Many “how to start a blog” articles that I’ve come across advised me not to talk about myself. I was particularly surprised to find just how many “how to start a mental health blog” authors warned that if I, god forbid, struggle with my own mental health, I basically ought to keep all that baggage to myself. After all, it could affect my job or “the way others respond” to me. Sadly, these forewarnings may be justified given the undying stigma that persists in our society, but I think the whole point in starting a blog surrounding mental health and wellbeing is to aid in the fight against the stigma, right? 

Anyway, hello. My name is Karina and I’m about to get real personal. I ultimately decided that I wanted to share my own experiences because 1.) I want people to get to know me and my journey with mental health and 2.) I want people to know that they’re not alone. It’s about damn time we got candid about how messed up we all are because if there’s anything that’s true it’s that we’ve all got issues. We’re all mad here.

I struggle with OCD, anxiety, and depression. Sounds like a load, sure, but most people in my life have had no idea of the weight of my mental health issues. That’s the thing though, people can’t know of the battles we may be fighting internally if we don’t speak up. That said, it can be extremely frustrating and discouraging when the majority of the population only really knows of the textbook definitions of said mental illnesses (if that). If there’s one thing I can’t stress enough, it’s that all mental illnesses manifest themselves in differing ways. There are variations and branches of each illness that most people have never even heard of. It’s a spectrum.

OCD, for instance, is one of those illnesses that many people think they know everything about based on how it is most often portrayed in the media. I honestly didn’t even figure out that I had OCD until I was about 19, even though I’ve known there was something “wrong” with me ever since the 3rd grade. I remember crying to myself, wondering what it would be like to just be normal. I knew something wasn’t right with me, but I was so mortified anytime anyone started picking up on my compulsions and tics that I taught myself how to mask them and transfer those compulsions to ones that I could perform in my head when others were around. I was scared and I was embarrassed. I was scared to tell my parents because, as a kid, a huge part of me didn’t want to know what was wrong with me. I just thought I was weird. I thought I was the only one.

Again, I was 19 when I really finally figured it out. Growing up and slowly learning more about mental illnesses in high school health class, I had my speculations. I would candidly try to express that I thought I had OCD, but I was always greeted by one of the following responses: “No you don’t, have you seen your room?”, “Oh my god me too. I always need to keep my desk super organized”, “Oh yeah, my ______ has OCD and can barely do normal day-to-day things”. Simply put, I always felt dismissed and there was always someone who so obviously had it worse than I did, which only caused me to feel shame for even considering that I could be struggling with the same illness. By the time I was 20, I felt comfortable enough to start being more open about it with people. For so many years I felt a combination of desperation, embarrassment, and guilt. Desperation - because I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t understand and could not figure it out. Embarrassment - because I never wanted to admit to anyone the war of intrusive thoughts that plays on a loop in my head on a daily basis, and guilt - because I knew that there were others that struggled more than I did. I didn’t think that my issues warranted any kind of special attention or care. After all, I had made it so far without anyone’s help, so, it would be fine. I could handle it.

Furthermore, anxiety and depression are no strangers to OCD sufferers, as they often come as a package deal. Anyone that’s known me long enough knows about my struggle with anxiety. I was always a pretty anxious and insecure kid growing up, but it wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I experienced my first panic attack. Since then, I’ve learned how to cope with it fairly well and very rarely experience them anymore. Nonetheless, anxiety is the pushy guy at the bar that can’t take a hint - always lingering and always trying to take you home. Anxiety has prevented me from doing a lot of things that I wanted to do in the past. I would make up reasons for not being able to do something or go somewhere because I thought that saying, “I feel really anxious today, so I’m going to stay home” wasn’t a good enough reason. All that said, though anxiety is something I continue to struggle with, I feel very fortunate to be able to say that I’ve come a long way and have found power in owning up to when I’m not feeling up for something mentally.

My journey with depression, on the other hand, is a different story, as this has been something that I’ve more recently started struggling with consistently. Again, I felt a lot of guilt, at first, for even admitting that depression was something I struggled with. If I’m being honest, I’m still learning how to accept my struggles for what they are and not invalidate them. That said, even minor or mild depression is not something to be dismissed. Minor depression simply means what the name suggests, that the depressive episodes may not last as long or are as intense as those of major depression. Still, there are days where I cannot find the motivation to leave my bed. Some days I can’t bring myself to shower or eat, no matter how hungry and gross I am. The thought of food alone makes me feel nauseous and I have to force myself to eat something just to prevent an inevitable panic attack. During these episodes, I’ll often procrastinate sleep until the early hours of the morning, even when I’m tired and can barely keep my eyes open. I’d rather fight my exhaustion until I can’t anymore than go to bed early. I find comfort in the nighttime if that means I can simply be alone on my phone with Netflix playing in the background. Of course, not taking care of yourself only makes things that much worse. (Duh). Eventually, this path leads me to derealization and dissociation, like I’m watching myself go through the motions, but no one is inside - the shell of my body simply existing in a dream-state. It’s an endless, vicious cycle that perpetuates itself. I can go months without feeling depressed and then it’ll hit me. These more severe episodes may only last a few days or be on and off for weeks at a time. It’s hard because I know what the “solution” is - go to sleep early, eat healthier, exercise, meditate, etc., but I guess that’s the whole thing of mental illnesses, they don’t always make “logical” sense and some days I just can’t bring myself to do any of those things.

Though some days happen to be tougher than others, I do believe there is a silver lining to all of this. Because of the obstacles I’ve faced with my mental health, I’d like to think that it’s given me a new perspective on how to approach people and life in general. It’s helped me to find my passion, and, it's brought this post to you today.

Obviously, I would be lying if I said I had it all figured out now and that I’m here to give you the answers because, clearly, I most certainly do not have it figured out. I will forever be learning how to navigate my mental health as I age because it’s not something that can simply be “figured out” or “fixed” and then you’re done. In my gross oversharing, I just want to offer my journey thus far as an example to show people that you don’t have to feel any shame for admitting that you struggle with mental health, even if it’s not a “worst case scenario” situation. You can be confident, strong, and outgoing and still have days where all you do is hide from the world and cry. 

Today, I am 23 years old and find myself at ease with being open and vulnerable about my mental health, despite sharing all of this probably being the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t feel embarrassed anymore. If anything, I feel more empowered in being able to do so and my hope is that I can help others feel more comfortable in doing the same. I only wish I could visit a scared 3rd grade Karina, give her a hug, and tell her that, “There is nothing ‘wrong’ with you”. 

So, this is the rundown of my mental health journey that absolutely no one asked for. I hope that if there’s someone out there that doesn’t yet know how to come to terms with their struggles, they somehow come across this blog and at least find some comfort in knowing that they’re not the only ones mad here.