MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS MONTH

Content warning: I talk a lot about mental disorders, depression, anxiety, and food-related issues. I try my best to not be graphic, but if you feel this may trigger you, I ask that you please take care of yourself and keep scrolling. There’s some funny shit on this website.

Disclaimer: This was written May 2019 but remains true in May 2020.

WELCOME TO MY JOURNEY. IN MY OWN WORDS.

So, May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I swear there’s a month for everything these days, but I feel I’d be doing a disservice to the people who follow me and find comfort in my honesty if I didn’t write about it. After all, I’m constantly writing about my growth and improvement as a person - but what may not be obvious is that I’m usually alluding to the things happening in my head, because on paper, the life of Sabreena doesn’t look so bad.

The years 2016 and 2017 were rough for me. Not only was I going through a lot of environmental changes, but I kind of had an identity crisis and my friend circle changed drastically. My whole life changed. So between that and the severe depression and anxiety I didn’t realize I had been dealing with my whole life, things got.. terrible.

With my condition.. that word kind of has a negative connotation to me but I don’t know what else to call it without saying too much.. but anyway, with the way I am, it really only gets worse if it goes untreated. Treatment can be therapy, medication, or a mix of both. I knew I needed help because I experienced so many ups and downs. At first, I’d be down for months at a time (I learned later this was depression - it was so normal to me I didn’t think much of it). This would be followed by highs, also for months at a time. Months slowly turned into weeks, weeks slowly turned into days, and eventually the shift would happen within minutes at least 20 times a day. I was exhausted and I couldn’t keep up with myself.

I didn’t eat in 2017. I didn’t sleep much either. I definitely didn’t drink water. I would sometimes go days without eating until I literally couldn’t take it anymore. Until my stomach hurt from hunger. I just had no appetite. The only thing I could really stomach was those protein boxes from Starbucks that have apples, grapes, hard boiled eggs, and cheese. Oh, and peanut butter. That would get me through a day or two. Sometimes my roommate would make me eggs because she knew. I’ll always love her for that, among many things. My heart hurt and nothing felt real. No food tasted good, so it became obsolete.

I couldn’t be alone. I stacked plans on top of plans. I went out with people I didn’t know. I’d go out alone and meet people and stay out til 5am with them. One day, I had no plans and my roommate wasn’t home. And I remember having the worst anxiety to the point where I ended up curled up on my floor crying. I called my cousin Logan who I don’t really call that often. I needed something. Someone. It was bad. By August of 2017 enough was enough and I knew i needed therapy.

Now, in a lot of cultures - both of mine, black and South Asian specifically - mental health isn’t really talked about. Like, you’ve gotta be “crazy” or have some serious issues to be in therapy if you ask a lot of people. Needless to say, my parents, mostly my father, didn’t take it well. I get it, they were worried and confused. My friends were supportive, though, so when I had finally had enough, I went on Zocdoc (which is amazing, btw) and found a therapist who was a POC. And therapy began.

I’m good at hiding shit. You would never really know I was suffering. Even when I posted about it, I had a way of making it all seem okay. I actually made my lifestyle look cool, spontaneous, thrilling. And when I started therapy, I had my Saleem face on. To me, Saleem means smart, unbothered, successful, confident. I spoke with conviction when I said that everything was really okay. But one day, I had a serious breakdown at like 3 in the morning. My mom (bless her heart) drove out at like 5 am and just laid with me. I felt ok for a while until I had the same kind of breakdown in therapy. It was like, I went in with my Saleem face on, and then I overwhelmed myself by acting like I was fine when I seriously wasn’t. I was talking like normal, a little happier and hyper than usual, and then suddenly I started hyperventilating and crying. I don’t know what besides acting like I was okay triggered it, but I had a panic attack. My therapist calmed me down, helped me breathe, had me drink some water. We talked it out as much as I could and he politely asked if I had considered seeing an actual doctor. He assured me that they wouldn’t talk to each other behind my back about what was going on either.

