A Young Woman’s Struggle
It was during my first year of college when the weight of the world suddenly became too much to bare.
I was overwhelmed with anxiety from upcoming assignment deadlines. I was confused about who the hell I was and what my purpose was in this world. I was in an unhealthy relationship – not abusive in any way, but we were kids, and in all fairness we weren’t right for each other. I carried around unresolved and ignored issues from my childhood that were rapidly bubbling to the surface. Everything I felt was intense in a way nobody seemed to understand. And despite having a loving family I felt alone in my grief.
Then one day, I broke.
It was the last day before the Christmas break. I was saying goodbye to my friends with hugs and wishing everyone a happy holiday, when an older student forced a kiss on me without warning. The entire room fell silent. Shocked and utterly humiliated, I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the lab. I felt everyone’s eyes staring at me as I desperately exited the room to get away from the situation.
I rode the bus part way home sobbing uncontrollably. People were staring with sympathetic faces but they were too scared to say anything, or god forbid hand me a Kleenex.
I couldn’t breathe. I got off the bus about 10 stops before mine and began walking towards home when the darkest, most hopeless thoughts came into my mind.
What if I just close my eyes and walk into traffic? I should wait for a big truck just to make sure I die hard and fast. Then all this shit would stop. It would end. I couldn’t take the pressure, the guilt, the self hate, the insecurity, not to mention all the assholes in the world. I just couldn’t handle any of it any more.
To be honest, I don’t remember how I made it home, but eventually I did. Still sobbing I made a phone call. I reached out and begged my boyfriend to pick me up because I almost killed myself and I needed to NOT be alone.
An hour later I was sitting in a restaurant surrounded by friends. While it didn’t make my problems disappear, it helped settle things enough for me to gain a bit of perspective.
To this day I am grateful for those friends who took time to save me from such deep, dark desperation and hopelessness. When I made that phone call, it saved my life. It gave me more time to breathe and begin the healing process.
Talking is Healing
Through the next several years I grew up, learned more about myself and my depression with the help of my psychologist.
I worked through years of issues that I didn’t have the strength or know-how to face before.
I opened up to friends and family. And I became stronger over time.
Because I talked about my troubles, I was able to work through deep rooted issues and move forward to build a happy life.
There is great power in talking to someone about our troubles. It may not end our suffering right away, but it will open the door to healing and pave a path to a happier, healthier life.
We NEED to talk. Don’t be ashamed of your feelings. Your feelings are valid. Your life is precious. Reach out and ask for help.
You are worth it.