A Story || MHAW 2018.

The first step towards recovery for me was the first time I spoke about it.

I had spent my secondary school feeling so many emotions that I didn't understand. I was young, unknowing about emotions and I was hurting. But I was hurting in silence, hurting behind a perfectly constructed mask I had spent a few years building myself. Time went on and these feelings became worse. I started to realise these emotions were getting the better of me and I found myself in a repeated cycle of unhappiness and feeling lost.

My secondary school years just consisted of days where one moment I was okay, next moment I was at rock bottom. After feeling isolated from years of bullying, I eventually settled into a good friendship group, and then shitty people left me alone. I felt like I gained abit of control back in my life in that respect, it meant that I had something good in my life, which is what I really needed. But I kept feeling down, I kept worrying at every little thing. I'd tend to eat nothing or eat 6 meals a day, I'd constantly feel tired and sometimes everything felt too much.

I wanted to talk, but I didn't know where to go. I opened up to a few of my online friends, but they discounted anything I said to them, and I found myself in a situation where I felt surrounded by people who didn't believe what I was saying, and instead were making fun of me. There are only so many times you can hear someone tell you that you're just seeking attention when you were crying out for help. I wanted to talk to someone at school, but I couldn't bare to do so, after a separate story that changed me for the worst. I didn't feel comfortable opening up to them, because I knew how awfully and terrifyingly they dealt with similar situations. I was alone, and I had to accept that.

The next few years were very much the same. In my time at sixth form, I tried to talk to anyone about how I was feeling, but I was often too scared to or if I did, I just said I was feeling rough. At the end, I gave up completely. I put back on the mask and continued my studies, whilst continuing down into a spiral of unhappiness. At one point, I nearly went to my tutor to talk because I wanted to get these emotions out and I didn't know where else to turn. But instead of opening up, I carried on with unbearable emotions and hoped I would start a new chapter at university.

I struggled through my A2 levels, my mental health completely blocked me from doing anything, but I managed to scrape the results I needed to get me ABB and get me into my firm university choice.

I went to university, and this is where everything started to look up. I went to university off a really bad month, losing the two closest people in my life and I spent the few weeks before I went feeling really low and relatively suicidal. And I meant it then, I was struggling with everything and it felt like one thing after another was against me, and I felt like the only way of anything improving was simply to cease to exist. The week or two before I went to uni were the two weeks of my life where I was at my lowest, but thankfully I stayed alive and went to university.

I wanted a new start, and I found one. I really did. I stay in contact with my best friends from school, naturally, but I was lucky enough to find myself settled into a good bunch of friends. My mental health still fluctuated, I really struggled at points to get out of bed, to talk to anyone and to do anything. In some ways, the stresses of all the change at university and the whole meeting a brand new set of people made any feelings I had worse, but the awfulness of it was made easier through the people I was with and the fun I was having. I quit my part time job in December of my first year, which further alleviated any anxiety I was having (yes, work gave me alot of it) and I, for the first time in my life, felt happy, comfortable and accepted somewhere. I wasn't being picked on, I didn't feel alone or left out, I felt comfortable with the people around me and I enjoyed what I was doing.

For the first time, I opened up to someone and didn't get pushed away. Someone asked me if I was okay and for the first time in a few years, I said no. I finally had someone who believed me, someone who understood what I was saying and actually cared about it. It was almost like the entire weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders and instead was replaced with an infinite hug. When I finally had someone to talk to, someone who cared, my mental health started to slowly improve.

I had bad nights, I had some really bad nights but slowly and surely I had less bad nights, less bad days. Things that were thrown at me were easier to deal with, for the first time since everything had started, I saw a light at the end. It was a small, faint light, but I saw it.

This continued through my second year, to where I am now. I have had days where I felt like everything was too much, I still do. I had absolute rock bottom periods this year, where I nearly left everything behind and moments where I genuinely didn't wake up. But I have so many days where I am so happy that the bad days feel so little and unimportant. I look forward to waking up, I look forward to seeing what is in store. I am excited for my future, I am excited to see what each day brings. I know what to do if I'm not feeling as great as I can be, I understand my limits and I know that I have support and love from so many people.

I have so many amazing people in my life who care about me, and care about how I am instead of how I say I am.

I say all of this for a reason. I didn't think even 2 years ago that I would be alive, I genuinely didn't. Now I'm here, finishing my second year of university, with the best friends I could ask for, and my life genuinely looking to be on the up. None of this would have arguably happened, if I didn't make that first initial conversation.

If there is one thing mental health awareness week should be shouting, is that talking about mental health is the most important part in breaking any and all stigma. Talking it about it normalises it, and the more we normalise it the more people will feel okay about talking about how they're feeling. Talking about it makes other people comfortable about it. Talking it breaks down barriers, breaks down the idea that mental illness is just attention seeking and that mental health isn't real.

I've spent nearly 9 years of my life with mental health fluctuations in some ways, and only in the last 2 years have I felt like I can talk about it. The stigma is being broken slowly around mental health, but it still isn't enough.

Approximately 1/4 people will experience a mental health difficulty, with 1/6 experiencing a common mental health problem each week. This figure is nearly 1/3 for students.

Female suicide rates are at their highest and the highest rates for suicide in 2017 were males between 40-44, and in general terms, males are 3 times more likely to commit suicide.

Mental health awareness week is here to lower these. Whilst so much work is being done to emphasise that it is okay to talk about mental health, there is so much left to be done.

And awareness starts with you. It starts by opening a conversation, making sure you're friends, family, peers, colleagues etc are okay, and are genuinely okay. It's putting your arm round a friend and it's starting the conversation that could lead a person to be able to carry on. I can say that these types of conversation are a huge part of how I am typing this, how I had the strength in me to continue going. It's the message that reminds me in my worst moments that yes, people do care about me and would care if I wasn't here.

A conversation is why I am here. A conversation is why so many others are here. A conversation is all it takes to help someone in their road of recovery.

Because if anything is important this week, it is talking. Making sure people are aware that it is okay to not be okay, as long as they aren't giving up.