Speaking out about struggles with mental health is something that has become more and more normalized and welcomed in today’s society. When most people sense there is something wrong in your life, they accept it and allow a space for you to express what has been going on. 

I’ve seen this is the case for many young people, but in my experience, unless people already know you have an abundance of trauma or problems, there’s no way there can be something wrong. 

In my experience, being the outgoing friend who is always down to have a good time and wants to lift everyone’s spirits can have its downfalls. When my problems come to the surface, and I express any emotion that isn’t happiness or excitement, it becomes invalid. I should stick to what I know. 

This can be a hard pill to swallow for someone who loves their friends and does not want to burden people with their sadness. 

Over the past two years, I have dealt with an immense amount of depression, mainly stemming from the death of my grandfather. My entire life before he had passed, I had always been the light in a room, a good time, and someone who was always filled with excitement. 

After Feb. 2, 2024, I became a shell of the person I once was. I was sad constantly, did not want to leave my bed and was angry at the world around me. I could go days without leaving my bed or my room and lost all appetite for food, causing me to spiral and hit an all-time low. Though not as bad as it once was, I carried this sadness into my freshman year of college. 

I did not understand how to cope with what I was feeling, so I decided to stick to what I knew, being happy. I tried and tried to be the excited girl I once was, who always saw the bright side of things and whose only goal was to make the people around her laugh. 

It was like having a 50-pound weight on my shoulders constantly. It was exhausting trying to be someone I no longer was, and when I could no longer uphold the mask, I slipped right back into old habits. 

I skipped class, slept until the late afternoon, and hid away from people for days at a time, only getting up to maybe go to class and shower. Hiding this life from the people around me, including my family, was hard. I was ashamed and embarrassed that I couldn’t be the person I was when I was 16 years old. 

It took lots of time and two years of therapy to finally learn that I could never be that girl again, that I had grown out of her body and into a new person who had to learn how to deal with the hard issues of the world. Once I accepted that, the weight slowly started to dwindle. I became more open with what I was dealing with and accepted help instead of being embarrassed about it. 

I still hold some of that weight, but now it balances me, and I am okay with having that sadness, because it makes every moment that isn’t sad ten times more enjoyable. 

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