What it’s really like to have mental health issues at NYU

I have struggled with a variety of mental disorders ranging from anorexia to depression to borderline personality. It was something that, at first, was very hidden. Even I didn’t know I had anorexia until I fainted and the doctors sent me to see a therapist. The thing about mental disorders is that you don’t even know when they hit you. It crawls up behind you, and when everyone starts telling you it isn’t normal to feel a certain way or it isn’t right to do a certain thing, then you start to question your whole identity. What have I been doing wrong? Why is everyone telling me I’ve been making careless decisions when it feels right?

Mental Disorders are like fleas: they latch onto you and then leap from one part of your body to another. They are so manipulative and secretive that they can transition into a whole other issue. After everyone found out about my eating disorder, I felt like I had lost control. I was frustrated. Why can’t I eat something that makes me feel good? Why do I need to follow someone else’s rules when it comes to something simple as eating? All of these questions slowly transgressed into, what is now, my depression and anxiety disorder.

After seeing countless therapists and psychiatrists, I began to think about my life as some kind of game of dominoes. Every major thing that happened to me — the divorce of my parents and the endless fights with my dad — has affected the way I am today. I realized the endless feelings of hopelessness during the divorce molded me into who I am now, and what I am struggling with at this moment.

I was prescribed medication, specifically, an antidepressant called Lexapro. Medication has always been a tricky issue. It made me upset that I had to put chemicals in my body because my brain was just not functioning as much as someone who does not have depression. So I purposely began to skip taking my medication. This led my mom and sister to be very frustrated with me. They were upset: Why would you not take something that is going to make you better? When they asked me that, I remember muttering “I don’t know.. I don’t know.” Because, truly, I didn’t know. Why wasn’t I taking something that can possibly make me feel “normal” again?

I began to realize why: it was how they reacted to the medication. It was like they were so dependent on the medication that every time I would have a meltdown, my mom and sister would always say, “I think the medication would help.” I felt ignored and most importantly, I felt even more helpless and powerless. It was the same feeling when they found out about my eating disorder: the feeling that my own control was being taken away. Why can’t they say anything, just anything, other than mentioning my medication? Every time they mentioned medication, I remember thinking, “I wish they could just say I am feeling like this because it is me. Because my depression is the one that is stealing my identity right now.”

Transitioning from the slow pace of New Jersey to the hustle and bustle of Washington D.C (A satellite campus NYU has for first-year liberal studies students) was something I was ready for. I was determined to make the next four years of my life at NYU the opposite of how I spent the four years of high school.

Vulnerability and self-doubt pervaded my mind

College, for me, was a chance to start over. I wanted to abandon my habits of restricting and self-harming. I was determined to come into college being someone else — someone who is “normal.” The first few weeks went  fairly well. I found a group of friends I got along with, and I had weekly therapist meetings in case my mood fluctuated again. I was actually OK.

But then everything went wrong. The thing is, nothing specific happened to me. There wasn’t this event that made me deteriorate. It kind of just happened. I suddenly began to feel so overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with having to think about what I ate, what I was going to eat and how I needed to find a time and place to be alone so I could self-harm. It was all too much. It made me think: what was the point? What’s the point of me being here, only thinking about things that are so not important? At that moment, I wanted to commit suicide. I remember thinking about what I should do and what I needed to do to make everything easy — not for me, but for the people around me. I wanted to be gone without hurting my mom, sister, and friends.

My tattoo, symbolizing the end of depression

I checked into the emergency room at the George Washington University Hospital that night. I remember being admitted to the psych ward and feeling very numb. I was scared. Scared of what was going to come and scared of what I would need to do to get through this.

My story doesn’t conclude with me saying that I am fine now and honestly, I don’t think I would ever be able to say that. Right now, I am in a constant cycle of struggles and pain. It’s like running a marathon without having a goal: I don’t know what’s to come. All I know is that I am so tired of feeling this way. Struggling with mental health in college is a scary thing, and I know I’m not the only person who faces these challenges. Hopefully one day, the road to recovery will be within my grasp.