even mean?) person to stay ~balanced~. I start therapy this week and honestly cannot express how excited I am. I am heavier than ever (partially because yes because I did indulge in a fair share of tacos in CDMX (#CDMX15) but mean this on another figurative level). This has been a long time coming. I am proud of myself for being able to acknowledge that I am not okay and I need help. There is nothing wrong with needing help. There is nothing wrong with not being okay. I am not okay right now, but I will be.

I’ve learned so much about myself and ~life~ during this process, so in a way, I am grateful! This is me trying to take an optimist view, what a rarity! Most importantly, I’ve learned that I have relied heavily on a select few to make me 100% happy, to “cure me” in a sense, when really I needed to look to myself to do that. Other people cannot make me happy, happiness is a state of being that comes from within. I am sorry for those who I have done this to, you know who you are. ❤

So what’s the point of this long article where I am really just piecing together my stream of conscious thoughts? Sorry I’m not really checking this one for spelling/grammatical errors. In all honesty I’m not really sure what’s of the point of this article. I can tell you readers that if you made it this far, I do feel better getting these words out, out of my head and onto this WordPress document. Also, I want to iterate that I am not in this position due to lack of support. In fact, I am surrounded by the most supportive people in any and all capacities. Actually, that’s the hardest part of this illness, having all the support in the world yet feeling so alone. So heavy. All. the. time.

I want anyone who has ever felt remotely this way to know that you are not alone. I am not alone & this will pass as I begin to take a more active role in fighting this. I have to make some changes, but change is good. I am not myself right now, and I haven’t been for some time. I am ready to welcome Sara back with open arms, when she’s ready. No more floating. Thanks for reading. xxx