to the past four years...

warning: my post is going to be raw and talk about extremely hard topics. If mental health issues can be triggering for you, or you don't want to read about my honest experience, please do not continue.


I give myself dates. I tell myself: get to your next birthday, get to friday, get to May, get to walking down the stage at graduation. These weren't dates to just help me power through the trials and tribulations of everyday, but dates for me to keep myself alive till.

I am clinically diagnosed with severe general and social anxiety. As a result, I was also diagnosed with severe depression in my sophomore year of high school. 

I would say my high school journey doesn't completely follow that of a typical student, but it does follow the path of someone deeply struggling with mental illness. My days were filled with the normal events of homework and balancing work and friends-- but they were also filled with panic attacks and break downs. I went on 5 different medicines, changed through four therapists, and went down a black hole my junior year. This hole was one I thought was inescapable.

As someone who has always been draw to english, I journaled everything. All my negative thoughts were scribbled down in three journals throughout high school-- tracking my ups and my lows.

On November 5, 2017 I wrote: "it comes with great sadness and a heavy heart that I finally have reached this point of nothingness. I don't know if I even want to get better anymore because that means setting myself up to fall again."

On December 7, 2018 (a year later) I wrote: "I keep setting dates to make it to, but it is just getting harder and harder. Life would just be much better without me."

I was spiraling into a pit of depression and suicidal tendencies. Every day grew harder. Getting out of bed was a challenge and the things that mattered once before suddenly just didn't. I had pushed all of my friends away, ending some relationships permanently, and was making poor decisions. My grades and attendance were slipping and it was looking less and less likely I was going to make it to my goal of graduation.

A year later, in 2019, I was lost in a world of self harm. My journal entries were written as though I were already dead: "I was never there and pushed you all away. I guess I must really like to see myself hurt. Please forgive me."

I began writing lists of what I had to do before I finally committed to my exit from the world. I wrote lists of things to give to certain friends. I wrote letters. I wrote last wishes. I was ready for the end.

I want to say high school was the best four years of my life and I want to say I loved every second of it, but that would truly be a lie. These past four years have been the toughest test of my own strength. They have challenged me by hitting my rock bottom. But more importantly, it is through Millbrook that I was able to still go on.

My parents never let me quit. They gave me love and support for days but they would not let me stop. My therapy became more intense, I started sleeping in their bedroom on a mattress on the floor, and I wasn't allowed to be alone. This felt embarrassing as a junior in high school. But quickly, my attendance rose and with it my grades.

I committed myself to what I was involved with at school-- constantly looking for the joy in it. Through wrestling managing and the foundation I was involved with, I gained gratitude and created new families who were not blood. Through MEB, I began to recognize my strengths and see purpose. Through IB, my brain kept stimulated and my passion for learning grew. Through my school friends, I felt the warmth of human connection and stayed sane.

My teachers were my nurses. My friends the vistors that cheered me up. And Millbrook was my lifeline.

I owe my growth to many-- my parents, my friends, and all the ib students/teachers. I owe it to myself. But I don't just owe you my growth, I owe you my life.

In July 2019 I wrote: "There are days I feel just as I did filling up the pages earlier in this journal. There are some days I feel worse. But more often, there are days I don't. There are days I smile without a mask. There are days I feel more than emptiness and numbness. There is laughter, there is love, and there is hope. It gets better. Thank you to everyone. I love you all."

And since that day, I have yet to write another page in that journal. In fact, I started a new one devoted to the light in my life instead.

I guess what I have to leave you with is this: life is tough, but so are you. We are all humans. We come from the same dust. We all go through rock bottoms (probably a few across a lifetime) and we have to fight like hell to get out of them. But you can and you will, eventually. I will continue to have bad days and I continue to struggle with my disorders but I wake up knowing what a miracle it is to be alive.

I set dates. I probably won't get to walk across that stage to celebrate this remarkable feat. However, I know that it is not in the glory of a finish line but in the strength of the stride. It is what got me here and what keeps me going. It is in knowing I am still alive and knowing all of you are too-- for that, I am forever thankful.