My polished highlight reel genuinely reflects the countless wonderful and wholesome moments I experienced in 2023, for which I am deeply grateful. Yet, as I pieced it together, I felt a strong urge to share the moments that didn’t make the cut.
On the surface, it might have seemed like I was living the perfect dream – collecting academic achievements, landing a NASA internship, moving to a city I adore, feeling fulfilled by my work, and meeting the most incredible people along the way. Although now I do feel like I am living the dream, 12 months ago, I was drowning in pain so deep that I couldn’t see a way to resurface, let alone imagine that some of the best months of my life were just around the corner.
I’m sharing the full narrative here to remind people that behind every highlight reel is a real person with their own unique and complex story. And for those who are struggling right now, to remind you that you aren’t alone, and these darker days can and will pass.
*Content warning* – this post contains topics about suicide.
My relationship with my mind has been a less-than-stellar one for the majority of my life, and much of what I’ve shared about it in the past and am sharing here could have been handwritten in a journal to be closed and never looked at again. But, having felt the pain of losing loved ones to suicide and dealing with suicidal tendencies myself, I’ve shamelessly embraced openness about my experiences, hoping to reduce the stigma around mental health discussions – especially those about ideation and acts of suicide.
I had a change of heart when I moved to Los Angeles, a city of dreams and perfect Instagram feeds. I took it as an opportunity to reinvent myself as someone who had their life perfectly stitched together. This wasn’t a play of shame, rather a personal experiment in healing by detaching from the part of me that seemed to always be in a tug-of-war with life. The move marked the end of my era of oversharing, not because I planned to trauma dump on strangers, but as a change in how I viewed and related to myself.
I’m not ashamed of my mental health struggles, nor am I truly hiding it. My old posts on the subject are still out there for the curious souls. Those who read my short-lived mental health blog still hold those memories. So, while I had a good run of playing pretend, my strategy is flawed.
As 2023 wrapped up, the 2023 year-end highlight reels flooded in. I initially wanted to follow suit and call it a day, but I felt a strong pull to go beyond the shiny façade. Our interconnected, social media-driven world masks reality, often only showing the sunniest of days, making us forget that the cloudy days don’t discriminate. So, I’m choosing to share the reality of my year that didn’t make my “I have my shit together” persona’s carefully curated posts.
I headed into 2023 at a new level of rock bottom. The first time I found myself in a psychiatric unit felt like rock bottom, but this time was much deeper and much rockier. If I had a loyalty card for inpatient psychiatric stays, this would be my third stamp in five years. At this point, the nurses, the intimidating meetings with the most doctors I’d ever seen in one room, the grippy socks, the soft bathroom door with a Velcro hinge, and the trays of rubbery eggs for breakfast felt a little too familiar. Yet, something was very different this time; it was the closest I had ever been to not making it to that, now routine, grippy sock vacation… and for the first few days, I wasn’t even relieved that I had.
I woke up at the end of 2022 confused and in a hospital bed, emotionally numb and physically broken. I spent 35 hours in that emergency room laying in my own blood, sweat, tears, and vomit before I was escorted by wheelchair to the psychiatric unit, where I could finally shower off the remnants of the traumatizing event from two nights prior. It took days for me to tell my family where I was, and those I didn’t tell were left wondering why I wasn’t at Thanksgiving dinner. I started 2023 under 24/7 watch, stripped of anything potentially harmful and spending my days reading, journaling, and distancing myself from the digital world.
My family, friends, then-boyfriend, and advisor all suggested rethinking grad school and my upcoming NASA JPL internship. They were probably right, but I’m stubborn. The dream of working for NASA was too strong, and the only life I could imagine outside of academia was living in a van in the mountains; as a broke grad student, a livable van wasn’t in my budget. I didn’t know if a 9-5 would be better suited for me than research. I didn’t know if a new city and a fresh start would be healing or if I needed the familiarity of my college town. I didn’t know if it was the pressure of grad school, the unhealthy relationship I was in, the isolation of post-Covid life and living alone, or simply the wiring of my brain that was plummeting my mental health. I didn’t know anything. But moving to LA and starting an internship seemed like a good opportunity to begin a process of elimination.
