Faux pas: a significant or embarrassing error or mistake
Society has always found a way to place a label on situations we don't understand. These ideals are the reason I have kept this story to myself for many years. It's the fact that blurting out my past with mental health would create a "faux pas" or discomfort due to the unbeknownst. If I'm even more honest, I don't speak of it because I still have much to forgive, including friends who are still in my life today. To get right down to it, yes, I have faced the darkest of ailments due to mental illness. It started when I was seven and decided to Google the word "depression" after noticing I had a constant tic of feeling like the world hated me. At that time, I was the youngest in my family and convinced that I was the most unintelligent, lanky and annoying seven-year-old anyone could encounter. Soon after a deep dive into the web, I decided to diagnose myself with depression. A few days after dealing with the most toxic thoughts a kid could have, I tried to hang myself in my bedroom closet. I was seven, and I wanted nothing to do with the next years of my life. As kids do, I forgot, so my failed attempt was pushed to the back of my mind and never spoken of again. At fifteen years old, those thoughts came rushing back. At first, I convinced myself it was "seasonal depression." I was convinced that something about the Winter just caused lethargy, depression and overall sadness. To fight this off, I joined my school's Lacrosse team and focused on becoming the best at something I was afraid of. It's what I do best. These thoughts would come and go, but the worst it had gotten was a few nights of crying myself to sleep in the bathroom next to the toilet. Another symptom? Heightened phobias, which luckily for me caused the Emetophobia I still deal with today. Countless nights of convincing myself I'd be sick, so I'd skip meals, deal with cramping (hunger) and hours of telling my mom I was going to throw up. My longest stint of this led me to the hospital one night, where my parents were told it was just an episode of extreme anxiety that I could take medication for. I still have never taken medication for my mental illness... The worst days. Those began my junior year of high school. I had hurled over the first break-up, mean girls and any normal teenage angst. One day I woke up and simply didn't feel the need to get up, turn the lights on or move an inch. I won't bring my parents into my story because that's another level of personal, and they did the best they could at the time. I was left to my own demise most of the time, and I still believe that made me the bravery I have today. This stint lasted days, weeks and finally a month after not making it into classes, I asked my mom if I could drop out. My dad had left work every day to come lay next to me in a pitch-black room, on a bed soaked with tears, while my mom presented me with a new speech about the future. I didn't want anything to do with the idea of living another day. Finally, one day it got to be too much. I was seeing a young therapist at the time, and after letting her know I had contemplated suicide, she asked my mom to take me to the hospital. At the time, I was so confused. I had never been admitted to a hospital, but now I was going in because my brain was acting up? I was embarrassed, to say the least, but I was also curious to know how they'd deal with me. I was given a wristband and put in a room overnight before I was transferred to a facility further away. The nurses placed me on a bed and threw me in the back of an ambulance, with my mom by my side. One of the EMTs tried distracting me the entire drive, which ended up being close to an hour. Once we got there, I was seated in a room with a handful of nurses who began taking in my information. Still, I sat there in a hospital gown whaling and begging my mom to not leave me in an inpatient facility. To cut to the good part, the head nurse who evaluated me pulled my mom aside and told her she wouldn't leave me there if she, was my mother. She noticed I was definitely in pain, but medication and being locked in a room with a stranger wasn't going to be my fix. We walked out and went straight to an outpatient facility the nurse had recommended. I spent almost a month being dropped off every morning to sit in a room with other teenagers, who were in the same shoes. After three weeks, I was discharged early for excelling and showing improvement. Those days still seem like a complete blur. Where were my friends? Who checked in on me? That's what I meant by I still have so much to forgive. Once the next semester rolled around, I was back on my feet, and I joined my friends at school, where nobody questioned my absence. Things were fine until life slapped me in the face a few too many times. In 2017 I lost my aunt to Colon cancer, she was a pillar in my life and like a mother to me. Then a few weeks later, I moved out on my own and started a new job. I loved the new place. After a few months, I had new friends, and I became the manager of people twice my age. My time there was comfortable until it was everything but. One of the bakers took a liking to me, and one assault turned into five. I was filled with rage, not at it him but myself. How could I let that happen to me? Wasn't I the stone-cold girl that nobody could mess with? I've always been told I'm a bit too scary for my size. I took pride in that until someone ripped it away. I was forced into a freezing walk-in refrigerator on multiple occasions, but I'll save the gory details for never. I didn't say a word to anyone for months. At the time, I was also in a toxic relationship, so to say the least, I was going through it. It was a recipe for disaster, and ultimately the result wasn't pretty. One day after telling everyone what had happened, I tried again. This time I was 18, and I wasn't hoping to fail. I'm not sure what happened between that day and now because it's still difficult to dive into the past. All I know is my parents stepped up, and I found someone more than supportive. My new therapist was also heaven-sent and taught me a handful of techniques. I will say, it didn't get better until I decided to change my mindset. Last year I lost my uncle and great-grandmother to COVID. I thought that would be it. That was the cherry on top that was going to make me lose it. But I didn't. Everything I had worked hard for was at my fingertips, and I had built something for myself so great that I wouldn't dare knock it down. A few days ago, I graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BA in Strategic Communications, a Minor in Business Administration and Entrepreneurship certification. Only a few years ago, I laid in a pitch-black room begging my mom to let me drop out of high school so I could get my GED. I ran out of college classes countless times because my anxiety convinced me I would be sick in the middle of class. There were many nights when I convinced myself I wasn't capable, but that mindset lost. I share this for those of you who have been there, are there now or will, unfortunately, find this relatable in the future. We all see this side of ourselves, it's human. There is a layer of strength we don't reveal until it's vital. I hope that you never have to use it, but life is filled with unknowns. Mental Health Awareness Month will come and go, but we are here every day to work towards a better us. I'm not what happened to me or who I was when I was down, I'm the woman I chose to be today. The one who got out of bed and checked off every item on her to-do list and works non-stop because that's what makes her feel good. There is beauty in the future, even when it seems daunting.
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Hi there!I'm Ralda - a food enthusiast and lifestyle blogger. As a college student I understand how difficult it can be set time aside to care for yourself. My goal is to share with others how incorporating plant-based meals can create greater strides for your health and well-being. Join me as I find cruelty-free alternatives to holistically improve mentally and physically! |