How Anxiety Destroyed My Study Abroad Experience & Why I'm Finally #TalkingAboutIt
Sunday, December 13, 2015
This is the first time I’m actually talking about this to someone other than a close friend. Partially because I feel bad about it and don't like to bring it up, and partially because I’m not one to adopt a “woe is me” attitude. But today my friend Sammy started a hashtag called #TalkingAboutIt, which encourages everyone with mental illnesses to open up and start talking on social media.
I have not been diagnosed with a mental illness like anxiety or depression, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t suffer from it. Looking back, I can now acknowledge how anxious I was in certain situations, and recognize that some of those “mental health days” I took weren’t always about skipping class and watching Netflix but instead related to actual mental health.
School has always the biggest trigger for me, especially in college. I’m a perfectionist and I have been since my first group project in the 4th grade. I’m used to doing the brunt work, getting into the nitty gritty and making sure things make sense. But as I got further into my college career, that perfectionism slowly drove me to become an anxious shell of a student.
I overloaded on classes because I told myself I had to. I pushed myself to the max, spending hours upon hours perfecting papers and slamming back cup after cup of coffee in an attempt to finish the pile of work I’d somehow accumulate. I’d live off a diet of pop-tarts and Ramen, sleep for only a few hours each night, and the smallest things would set me off into tear-filled hysterics about my future, my grades, and everything else under the sun. When things got too tough, I’d push things off to the side, take a nap, and worry. I’d worry a lot, actually. But I’d just tell myself it was all part of the college experience. After all, everyone I knew was in the same boat. We were all running around like chickens with our heads cut off. But somewhere along the way, it became less about meeting deadlines or the expectations of the professor, and more about meeting the perverse -- and quite honestly ridiculous -- expectations I had for myself. Half the situations I’d end up in were only stressful because I made them that way.
When I was studying abroad in Australia, all of this tension, stress, and anxiety kind of exploded.
3 months prior to being in Brisbane, I was in London. I had spent the semester there as part of a major requirement, and I absolutely fell in love with the city, the culture, and most importantly, the people. Within a few weeks of being in the UK, I felt lighter. All that tightly wound energy fell away, leaving me feeling like a new person. I felt like I had no responsibilities except to have fun and enjoy myself. So I did. I worried about my classes, but nowhere near to the extent that I did back at home. I opened up and met new people. Amazing people who soon became some of my best friends. I rarely said “no” to an outing, I started caring very little about my appearance, and I knew instantly that I didn’t want to come home.
Home was where the pressure was. Home was where I needed to figure out what my future held, where exam scores mattered, where professors knew my face and name, and where I looked in the mirror a little too often. I wanted to stay in what I deemed as my happy place, or the place where I felt the most like me.
But I did have to come home eventually, and a month after, I had to set forth on another adventure. This time to Australia, where I was determined to become “Fun Bri” once again.
I tried, oh how I tried. I wished so hard for my experiences in Brisbane to rival my memories of London. I gave my all to meeting new people. I tried to be up for as many adventures as humanly possible, but none of it seemed to click. I was living inside of my head, and that led to me staying hidden away in my room, watching everyone have fun without me.
I’d sit on Instagram and see pictures posted of my friends back at college, going to parties and to Applebees trivia nights. I’d see Facebook statues about my friends from London going to the same bar that we used to visit religiously, and they’d send me Snapchats of their nights in an attempt to include me. But all I could think was that they were out without me, having fun without me, moving on. My friends from home didn’t seem to care that I was halfway around the world, and my friends from London didn’t seem to care that I left. I knew that it wasn’t the truth, but it still made me feel awful.
The only person that I wanted to talk to was my boyfriend, who was in London and therefore 10 hours behind me. We’d always miss each other, time wise, and the few hours that I did get to talk to him made me miss him even more. I was miserable and I didn't feel like me. I felt like someone else inhibited my body, and I didn't know what to do. Who was this grumpy, sad human being and where did the fun, happy, and adventurous girl go?
I became emotionally exhausted, crying myself to sleep most nights because I wasn’t where I wanted to be. I seemed to be sick all the time. I’d make up excuses and avoid the people I met in Brisbane because I was too busy wallowing. I’d skip class, and watch old Top Chef episodes and marathon every season of Boy Meets World. Eventually, everyone stopped asking me to do things because my answer was usually no.