Initially, my move to LA was supposed to be about pursuing my NASA dream. Post-hospital stay, that took a backseat to the more pressing matter of rediscovering my drive to live. I vividly remember the moment after a few weeks of reflecting when I told myself and the people around me, “I don’t know yet how I feel about being here, but I do know that I never want to put myself or anyone else through that again – so I’m here, and I’m here for the long haul.” And from that moment on, I did everything I could to “build a life worth living” (Marsha M. Linehan).
What became of that lengthy and incredibly challenging journey was unexpected. 2023 was the year I crawled out from rock bottom and found my way to a vantage point more stable, fulfilling, and brimming with hope than I previously thought possible; it became the year I am most proud of.
- I stayed in grad school, but I allowed myself to slow down, guilt-free.
- I reflected deeper and more honestly than ever before.
- I took my mental health seriously and life a little less seriously.
- I trusted the process and finally found an effective medication.
- I said my final goodbye to the unhealthy relationship.
- I parted ways with my love for late night work sessions and all-nighters (though my sleep patterns are taking their sweet time adjusting. Old habits die hard).
- The Solidcore studio became my second home, and I started truly realizing the importance of fitness and nutrition on mental wellbeing.
Most importantly, I learned radical acceptance, and through that process, I gained more control. That girl that woke up ungratefully in a hospital bed is still a part of me, and I’m content believing she always will be. What came of this year is that I now know how to understand her, accept her, and let her feel; I know how to soothe her when she’s feeling a little too overwhelmed; and I know how to appreciate and learn from her, because she teaches me more about the complexity of the human condition than any other experience in life.
So, to anyone struggling, know that every aspect of you deserves love, compassion, and grace. Healing isn’t immediate or linear, but it is possible. And in those times when the more challenging parts of you need extra attention, remember it’s only temporary. Lastly, be kind to others, because behind every polished highlight reel is a real story, complete with the highs we often see and the lows we often don’t.
Why I chose to share this
“What I write, bad as it is, may provide some hurt or sad soul a few moments of distraction from something worse. That’s enough for me, or it isn’t enough, but it serves some purpose, and so it is with all of life.”
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
If you are an individual that believes this is an attention-seeking act, that mental health struggles amount to weakness, etc., I hope that this provides some perspective. If it doesn’t, please kindly move along. My fear of judgment and/or being shunned is outweighed by my fear of perpetuating stigma, and this wasn’t written for you. This was written for those feeling isolated in their battles; those currently unable to see that their storm will pass; those who wish to deepen their understanding of the complexities of mental health; those silently enduring “high functioning” depression, anxiety, ADHD, etc. who are exhausted by the mask they wear; and those who want the judgment, misunderstanding, and stigma surrounding mental health to be challenged as much as I do.
The devastating reality is that stigmatizing mental health illnesses fosters isolation and a profound sense of being misunderstood. This often leads people to suffer alone, exacerbating their symptoms. I openly share because there are countless individuals fighting a fight needing support that they don’t know how to, or are afraid to, seek. This year took a positive turn for me, largely due to the unwavering support of those around me who engaged in open discussions, helped problem solve, shared humor in it (a personal coping mechanism, not universal), researched to understand, and stood by me without judgment. Yet, that support had always been there, long before my close call with death, but I was afraid to reach out, even to medical professionals. I was unsure how to explain my thought patterns, feared being a burden, and wanted to cope alone – reinforced by the circulating judgments around depression, SI, etc.
This is also not a plea for pity, sympathy, or worry. It’s simply a lifelong struggle of mine that, over time, I’ve come to understand better and even appreciate. Because the dark days make the bright days brighter, deepen my love and compassion for others, and enrich my understanding of the human condition.
I want to specifically address the topic of suicide because it is a major public health concern that is especially shrouded in silence and judgment. The heartbreaking reality is that harsh, uncompassionate reactions to suicide like the ones listed below are not uncommon:
- He didn’t do enough to get help.
- He was selfish.
- She was ungrateful for her gift of life.
- She took the easy/cowardly way out.
- Life is difficult for everyone, but you don’t see me giving up.
