*TW* In Retrospect - I am 1 in 4

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By Laura Owen

I am fairly apprehensive to write this post, considering that many of you may not know the extent of my experiences with mental illness. BUT, given that my goal is to promote self-care, self-love, and honesty, I am willing to share this story.

In retrospect, I’ve always had prominent signs of anxiety growing up. I would cry at school if I didn’t do things “perfectly”, and would have panic attacks, where I would cry in my room, for what appeared to be no apparent reason. If I didn’t perform perfectly during a sporting event or match, I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I put way too much pressure on myself for the most minuscule things.

I kept a great facade

Because of all my pent-up anxieties, I developed depression and disordered eating habits that carried on for years (starting in middle school). I would meticulously look at food labels and make sure I wasn’t consuming more than X calories or X fat grams per day, and would work out until I couldn’t breathe. Because my weight was never clinically in the danger zone, no one really noticed, because I kept a great facade. I was so good at hiding my illness that I never really thought I had a problem because I was never the skinniest person in the room. I would watch documentaries on Anorexia and Bulimia for hours, because it was so relatable. It was also extremely triggering. I became obsessed with staying healthy to the extent that I wasn’t eating much at all. I’d get dizzy throughout classes, and almost always skip lunch if I could.

I was anemic, tired, and distracted for pretty much all of my high school career. All whilst doing sports. Year-round. I participated in swimming, volleyball, softball, and even tried indoor soccer – will have another post on sports and mental illness, later – I felt unstoppable.

I could be even ‘better’ if I tried

If someone did comment on my weight, I would brush it off like it was nothing. I couldn’t see it, anyway. I would push back all the logistics of what I was doing to myself. Instead I’d argue with my rationality that what I was doing was fine. And that I could be even “better” if I tried.

Ironically, sports were what saved me. Yes, I had so many maladaptive behaviors, but I would have never been able to complete high school if it weren’t for sports. I would have continued spiraling downward into this never-ending hole. Sports were my kryptonite. But so was my eating disorder. I couldn’t choose both, but I tried to, anyway. Whenever I would go to games with my team, I would notice the effect my disordered eating had on my performance. That, in turn, triggered my negative self-talk and perfectionism. Pretty much the only time I made myself eat was right before a game and/or after for dinner.

I was in psychological agony. No one could see how hard I was trying, and no one could tell how severely I was suffering.

My first year of college was so exciting, but I felt alone. I had terrible chest pains, and my arms and legs were going numb every single day. I slept too much, and took 3 hour naps on a regular basis because I was so tired. Worried my eating habits had gone down the gutter and that I was developing heart problems, I decided to make an appointment with a doctor on campus. They ran EKGs, ECGs, and blood tests to rule out anything serious. But what I wasn’t expecting was to be declared medically stable.

I didn’t want to admit something was wrong

A few days after the visit, I received a call from the office asking if I could come in that day. Sitting in the dull, fluorescent room, I wanted so badly to understand what was wrong with me.

Anxiety.

I was diagnosed with a Generalized Anxiety Disorder and EDNOS in 2014, an eating disorder not otherwise specified (one that doesn’t fit into the strict categories of Anorexia or Bulimia). The doctor on site essentially forced me to book an appointment with Counseling Services, and I was scared shitless. I didn’t want to admit something was wrong with me. I’d much rather have to deal with a physical illness rather than a psychological one. The stigma surrounding mental illnesses was something I never thought I would be a part of.

Looking back, however, I could not be more grateful for the services that were offered to me. I was able to receive treatment and medication, that I would never have received if I hadn’t been referred to them. Not to say the experience wasn’t taxing; it was. I cried in therapy every session, which made me even more distressed (this was before I was on medication).

College triggers a lot of underlying issues

I would come back to my dorm feeling drained and depressed because so much was wrong with me on a psychological level, questioning why I couldn’t be more normal like my friends. I would stay fairly secluded in my room until I had to go to classes. Sometimes I couldn’t even make it to those. No one ever mentions to you that college triggers a lot of underlying issues, that tend not to surface until you’re too far into the rabbit hole to comprehend what’s happened.

I hope this resonates with people going through a similar experience. Break the stigma of mental health and talk about it.

Reproduced with permission, originally posted on theplatheffect.com