Life Update

With only a week and a half left until fall semester begins, it's time for me to put on a brave face and come clean with the reality of my current situation.

I will not be returning to BGSU this fall. 

That sentence is the second hardest combination of words I've ever had to come to terms with, with the hardest combination being the reason why: I'm struggling with anxiety and depression.

Now, before today I would have never been able to say that freely, let alone post it on a blog that hundreds of people (ha) could potentially see. Let me explain what my summer was like, where I am now, and what I hope to see in the future.

(If you want to get to the point, feel free to skip down to the dashes.)

I've been struggling with anxiety since the 6th grade, and medicated for it since the 7th. Back in April (it was literally April 1st, go figure) I got the stomach flu. When that happened, my body stopped responding to the meds I had been on for 7 years. Honestly, I was lucky to have gotten that far with one set of meds, but what happened in the following months was what made me so much worse.

If you know me, you know I'm incredibly stubborn when it comes to asking for help when I feel I don't need it (or so I'm told..) My assumption in April was that I'd force my way through the rest of the semester, come home, be slapped with new meds, and be at camp by June. No such luck. I started experiencing what I now know is called depersonalization. At the time, I had no idea what it was. I had to miss choir tour and ended up back home in May. My anxiety was so high that I wouldn't leave the house and I quit driving. I started going to a new doctor and they told me they needed to start from scratch, meaning no camp.

This is where the depression hit. My soul lives for three things: Jesus, music, and summer camp. My favorite 10 weeks of the year are those spent smelling like sweat, smoke, and bug spray while singing silly songs, making bracelets, and seeing campers light up with joy. It's something I've been a part of for 15 years and I never intended to take a break. Watching all my friends go to various camps was bittersweet. I was so happy for them and for the campers they would be impacting, but I felt so useless. Every Tuesday night I would hear the campers at the camp over the hill playing games, and I would break down.

So between having breakdowns every Tuesday, missing camp, feeling useless, being in an unstable home environment (a different story entirely), and then being told I probably wouldn't make it back to school in the fall, I stopped functioning. I wouldn't get out of bed. On top of all of that, I've been to 3 different doctors who have gone through 4 different combinations of medications trying to help the anxiety. I completely lost myself. I was thoroughly convinced that I was crazy. Somedays I still am.

At this point, I'm currently seeing doctor #3 and really enjoying her. I'm on a set of meds that seem to be helping the most compared to the others so far. The meds are starting to help with the depression, but the anxiety is still present. I'm also still struggling with the depersonalization, and I haven't been to church since May. I have been taking baby steps towards recovery such as taking the dog for a walk or going to get ice cream. I even took a huge step by going to see one of my best friends perform a fabulous saxophone recital all the way in Findlay.

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So with all that being said, although I'm taking baby steps towards recovery, I'm not there yet. I plan on trying to attend church soon, starting to drive short distances, and hopefully make visits to see friends in the coming months. But I'm no longer afraid to talk about it. It's an illness, and it doesn't take any value away from me as a human being. Mental illness shouldn't be stigmatized. People need to stop being afraid of it. Would you stay away from someone because they had diabetes? No. Would you tell someone with heart disease to "just get over it"? No. Would you tell someone with cancer that it's "all in their head"? Absolutely not. Anxiety and depression are real illnesses, just like any other illness, whether it be physical, mental, or behavioral. It requires medication. It requires hard work. It even requires that scary T-word: Therapy. I'm not trying to blame my actions or quirks on my anxiety, I'm just finally realizing that I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm just sick. And I'm finally getting help.

These next four months are going to suck. They're going to be really freaking hard. Watching all my friends go back to RA training, seeing statuses as people buy books and move-in... it all hurts. A huge chunk of my heart is in Northwest Ohio. And I'm recognizing that there are still going to be days where I don't get out of bed. There will be days where I'm too afraid to leave the house, thinking I'm crazy. And there will be times when I feel stranded and alone because my friends are far away while I'm stuck here unhappy. I'm still finding the right combination of meds. Anxiety has and still is robbing me of my jobs, scholarships, leadership positions, and friendships, but it hasn't robbed me of my faith. I believe that God is putting me through this for a reason, even though I can't see why right now. I also believe that I'm still in here... somewhere. The real Kelly is just hiding right now.

But I'm going to find her. She'll be back. 

And she's going to fight like crap to be back at school in the Spring.