My mental health began to decline three years ago, but it tanked sharply last year. At the beginning of 2020, I moved away from my hometown to a one-stoplight town in eastern Tennessee. I moved nine hours away from the city I had known all my life, as well as my lifelong friends, church community, and any comfortable familiarities.
2020 was mentally taxing for a plethora of reasons, such as covid and political rioting, but the root of the damage to my mental health was personal. Two years later, I had lost most of my friendships back home to moral and political disagreements and had even faced online death threats and cyberbullying, but I had thrown myself into my work and studies. Although I was hesitant about the idea of getting hurt again, I began to reconnect with some of my childhood best friends. For a time, I was doing well mentally. I was accepted into my dream university; I had a strong friend group and excelled at my job. It was then that I reconnected with an old friend from junior high and he would go on to become my first boyfriend.
My entire world began to be built around him. Every spare moment of my day was centered on him. My eating habits changed, I went to bed later, and every spare cent I earned was spent on gifts and plane tickets to my hometown. Very normal things to happen in a new relationship, I assumed. That soon became me not eating and pushing my limits at the gym to develop the body my boyfriend so idealized in models on social media. He worked all day and would spend hours with friends afterward, so I would stay up into the early morning hours after my day of work and school, only to get up three hours later to do it again. I missed bills and had to borrow money from my family in order to pay my tuition. My freshman year was spent in near isolation to respond to his every beck and call. Buckets of tears stained my face nightly from his comments or the absence of them. I neglected my family and brushed aside their concerns. My friends became my enemies due to his distaste for them. The morals I had previously worn proudly upon my chest, I pushed aside in order to give him the pleasures I naively believed would convince him to stay. I was spiraling into an anxious stupor that prevented me from making a solid decisions for my future. I changed my major four times and almost dropped out for the promise of a marriage that would have been filled with unfulfilled dreams and unbearable loneliness. I eventually reached the point that my hair had fallen out in handfuls, and was suffering from migraines so debilitating that I fainted due to the crushing guilt and anxiety I was subjecting myself to.
When I finally gathered the strength to end it, at my parent's fretful urging, he was almost nonchalant. In the months since, I have gained pieces of myself back, little by little. I learned to once again find joy in the interests and passions I had before I lost myself. My friendships are slowly healing with time, and apologies, despite the damage I inflicted. I still carry anxieties and doubts into new ventures and relationships, daily grappling with the struggle to believe that there is value in me and reasons to feel genuine love toward me for reasons other than physical desire. My indecisive nature still affects even my most fundamental decisions, and I have developed an anxious attachment to those who love me and have promised to stay beside me. Despite my trust often waning, I still desire to give people the benefit of the doubt and love them wholeheartedly, and I believe it is a strength often taken for weakness. I am determined to grow and work through my anxiety with the support of people who love me unconditionally, even at my worst, and show them the love they so ardently give me every day.