I’d walk around the city on my own and sit by the river and feel sorry for myself because I felt so alone. I didn’t connect to anyone, I didn’t connect to the city, and on top that, my classes were hard. If I wasn’t in my room, eating leftovers and not showering for two days, then I was at the library, writing papers and working on projects that didn’t get the good grades I expected.
I tried to pick up the pieces of what I thought was a shattered experience, and towards the end of my time in Brisbane I tried to be more open and accepting. I didn’t want to wallow anymore. I didn’t want to be sad. But a lot of the time my friends would back out on plans, or I’d go out and not have much fun. Even when I was enjoying myself, I still felt like I didn’t belong there. I felt…small. Hopeless. And then I’d feel guilty for feeling those things.
Yet throughout that entire time, I refused to label myself as “depressed”. I knew my symptoms matched up, but I didn’t want to use the d-word, or call attention to what I thought wasn’t a huge deal. I didn’t want to take the spotlight away from people who actually suffer from depression. After all, I was in Australia, on a giant vacation that people only dream of. How could I be depressed?
Don't get me wrong- there were some great times. It wasn't all bad. In fact, there are some really lovely memories and stories that I'll share for the rest of my days. But it wasn't one or the other. It seldom is. Even when I was getting out of my shell and living my life, the anxiety was in the back of my mind. I still felt tense, and I still felt unhappy. It's just that at those particular moments, I felt strong enough to push it back and say "Hey, not today ok? Let me just enjoy this one." Some days I managed well, others day, not so much.
But once I got home, and explained what had happened to a few close friends, I realized that I wasn’t just down in the dumps over missing my boyfriend. I was actually depressed and socially anxious, and just because my situation wasn’t as horrible as someone else’s doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.
The thing about anxiety -- and mental health in general -- is that we get very protective over it. I’ve seen people tear others apart because their anxiety wasn’t on the same level, or they thought they couldn’t be as depressed or anxious because their lives were too good. It’s a petty thing really, but take one glance on Tumblr and you can see it. On one hand it’s glorified to the point of being romantic and cool, and on the other it’s glossed over unless you have tangible proof that your life sucks. There’s very rarely a middle ground.
But anxiety, depression and everything else in between, comes in all shape and sizes, and so do the people that suffer from it. Even the tiniest bit of fear or stress can destroy someone. I know. It destroyed my experience, and I’m still scarred from the way my emotions and energy completely changed over the course of a few months. I felt like I went from one extreme to the other. These days I’m still a perfectionist, and I still slip back into those “lock the doors, pull down the shades, and stay under the covers all day” moods. But I try to accept it, instead of feel sorry for myself or feel guilty for feeling a certain way. And I try really hard to pull myself back up and get going, though it’s hard to do when you feel like you’re motionless. But I am trying, and that’s all that matters.
Mental illnesses aren't a crutch that people use to be sad or to be anti-social. It’s a real, scary thing that sometimes comes out of nowhere. It’s often irrational, and it can’t be helped. There’s no real cure except to be accepting. To be encouraging. To let those who need a break take a break. Let’s all just hug each other and stop comparing apples to oranges. Let’s help each other. And most importantly, let’s keep talking about it.
2 comments
Hi there! I've been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and OCD. I can definitely relate to your feelings of anxiety and depression during my undergrad studies.
ReplyDeleteFor a while I was medicated with antidepressants, but I stopped taking them the first time I went abroad. That seems like it's probably a dangerous thing, but it was actually the best decision. I think that travel helped me a lot in terms of exposing me to situations where I felt like I could just go with the flow. At home in the US I always felt like I had to be a certain person and do these certain things. Abroad, I could be anyone I wanted to be.
So, only a year and a half after my first time abroad, I'm living in Germany pursuing my Master's degree (and hanging with my own boyfriend that I met abroad!). I'm not struggling with depression anymore, although I still have some mild problems with anxiety and OCD.
I wish you the best in your own journey!
Wow- thanks so much for sharing a piece of your story with me. I'm so glad that your battle with depression is over. I know that I'm a lot happier now that I've assessed the situation and recognized that it was something I did struggle with. It also helps that I'm done with school and stressing about my GPA and writing essays and things that don't really matter that much in the real world. Congratulations on pursuing your Master's, and good luck!! I'm in the process of applying to grad schools in the UK right now, so I wish you (and your boyfriend!) all the best. It's nice to know that things do get better <3
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