healing, hopeful, helpful

how deleting snapchat improved my lifestyle

i know what you’re thinking. i’m certain most people rolled their eyes or even decided not to read because of this title. but hear me out.

Last spring, I went on a vacation to a remote country and knew I didn’t want to use my phone. I’d had a rough semester, and I really wanted to use my trip to recharge, refresh, and disconnect from social media. I didn’t want to be in the most beautiful mountains and beaches in the world and be focused on something as menial as someone else’s snapchat story. So, before I left the country, i deleted the app altogether.

And now it’s been four months since my trip, and I never downloaded it again. Why? Because Snapchat, and apps like it, are NOT good for people with anxiety.

For me, snapchat was a constant reminder of what i was missing out on. and not even in a matter of what i was or was not invited to. If i was having a bad day, and saw someone else was out thriving and doing something fun, I would mentally punish myself for not being strong enough to go out and have fun that day. If people were hanging out without me, i tormented myself with the idea that no one likes me–even when I was invited to the event! it sounds ridiculous, but that app was toxic for me.

Pick your poison. Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. others that i’m not hip enough to know about. Regardless of the platform, these apps are inherently going to make us all feel bad about ourselves by comparing what others choose to display about their lives to our perceived reality of ours being terrible in comparison.

How many times have you posted, been in, or sent a picture in which you looked like you were laughing, having the absolute time of your life, or surrounded by a million friends? Were you? There are countless pictures of me out there with a wide grin, but broken insides.

Let me ask this instead. How many times have you posted a picture of yourself crying? Sick with the flu? Sitting at a rained-out event? Getting stuck in traffic? having a meltdown? studying? at work?

I guess my point is that no one tends to share the things about themselves that make them sad or uncomfortable or feel “less than”. It’s so important to remember, that just like we do, most others only post their absolute highlight reel on social media, filtered and feathered to perfection.

Real life is messy and beautiful and chaotic and sad and wonderful. And instead of constantly pouring over what everyone else was doing without me, or how much more fun everyone else is having, or how much better-looking, or how many more vacations they’re going on…..I simply decided to stop.

Because that is misery. And looking up from our phones?

Not caring if A and B are hanging together without you, or if you’re at work instead of brunch, or that someone just landed the job you wanted? LIBERATING.

I thought I’d miss that little ghost in the yellow box. Not once have I. And ya know what? My mom just texts me pictures of my dog now. win/win.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” -T. Roosevelt

-A

the woman on the elevator

Last week at work, on my way to step outside and let out heaving sobs on my lunch break, I got onto the elevator with a patient wearing a hospital gown, mask, and pushing her own IV pole. I was quite literally trembling, hardly able to wait to be alone to let out my cries, but I could tell by her eyes she was smiling at me, and I soft-smiled back. This woman looked me right in the eye and said with deep sincerity, I kid you not, “You seem like such a happy and cheerful person. Have a great day.” And then she stepped off the elevator.

My initial reaction was…to laugh. She looked at me for two seconds, and decided I was happy and cheerful. I was in the elevator for the sole reason of going outside to cry privately, and she assumed I was the two furthest things from what I felt in that moment.

It made me think about how there is SO. MUCH. MORE. than meets the eye to others. I was having an absolutely horrific day filled with debilitating anxiety and depression. And while I do consider myself a cheerful and happy human, I was most certainly not in that moment.

Because here’s the bottom line truth: I’m not okay right now. A lot of people are not okay right now. I feel most days, that just existing, doing the absolute bare minimum to get by, is a battle. The idea of getting out of bed, doing my hair, walking to class//busing to work, and talking to one person at a time is impossible to me. The thought of having to do that every day brings tears to my eyes, nausea, cramps, heart racing…lights are blurred and more intense. My world feels like it’s crashing down around me. So the idea of socializing? Learning something new at work? Contributing at a meeting? Unimaginable.

And that is my current everyday reality. Nothing short of an absolute, grueling, mental—and somewhat physical—battle between the person I know that I can be (thriving, cheerful, fun) and the person I am currently—crying, trembling, physically ill at the idea of doing anything at all.