These reactions only perpetuate silence and shame for both the bereaved and those struggling with suicidal thoughts themselves. Mental health is complex and unique to each individual, so I can only speak for myself, but I wish I could scream from the rooftops that suicidal ideation is not a matter of will, weakness, ungratefulness, or selfishness. It’s an illness that is often not born from logic or reason and can be fatal. It’s an illness that pits your brain against you – sometimes making you feel as though you are trapped in a mind that doesn’t want you, and in a world that doesn’t understand you. It can become a feeling of loneliness, hopelessness, and burden so deep that it’s near impossible to see a way out without proper help.
In my own experience, despite generally considering myself a happy, laid-back, appreciative-of-life’s gifts person, there’s often a persistent heaviness intertwined with my happiness. At times that my mental health isn’t in an ideal place, I can be blindsided during blissful moments with the feeling that my logical and outward facing self is suddenly putting on a show featuring a fake smile, a fake laugh, and a hidden inward battle with a disparate part of my mind. This internal conflict is difficult for me to rationalize and for others to comprehend. The part of my mind itching to takeover in those moments seems to embody a person that is just utterly exhausted by the weight of her unprocessed feelings, the overwhelm she feels in simple day-to-day life, the sleep deprivation, and the intensity of her emotions, which, ironically, are often the positive ones.
Most of the time, my depressed self and my not-depressed self coexist in one crowded, overactive mind, both fighting for dominance over my behavior. On some days, my depressed self wins, draining my energy to find joy in the rising sun, which instead feels like nothing more than a dreadful signal that it’s time to begin the exhausting task of getting through another day. On other days, my depressed self feels alien. Recalling the days I couldn’t get out of bed; socialize with or even text back the people I cherish; be in love with my work; or simply be in awe at the beauty of the sunset or the feeling of a cool breeze feels like recalling a movie I didn’t act in.
My medical history pertaining to my mental health is a tapestry of maybe-diagnoses and tried medications. While I may never fully understand my condition in the context of DSM-5, I am acutely aware of my tendency to feel as though a ‘regular’ day is insurmountable and wonder how people around me seem to do it with ease. That tendency combined with my spontaneity (doctors like to caution me that I can border on reckless impulsivity) is a perilous mix.
At times, I do question if my mental health challenges are signs of weakness, echoing external judgements. This leads me to think that maybe I could have complete control over my thoughts if I were a stronger-willed person. However, a recent medication issue this fall surprisingly served as a reaffirming experience, as it brought back intense feelings of despair akin to those felt by the girl that was laying in the hospital bed at the beginning of the year. For a moment, I thought I had lost all the progress made throughout the year. But taking a moment to understand that the feelings were a side effect of the medication withdrawal reminded me that certain aspects of the inner workings of my brain are beyond my control – but manageable with the right resources. That realization reinforced the idea that it isn’t a matter of strength versus weakness. It’s about understanding, accepting, and managing those feelings with grace. It was then that I knew I hadn’t lost all progress, and I found I had more control than ever before.
While I continue to learn better control over my thought patterns, I am painfully aware that many have already tragically lost the battle with their mind. This reality hits close to home, as some of those people were close to my heart. My hope is that efforts like this will contribute to lessening the stigma surrounding mental health and begin opening up more vulnerable conversations that lead to supportive communities. Mental health statistics and recent global events make it highly likely that more people around you need to know they aren’t alone than you might think. At the very least, I hope it can be a reminder to check in with your friends, even the ones that seem to be doing well; to know that everyone has their own story, so something like a cold remark from a coworker is only the surface of a very complex picture; and, lastly, to know that there are compassionate people in this world who will not judge you, who will try to understand you, and who will never see you as a burden.
To my friends and family, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. To those who stood by me during my darkest moments this year, I apologize for any worry I caused, and I am forever grateful to you for helping me through those times. To the friends I made in LA, I can’t thank you enough for the authentic connections that were built and for unknowingly helping me heal in ways I couldn’t have managed without you.
(and I blame each and every one of you for the only tear that fell throughout this entire writing process — my love and gratitude for you is too great to capture in words)
If you or someone you care about is in a suicidal, mental health, and/or substance use crisis, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline to talk with a caring, trained counselor. It is free, confidential, and available 24/7.
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