Living with a mental illness can feel like a unique duality between claustrophobia and an unobstructed void of emptiness. You feel like pressure is crushing you like a vice and yet, you remain unreachable, floating in space where you cannot be touched by the tendrils of joy and warmth.
It’s lonely, yes, but loneliness is preferable, you cannot burden anyone if you remain lonely.
While the darkness is mostly comprised of those negative thoughts and feelings, part of that darkness is formed from a deep sense of mourning. You grieve for your past self and who you once were before mental illness warped your sense of identity.
“Anxiety was the first to knock on the door.”
Suddenly, I overthought every move I made, analysed situations until my mind twisted them into a negative experience, I didn’t want to be seen or perceived, I wanted to be invisible. The panic attacks started and I felt like I had lost control. I craved control, but I never gained it. This sparked my turmoil with depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder. I tried to gain control through whatever means necessary, but it came at a price. Self-destruction signed the cheque.
It was hard to recognise that I needed to start taking care of myself. My body was physically breaking down as a result of my mental illness, however, my eating disorder convinced me that it was a reward. A trophy to mark my valiant efforts towards gaining control and total invisibility. It wasn’t until I lost the things that I loved the most until I realised that I needed to take action. I couldn’t dance, I isolated from friends and family, I lost two jobs that I loved with all my heart, and I didn’t even have the strength to visit my horses, the creatures that once inspired me to fight.
“It all started with a doctor’s appointment.”
And although I danced around the subject for most of the appointment, I eventually found the bravery I needed to say the words I had refused to say out loud up until that point. What followed was a string of appointments with all kinds of professionals. Specialists, psychologists, dietitians. I felt like a planet with many moons orbiting around me for eternity, occasionally eclipsing one another, sometimes in harmony and sometimes in juxtaposition.
I battled in silence for a long time, no one knew that I had gone to the doctor or sought therapy. I kept it a secret not because I was stubborn, but because I was ashamed. I feared having to dissolve my façade of perfection and show the people close to me just how deeply flawed I had become.
“But my secret was revealed after I was hospitalised.”
It was challenging to reframe the thoughts and perceptions that had been hardwired into my brain for so long. It took years for me to develop the tools I needed to restructure my thought processes and combat the negative pathways. There were occasions where I faced professionals who had less of an understanding of mental health, but in time, I learned to take these negative experiences as a steppingstone towards resilience.
If I couldn’t recover with their help, I would recover in spite of them.
Every mental health condition is expertly woven with strings of perceptions and expectations. Stigma drives misconceptions. You can’t be depressed; you had a good childhood. You can’t develop REAL anxiety until you’re an adult with responsibilities. Your anorexia is definitely because you are a dancer, eating disorders MUST be rooted in vanity.
I’ve adopted the mantra: “You have survived 100 per cent of your bad days so far.”
I’ve learned to recognise my triggers and the signs that I am beginning to become overwhelmed. I use these markers to determine when I need to step away from something, take a break, change my environment, and allow myself to regulate and consider a new approach. As an autistic person, recognising these feelings BEFORE they become overwhelming is quite challenging.
“But small wins are still wins.”
I have learned that for me, structure and routine is pivotal in managing my mental health as I approach full recovery. I find that having a timetable that predicts meals, self-care, and adequate sleep has proven beneficial. Good physical health often influences good mental health. I have also traded my individual sports for team sports. In doing that, I’m surrounded by a supportive group of friends who have helped me find the joy in movement rather than use movement as a punishment for my body. Cheerleading and team dancing have become healthy outlets for my emotions.
My advice to anyone who is struggling is this: I know you may feel alone as you float in your own void, but you are not. And you don’t have to be alone. You are not a burden, nor are you a disappointment. You deserve care. You deserve joy. Make an appointment with your doctor and do the thing that scares you the most; ask for help. You can do hard things. Recovery isn’t linear but I can promise you one thing; there is not a single person who has recovered from their mental illness who regrets doing so.
Mackenzie is a batyr lived experience storyteller and shares her experiences with schools, universities and workplaces across the country.
Photos by Lisa Clarke.