I don’t want or need anyone’s pity. My family, friends and close confidantes are the most incredible humans in the world, and they do not pity me. They stand with me, for me, and behind me. I do the same for them. That’s not my point. I want anyone suffering to not feel alone, and I want anyone who desires to help someone with a mental illness be equipped to be a good ally to them by learning from these posts. I plan to have a “good ally” post up on here very soon.

The woman on the elevator stunned me. She was not trying to be rude, or ironic, or hurtful. She genuinely wanted to give me a compliment that she believed to be true. It’s just interesting how deceiving looks can be.

I decided recently my best word for mental illness is a battle. Well? Good thing I’m a damn warrior.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

-A

My Insulin

Recently, I decided I was “cured” from the anxiety and depression I have been suffering since I was a child. I was seemingly happy, working full-time at a job I loved, living in my hometown with my parents and dog, and traveling and visiting friends on weekends. So, I decided to get off my Zoloft (sertraline), which I have been on for almost three years, after various different medication regiments since I was 15.

Getting off the Zoloft started fine, until it wasn’t. I left the job I was comfortable at, moved to another city 4 hours from my family and stable atmosphere, started working very early morning/late night hours at a new, higher-stress job, and was in an unstable living situation. Everything hit the fan all at once, and I no longer had my Zoloft to lean on. I became an absolute wreck. To be fair, I have been in these “states” several times before; I can’t eat, sleep, talk without crying, breath correctly, or stop my heart from racing. Sounds like a panic attack? Sure, but this lasts for days, sometimes weeks, on end with no relief.

I immediately felt ashamed of myself. It had been over a year since my last bout of severe, unstoppable, longterm anxiety. I thought I “grew out of it”. I thought I had “beaten it.” I had to “flee” the city and go home to my family, as I typically have done in the past in these situations. Going home has always brought me great relief, not only because my anxiety decreases with familiar surroundings, but because I can also get some life-affirming sleep, relax with my dog, eat a nice home-cooked meal, lean on my parents and church family, and find some form of relief.

However, this time, going home made me feel defeated. I felt as if I lost my battle and gave up, even though I came right back to the city and my new job after refreshing myself over a 3-day weekend.

When my anxiety flares up, the first thing that happens is an internal battle between me being anxious, and me being upset with myself for not being able to stop my anxiety, which makes me feel defeated, crushed, helpless, hopeless.

It wasn’t until I read something online comparing anti-depressants to insulin that I felt any less angry at myself for having anxiety. The analogy of insulin to a diabetic being what psych drugs are to a person suffering depression/anxiety (or a variety of other mental illnesses) made me feel the slightest bit of relief.

Neurodiversity (mental illnesses, disorders, and the like) although generally invisible, is often the result of a chemical imbalance in the brain, in addition to mental health and past experiences. Therefore, taking my medication was critical to my wellbeing, especially when placed in more stressful situations-ie, moving, new job.

You wouldn’t tell a diabetic who has been feeling really healthy to stop taking their insulin. The insulin is allowing them to feel homeostatic. So, I’m changing my mindset. I’m not going to shame myself anymore for needing medication to feel stable. I refuse to feel embarrassed, and I will not be quiet anymore when it comes to advocating for myself and others like me.

This was a lot, and if you read this far, I am grateful. My only hope from this journal is that I can share an experience that makes someone feel less alone, share a helpful insight, tips or tricks, or educate allies.

Warmly,

hello!

My name is Annie, I’m 22 and in grad school. I am an avid lover of all things bright and sunshiney; I travel as often as I can, love flowers, fresh air, hot coffee, live music, and all things joy-filled.

I am also a lifelong sufferer of anxiety and depression. Over the years, I have fallen and gotten up innumerable times, and learned a lot about coping mechanisms/ survival skills along the way. All I want is to share these tips and tricks to help others not feel alone in what they are going through.

I’m hoping getting my thoughts from brain to text will help me get through hard times, and maybe get someone else through theirs.