Each day when I wake up, I wish I didn’t. The first hour of my day is spent lying in bed, weighed down not only by the elephant of anxiety sitting on my chest, but also the looming thoughts that I would be better off dead. After I finally get out of bed, it’s straight to the kitchen, where I find one of the only things that connects me to the world and distracts me from the constant tightness in my chest: food. Of course, this coping mechanism has its downsides, which I notice when I look in the mirror and see the stretch marks, saggy skin, and bloated body that accompanies gaining 40 pounds in just a month.

Trying to be a student while battling a mental illness is like trying to run a marathon with a broken leg. Whenever I sit down to do my work, all that goes through my mind are the overwhelming thoughts that none of it matters. The more I try to concentrate, the more my body resists me: my vision blurs, sweat drips down my skin, and my chest tightens. The only way to find relief is to walk away, or else thoughts about Odysseus’ odyssey morph into thoughts of Jeff’s suicide. When I was younger, going to class used to be exciting, but now its simply painful. How can I concentrate on race relations in the United States when all that is going through my mind is how worthless I truly am? How can I contribute to a class discussion when the prospect of me sharing a thought floods my body with pain from panic that feels like a heart attack?

Why am I telling this story? Because that is no longer me. That was the me who refused to acknowledge that there was a disease taking over my mind and body. Much like cancer, the unhealthy cells of my mind (neurons) were growing, all the while replacing the healthy ones. Through ignoring my illness, due to the fact that I am a young man who has been taught by society to “get over it” and “be a man,” I fueled the unhealthy cells in my mind to the point where they tried to kill me. My mind was convincing me that my life was no longer worth living. 

But, once I decided to get the help I needed, I noticed parts of my old, happy self return, while learning to integrate the new person that I have become through my battle. I realized that I needed time to heal, just like I would have needed if I had any other life-threatening disease. Through individual and group therapy, the right medications, the support of friends and family and the hope that I would get better, I have been able to heal. Although my battle still continues, I have gained the tools I need in order to deal with the struggles my illness has in store for me. If you are struggling with a mental illness of any kind, I strongly encourage you to get the help that you deserve, because the world deserves you.