My name is Molly LaBrie, and I am a senior in the Veterinary Science program at Bristol County Agricultural High School. I am a high academic and athletic achiever, and I hope to become a Veterinarian in the future. My mental health will challenge me in this journey, just as it has challenged me thus far. At a young age, I was diagnosed with ADHD, OCD, anxiety, and depression, which have made many things difficult for me. Although I am thankful to now be on medications that help me focus and steady my mood, I still feel the effects of these disorders every day. My mother’s health is a major source of my anxiety. She has been chronically ill for most of her life and out of work for six years, dealing with various health issues. I have experienced many repeating compulsions and troubling thoughts in relation to my mom’s health since elementary school.
Mental illness is no stranger to my family. My cousin Jonathan met an early grave when he succumbed to his drug addiction. My cousin Michael suffers from drug-induced schizophrenia. My brother Asher was bitten by a tick and developed Bartonella. We believe that this either began or contributed to his anger issues. Growing up, my house felt unsafe because of him. I always felt on edge, never knowing when something would set him off. I vividly remember my mom grabbing my other brother and me and locking us in the bathroom. We waited for the police while Asher tried to break down the door to kill my brother over a small argument. Asher would beat me up, throw things at me, break my belongings, and do much more to make my life difficult. One morning, I woke up for school, and the car was gone, along with Asher. He had stolen it during the night, with no driving experience, and disappeared. We called the police, and in the meantime, I got sent to school as usual. Eventually, my brother had to live inpatient at Bradley Children’s Hospital, as it was unsafe to have him at home.
Due to my own worsening OCD and anxiety, my parents signed me up for therapy in the same building. It was a nightmare. I hated it so much that they had to drag me out of the car each week. I associated that building, and therefore therapy, with all of the bad things my brother had done to me. My experiences there left me with a fear and a clouded view of mental health care altogether. Even during virtual appointments for years after this, I would lie to my psychiatrist, hoping my mom would stop making me see her.
After many years without therapy, I was recently referred to a therapist at a different location. I really didn’t want to go, but I had been (and still am) struggling with depression and burnout caused by the weight of senior year: college decisions, sports, and many extracurriculars. With the encouragement of my mother, father, and psychiatrist, I attended my first session a couple of months ago. Walking into that room was one of the hardest things I’ve done, but I’m glad I did it.
Thanks to the persistence of family and healthcare professionals, I am slowly learning the importance of mental health care. My brother has benefited from treatment, and our relationship has drastically improved. As for myself, I'm continuing therapy, and each session becomes slightly easier. I'm working to improve my mental well-being to make my busy life less stressful, both now and in the future.