This Is My Mental Illness, Not Yours
By: Hayley Mccartney
Tags: Mental Health, Teens, Mental Health Support, Personal Story, Teen Mental Health

I’ve been sick for 2 months now. Officially. I think I’ve been sick my whole life. But if I tell you right now that it’s a mental illness would you keep listening? Would you keep reading? A story about a teenager fighting clinical depression and anxiety blah, blah, blah, you’ve heard it before right? It was always there, in the background, a few strange feelings of misplacement of detachment but these were normal right? When I got diagnosed I was scared shitless. The thought of falling into the stereotype I had heard so much of teenagers wasting their life away because they’re ‘sad’ made me uneasy.

I’m not sad. Sad is what you feel when your favourite character in a movie dies, or you lose a loved one. I’m not crying because I’m sad. I cry because I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. And did I ever? I’m not saying every teenager has got their whole life planned out about who they wanna be, who they are, I’m saying that I can’t stand the thought of there being another day in this shithole of a brain. So what can I do? Be mad at me? Ask me why I didn’t see it earlier why I pushed myself to participate and excel in everything there was to offer. Filling up those afternoons in early high school years wasn’t to become a professional dancer or netballer. I did those so that when I went home I didn’t have to be alone with myself for too long. So I didn’t have to look in the mirror and be confused as to who was on the other side.

The even more fucked up part of a mental illness is the way other people treat you. One situation that stuck with me was an interaction with my GP, the same GP who had diagnosed me and referred me to psychologists and immunologists, the same GP who knew everything about my life had a bright idea to say this to me. When I told her I was ‘sick of feeling tired’ all the time while in the middle of being diagnosed with chronic fatigue, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “Yes, that’s a bit depressing isn’t it.” I don’t think I’ve ever hated a doctor any more than in that moment. I told my friends and we had this huge talk and a huge school counsellor session as a group and yet they are still walking on eggshells with me. They are so sensitive to what I say as they're unsure of how to help but in those moments when I’m so lost I could jump in front of a train, they aren’t there. They’re physically there, by my side but when I say I want to go home they can’t because the boys are there or they’re ‘too cooked’.

Now I can’t ask for too much because when someone asks if I’m ok I would rather rip out my hair then have to tell them the truth. But when I tell you I am struggling do not tell me your cousin, parent, friend, sibling, teacher, child or whoever went through the same thing. Because they didn’t. There is no way that anyone in this entire world has ever ‘gone through the same thing’. Sure they might've taken the same antidepressants as me or stopped the sport that they love but if you haven't already noticed, everyone's body works differently you imbecile. So, I appreciate your half-assed empathy and your backhanded support along the lines of ‘Oh yes, a 16-year-old girl struggling with depression, I’m sure it’s just a phase.’

But please, next time you want to help, just shut up. It’d be better for both of us.