I’m a very open and honest person, I think we can all gather that one. My direct and truthful ways are what have gotten me over 11,000 combined followers on Twitter and Instagram, as well as 30,000 Youtube views. But of course, there’s many things that you guys don’t know about me, including the fact that I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I was the very opposite. From the age of 10-14 I went through a very, very rough patch. It’s not something that I’ve ever talked about, because I don’t feel comfortable sharing it.
I had shut myself off from the world; my friends, my family, everyone. I lived in my own little bubble, and kept everything to myself. I was upset, I was lonely, and I didn’t know how to cope with all these negative emotions, so I decided that my best option was to keep them all to myself. I dealt with them in my own way. Eventually, it all got too much for me, a young girl, to handle alone, and through the support of my parents I got the help that I needed.
For years, I had it drilled into me “You have to open up, you have to talk about your problems” and it took a long time, but eventually I did. It took me seven long years to finally learn how to open up and talk about how I was feeling, and something as simple as that made me feel so much better. I’d been making myself sick by holding in all of my emotions. I’ve been in and out of hospital a countless number of times since I was ten, and I’ve even had surgery twice because of it. I literally had to be cut open because I was putting so much stress on my body that doctor’s thought something was seriously wrong. I even ended up having my appendix removed, for something that I now firmly believe was all down to the stress that my anxiety and overall mental health was having on my body.
During my first semester of college, my anxiety vanished, and I mean it completely went away. No more stomach pains, no more waking up during the night mid-panic attack. Nothing. One day in November I distinctly remember thinking, “I can’t even remember what anxiety feels like” and it was wonderful. All because of something as simple as being in a community where I felt that I could be myself, without judgement. But just recently, as semester two is coming to a close, I realised that things were getting bad again.
Mid semester during a rough patch, a comment was made to me by somebody who I had the utmost respect for. A lot of things were going wrong all at once, and I was told that maybe I should just deal with my problems privately. After years of having it drilled into me to talk, talk, and talk some more, this was a real kick in the teeth. A kick in the teeth that really affected me.
If you regularly read my blog, you’ll know that I stopped drinking for two months to see if it would improve my anxiety. I had to do this because after every night out, I got so anxious that I’d discussed my problems with somebody who didn’t want to hear them that it made me sick to my stomach. I know that once I get started discussing my problems that I’ll never stop, and because I’ve held everything in for so long I’ll have to begin right at the beginning, something that I don’t want to do. This has made it so hard for me to talk to anyone, and it’s even left me paranoid about bothering people with my problems. I know it’s stupid, but it’s just the way I feel.
It was after a week where I was stressed about assignments, anxious about life in general, and hadn’t really told anyone the extent of how I was feeling. I was in a lab when I felt a panic attack coming on, so not wanting to make a scene, I left to calm myself down in the bathroom. I was letting my panic attack take its course in the cubicle, but there was a group of girls outside who were concerned, so I went out to them. Then, I collapsed and blacked out. I don’t exactly remember it happening, but it happened, and it scared me. Medic’s had to be called and I was, in the doctors words “out of it and completely dissociative” afterwards. Medically, there was nothing wrong with me thank God. But I’d put myself under so much pressure by dealing with my problems alone that I had collapsed.
There’s a certain paranoia I feel about people disliking me because I need to talk about my feelings, and this isn’t an idea that I just pulled out of thin air. There’s a lot of things that I’ve heard recently that have upset me very much. Some don’t get why I feel the need to talk so much, and that’s completely understandable. That’s why I’m writing this, to explain. I try and be a good person, and to be compassionate and understanding to the thoughts and feelings of others, but sometimes I just wish that people would try to understand me too. This is just me being honest. But do I be nice to these people and pretend that I know nothing, or do I stand up for myself? It’s a fine line, one that I’m not sure if I should cross.
I have some amazing, wonderful and true friends. True friends that I know would do anything in the world for me, and I’m so appreciative to have them in my life. True friends that I know I could talk to anything about. Only the problem is, I can’t anymore. It’s become too hard for me to completely open up, and here I am in this rut once again, knowing that when I do completely open up that I’ll have the friendliness of a possessed person in the midst of an exorcism.
My point is, everyone has a story, a past, things that you don’t necessarily know about. Before you tell somebody that their problem isn’t a big deal, that maybe they should stop talking about it, that there’s people who have it worse, think of this blog post. You don’t know what battles a person has been though before, and the struggle they went through to get to where they are today. After finally building up the courage to write this I can firmly say that the next person who makes a comment about my open and honest nature, can shut up themselves.