Nobody likes to think that mental illness could hit them or even the people near them. But the truth is, mental health issues are on the rise, and they’re more common than you think.
Growing up with a sister who battled with mental illness, I thought I knew it all; that I was a kid mental-health expert.
I scoffed at the thought that I would ever become mentally ill. At the time, I thought that depression and anxiety and all the things I had seen were always going to be someone else’s burden.
And then I proved myself wrong.
It started with my temper. If someone asked me a question I just answered I would get unreasonably angry. Frustrated, mostly at myself, I would throw things. Nothing hard at first, just pillows and couch cushions.
Then I started to slam doors. Punch things. I didn’t want to break anything, I just had no idea what else to do.
I often think back about what my parents must have thought. Seeing their kid so angry all the time. But in the moment, I had none of that consideration. Things were only getting worse.
So to stop my parents from freaking out even more, I got pretty good at hiding it. The only time I would allow myself to show any sign that I was struggling was when I got home. No outbursts at school: I buried my feelings. I began to have feelings of self-loathing; I felt like I, and everything I did, was a disappointment.
On New Years, roughly four months after I started having these feelings, I experienced waves of panic attacks that lasted from 8 p.m. on New Years Eve and ended early the next morning. My heart felt like it was racing a million miles a minute, my stomach churned, and nothing could stop it. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I was going off a cliff, and I couldn’t see the ground.
That’s when I decided I needed help.
So I told my parents. The guilt I felt for making their lives so hard nearly convinced me not to, but I knew that, if I didn’t approach them, things would only get worse. But, to my surprise, they didn’t judge me or yell at me. They just treated me like their son. And I got the help I needed.
Unfortunately, this is not the case for everybody.
It’s impossible to crawl out of the pit that is depression on your own. The only way out is with someone’s else’s assistance.
The best way to help your friend who may be struggling isn’t to treat them like a patient by walking on eggshells around them. It’s the small things: genuinely asking how they’re doing, offering non-judgmental support or helping them with small tasks.
You’re not a bad friend if you can’t magically “fix” all of their problems. From someone who deals with mental illness, some of the most comforting times for me have been when a friend just listens to me vent over a Chipotle bowl.
Just reach out.
In no world are you expected to fight depression yourself. The people who care about you will not think you are a burden if you open up.
Tell your friends you love them. They may need to hear it more than you think.