I saw a doctor, began treatment, and things got drastically better over time. I still have my days, though. A lot of days I can’t get out of bed. Not too long ago, I woke up on my living room floor with like 10 missed calls from work because I had fainted. Likely from not taking care of myself. I had to say it was just low blood sugar or some shit. I asked my friends to start asking me if I had eaten. If I had slept. If I had gotten up. Hell, I even asked Instagram to help me out. And bless y’all, because so many people did. And it worked. PLEASE DO THIS. Don’t feel embarrassed because I promise, we won’t judge. Anyone who does is fuckin weird. I found that others will still be kind to you even when you’re not kind to yourself, as long as you allow it.

Therapy has been amazing. It sounds scary to a lot of people, but I don’t really get what’s so threatening about it to people. I mean, you’re just sitting in a room talking to someone about literally whatever you want. Maybe some broad cut you off on line at Starbucks and you cursed her out. Maybe you woke up sad. Maybe you don’t get along with someone. A lot of us generally already do this with our friends. Only difference is this person understands a lot about how the mind works, and they ask questions that will help you figure out why you do certain things. If you’re considering it, and you have the money to do it (I realize a lot of us don’t) I urge you to try it. Worst case, you go to one session, hate it, and never go back.

Just be honest with your therapist. These days. I find myself eating too much. Sleeping too much. I think a lot has to do with grief, so I’m really being honest with my therapist and talking it out. He’s helped me deal with the sadness and provided me the tools I can actually use forever. He’s even got me taking my iron everyday. It’s such a breath of fresh air.

Trying medication sounds scary as hell, too, but if you find a doctor you trust, the choice is yours. I’m aware a lot of people are misdiagnosed or on medication they don’t need to be on. The pharmaceutical industry is trash as everyone tells me, and I get it. But please remember that medication was created for a reason, and when it works, it really works. Monitor yourself. Keep a journal. Tell your doctor everything so they can find you the right meds. Being prescribed medication also doesn’t mean you’ll have to be on it for the rest of your life. Sometimes it just helps you get on track, and after time you may outgrow it. Again, it sounds scary AF. One, it’s altering your state, right? Two, does this mean I’m a total nutcase? Three, what will other people say? Fuck that. You’re you no matter what. Fuck what anyone says. Fuck telling anyone if you don’t want to. At the end of the day, no one else has to be you. No one else has to feel what you feel in your heart or your mind. Why the hell are we gonna listen to them if these steps will actually help us? Fuck that fuck that fuck that. The right meds won’t make you feel like you popped something illegal lol. Promise.

Overall during this process so much has changed. Being alone isn’t a problem at all. I actually live alone now. I’m also conscious of whether I’ve had too much alone time. I don’t find myself out at 5am with strangers - thank god lol. I’ve gained 15 pounds in healthy weight, so. I’m finally getting rid of the clothes I’ve been wearing since high school. And my day to day is just better. My lows aren’t nearly as low, and my highs aren’t too much. I can focus.

I went through a short phase where I was angry. I thought, how could people not realize I had these issues my whole life? How did I not know what depression or anxiety were? How did no one tell me? But you can’t think like that. Especially with your family. They’ve only known you the way you are, so it makes sense that they would think certain things are just part of your personality, not signs that something deeper is going on. Allow them to encourage you.

Remember, you’re never alone. Much easier to say than actually feel, but at the very least, you’ve got a friend in me. And although I try my best to be open and honest, certain matters are private. So I’d like to respect my own privacy and not say too much on the internet; however, I’m an open book if you’d like to speak in private. I’d love to tell you my story or answer questions you have. I’m not an expert, but I do what I can. So many people have helped me and I’ve gotta return the favor.

Take care of yourself, angels. Whether it’s taking a bubble bath, buying new lipstick or sneakers, or talking it out - you gotta do what’s best for you.

Much love.