Befriending My Mental Health Diagnosis
How putting a name on the way I feel has been healing
A year ago, I looked like a sad, skinny giraffe. At my height of 1,80m, my weight was shockingly low. I wasn’t a stranger to hearing concerned comments about my size. I used to respond by saying, “I only work out a lot,” or, “I’m still struggling with the break-up and don’t have an appetite”. I dismissed the concerns and support from my surroundings as I didn’t want to acknowledge that something was wrong. I was so deep in the spiral that I didn’t want to see it.
“The things we think we’re hiding from other people, we’re only really hiding from ourselves.” — Hazel Hayes
For most of the year, my body was in panic mode. It couldn’t relax to sleep, shed hair and shut down its reproductive system. It had to focus on more important things: surviving. It was only as I hit rock-bottom and realised that I couldn’t focus or enjoy anything anymore that I decided I wanted more of a life for myself. Even if it came at the cost of gaining weight.
The way I am telling this story makes it sound like I came to an analytical and linear decision to get better. In reality, this path was messy, lengthy and filled with setbacks and self-loathing. But after months of struggling, I improved to the point of living again, rather than just surviving. I could go through my day again and do all the things I used to, but I still couldn’t shake a fraction of the intrusive thoughts that had led me to the eating disorder in the first place. I had lost the ease of the before and couldn’t retrieve it. My support system had occasionally suggested that I go seek professional help and on Valentine’s Day, the day of (self-)love, I finally decided to do so.
Within 20 minutes of our conversation, the therapist opposite me diagnosed me with depression. It was apparently obvious to him — but his words caught me off-guard. I thought I was there for the eating disorder, and I’d allowed myself to grow acquainted with that term. This different diagnosis scared me and I also felt like he didn’t know me enough to come to such a radical conclusion.
Since this first conversation, I have learned the distinction between symptoms and the underlying cause. I was struggling to aim for perfection to fill the void the depression had left inside me, and I think the eating disorder emerged as a coping mechanism to regain power and control. While the acute symptoms of the eating disorder have been taken care of, the depression is still around. With the support of therapy, I want to learn to deal with it effectively.
As my diagnosis has been sitting with me, I have noticed contrary emotions coming up: it makes me feel both isolated and understood at the same time.
The state of my mental health has made me feel outcast for a while now. I struggle to let anyone physically or emotionally close to me. Since spiralling last year, I moved and met new people and they don’t know the before-me. They met me in the during and know me in the after, so I am not sure what they actually like me for. I struggle to trust them, as my self-worth is a battle ground right now and I’m not sure they would understand if I were to share this.
The diagnosis has made my isolation more apparent. I now have a piece of paper at home that attests my depression, yet nothing changed for the people around me. When I am with my friends, I feel like I am noticing another dimension that they don’t even know exists. My thoughts drift off and tend to settle on picking myself apart. Meanwhile, my peers’ minds spin around conventionally exciting topics like new relationships, adventures and career options. I can participate in their experiences but I am always preoccupied with a dark cloud along the path of life rather than enjoying the fun of the journey with them.
I have also been increasingly noticing the bitter tones and sharp knives in our mental health discourse. Most people in my life talk roughly to themselves, follow over-achieving tendencies and have a limited understanding of mental health. Imagining opening up to them about a sensitive topic like my diagnosis makes me very uneasy. I am scared to encounter negative responses and I am anxious that I won’t be accepted afterwards. It frustrates me that I can’t safely share a crucial part of myself right now — when deep down all I want is to connect.
Nevertheless, the diagnosis has also made me feel understood. I am not identifying with my depression — I know that I am more than my mental health condition. But putting a name on it has made it less scary. I now know I am not alone in the way I feel. I don’t wish depression or any other mental health condition on anyone, but the diagnosis has introduced a reference frame of whatever normal is back into my life. And it has put my mind a little at ease. I am starting to understand myself, allowing me to examine what I have been running from for so long. It feels good to finally look in the dark corners.
It is tremendously scary but the safety net of professional support has made it feel like I’ll be okay. This process opened my eyes to the potential of healing and growing, which I have been yearning for for so long. I feel like my silent battles have finally been validated; somehow the outside recognition has made it real and maybe even manageable. I am grateful to my therapist for using the term depression. The word, which was initially upsetting and uncomfortable, has ultimately helped me along my journey.
“Growth is often a painful process.” — Elbert Hubbard
Receiving a diagnosis has been a challenge, but it is healing to ask for help. There are safe places for you to open up and it is liberating to be completely honest with yourself. It takes courage to admit that you are not doing well, but you already have it within you when you are ready to take this step.
