Annabel B.
Photography by Cat White
Before reading, please know this letter contains mentions of suicidal ideation and self harm. If you feel reading this kind of content may trigger you, we suggest you read another letter, such as this one.
If you're reading this, I, and so many others love you exactly as you are.
I come from a very nice area in the Connecticut suburbs. It is full of nuclear families, white picket fences, and more goldendoodles than you could count. To an outside observer, it seems perfect, a neat little utopia. You would never guess that my community at home has been ravaged by the mental health crisis, specifically concerning the youth.
The county I grew up in is a pressure cooker for its residents. There is an intangible force that convinces everyone that they have to be perfect at everything. Sports, school, extracurriculars, you name it, if you were not amazing at all of it, you were a failure. I’m sure you can imagine the damage that can do to a person’s mind.
Over the last few years, multiple teenagers from my area have died by suicide. They won’t graduate college or even high school. They won’t meet their soulmate or raise a family. They won’t grow old and tell their loved ones fond memories of where they grew up. Despite my town being “perfect,” there is a remarkable amount of pain behind those picket fences.
I, like so many of the other kids fighting mental health battles, was one of the last people you would guess would be struggling with suicidal ideation. I was well liked, athletic, a good student, and I had wonderful friends. Even though I had all of those things going for me, I still hated everything about myself. I can’t remember when I started to feel that way, I just remember that I did and that I felt that way for a long time. The feeling of self-hatred became so overwhelming that, at 12 years old, I first began to self-harm.
Some days I would feel okay and others I would spend the nights on my bathroom floor wanting to disappear. But eventually, the days I felt okay stopped coming as often. Soon enough, my mind couldn’t see anything good anymore and I didn’t want to keep going. As much as I wanted it all to end, I knew there were people that loved me. Even if I didn’t love myself, I didn’t even like myself, I knew that other people did and I am so grateful for that.
Eventually, I decided I could not live with self-loathing anymore. I cried to my father and told him I needed help. Thankfully, I was able to see a psychiatrist who specializes in adolescent care the next day. I told my whole life story and every feeling that came with it. That day, he diagnosed me with atypical depression and anxiety. I began dialectic behavioral therapy (DBT) and started to take anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications.
It did not get better for a long time – I think that is crucial to this story. Actually, life got a lot harder. People I believed were my friends and supporters weaponized my mental illness. My fancy boarding school, the very institution meant to nourish and take care of me, turned its back on me. They did not want me to tarnish their pristine and perfect reputation. After I asked for help, things got much darker for me. It felt to me that revealing my depression and asking for help made things worse. I began engaging in more self-destructive behavior, just trying to get one step closer having no reason to live anymore.
As difficult as that time was, my therapists, (much better) friends, and family became my light. With each DBT session, they helped me get to the root of why I felt what I did and how to change my thinking patterns. I learned healthy coping mechanisms and started to forgive myself for not being perfect. With their help and the encouragement from my family and friends, I pulled myself out of that pit.
Now, I am very proud to say that I have been clean from self-harm for over two and a half years and without suicidal ideation even longer. But that would not have been possible without my doctor and my therapists. Without them, I wouldn’t be here to share this letter with you. I know that asking for help isn’t easy and I also know that you are so much stronger than you think. You can do hard things and you can ask for help even though it may feel impossible.
I cannot say that my mental health is perfect now. There are still days I don’t want to face the world, but there are countless days where I am beaming with life. But through all of it, I am so thankful to still be alive.
You don’t have to be perfect. Nothing and no one is. You just have to be you, because so many people love who you are. I only realized that after going through hell and because I had people to support me through it. You have them too. There are plenty of people out there that love you and if you ever forget that, read this letter again and know that I love you and will be here for you.
Annabel B., University of Virginia
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