Wednesday, March 21, 2018

My Story Is Not Over

I have always loved tattoos. I think there is something really cool about using your body as a canvas. I don't think there is anything wrong with getting a tattoo just because you think it looks cool or pretty, but I do think there is something special about getting a tattoo that holds a deeper meaning. Over the past few years, I have seen something called "Project Semicolon" popping up around social media. This project was born from a social media movement in 2013. It is described as "a movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those who are struggling with depression, suicide, addiction, and self-injury. Project Semicolon exists to love, and inspire." If you are wondering how a semicolon fits in to all of this, here's how:

A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but didn't. The author is you and the sentence is your life.

This movement was originally created as a day where people were encouraged to draw a semicolon on their body and post a picture, but it quickly grew into something greater and more important. Today, people all over the world are tattooing the mark as a reminder of their struggle, victory, and survival. Here's where my story comes in.

I grew up living a pretty normal life. I have 2 parents, 4 siblings, and I had lots of friends. I was involved in my youth group as well as clubs and school activities. When my junior year of high school came around, I noticed something different about myself. I started having days where I didn't want to get out of bed, or where I felt completely alone even though I was surrounded by people. Although this seemed unusual for me, I sort of brushed it all aside because, everyone has those days, right? I didn't think anything of it until my family took a summer vacation to the beach. The whole week we were there, I found myself not wanting to get out of bed. I think I only went to the beach two times the entire week. I told my parents that I thought I might be depressed, although I wasn't sure why, because I had a perfectly happy life. As time went on, I found myself having more and more of those days. I would get so anxious that I would throw up over what seemed like the stupidest things, I never wanted to leave my bed, and even though I knew that I had so many people that loved me, I felt like no one did. People in my life knew that I was struggling, but I don't think anyone ever realized how bad it was, because I tried so hard to be happy.

Flash forward to my freshman year of college. I moved into a dorm at UNT with a roommate and everything was set in stone. I was going to have the perfect 4 year university experience and I wouldn't let my depression or anxiety change that, or so I thought. A few weeks into classes, I found myself stuck in a routine of waking up, going to class, going home, and sleeping until I had to wake up and go to class again. I hadn't made any friends or joined any clubs. I had such bad anxiety that I would have to leave class to throw up or have a panic attack. Throughout this time, I was seeing a therapist, but after each session I only felt more anxious. After a few weeks of feeling anxious, lonely, tired, and sick all the time, I did not want to live my life like that anymore. Most of my thoughts turned into thoughts of not wanting to live anymore. I was so anxious that I barely ever slept, I had thoughts racing through my head constantly, and I started to hurt myself. I reached out to a friend about how I had been feeling, and that friend told my mom. Although I was very angry with my friend at the time, what she did ended up being a very good thing. Right away, my mom picked me up from school and the next day we went to the doctor. My doctor recommended that I get evaluated by a mental health specialist at a psychiatric hospital, where I was then admitted into the hospital's inpatient program for seven days.

My stay in the hospital consisted of daily visits with a psychiatrist, nurses, an individual therapist and multiple group therapy sessions. The first few days were hard. During group sessions, I would listen to other people tell their stories, and I felt like I had nothing to tell. Everyone seemed to have a reason to be there except me. I was just a normal girl with a normal life who couldn't get it together. When I was telling my story, one person even replied with, "Well, it seems like you have it all together." This almost made it more frustrating, because I couldn't find the root of my problem. I did not have any built up anger or guilt, I just got nervous and/or sad sometimes. After being in the hospital a few days, I was able to learn more about what depression and anxiety really mean. They don't have to be accompanied by a tragic back story. Sure, they can be caused by certain events or situations, but they can also be genetic. Depression can be caused by a combination of genes and stress that affect brain chemistry. Throughout my stay in the hospital, I met a lot of interesting people and heard their stories. That was the first time that I didn't feel alone. I learned that there are so many people like me. I also learned about alternative, healthy ways to cope with my anxiety and depression. After my discharge, I didn't go back to living a perfectly normal, happy life. I still struggled. But instead of coping in unhealthy ways, I used all of my new, healthy coping mechanisms.

Now after reading all of that, I bet you're probably wondering how I'm doing today, and the answer is, I'm living. It has been more than 2 and a half years since I was in the hospital, but I am not cured of depression or anxiety. Those are illnesses that I will probably struggle with for the rest of my life. I still have bad days. But those days are not every day. Those days are far outnumbered by the good days. In my story, I chose a semicolon because my story is not over. This tattoo will serve as a reminder to continue my story because those days are not every day and I will be okay.


Ever since I got this tattoo a few weeks ago, I have been contemplating sharing about it and what it means to me. I knew that I didn't have to post about it anywhere, that it could be personal. A reminder for just me. But then I thought about myself 3 years ago. I thought about how if someone had shared their story of victory and survival with me, how that could've helped. I am writing this today, to not only spread awareness about the topic of mental illness, but in hopes of helping someone who could be going through something like I did. If you or someone you know is struggling, don't be afraid to ask for help. If I had waited much longer, I might not be here. I will link some resources where you can learn more about mental illness, warning signs, anxiety, depression, suicide, suicide prevention, and ways you can take action.

1 comment:

  1. Addi, thank you. You have always been such a precious person whom I have admired. I bet you thought Everyone Knew what you have shared here, but I didn't. I have loved the semi colon project for years. I'm glad you have explained it here for those who might not be familiar with it. Telling our stories is so important. I'm especially glad the transformation testimonies were an encouragement to you and all of us! Continue to be gentle with yourself!

    ReplyDelete