Jane

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     I had attended my first semester at UC Davis just a month after my parents told my sister and I they were divorcing. Anxious, angry, and hopeless, I had no idea if I'd be coming back to the same home for Thanksgiving or if they would have both moved by then. My older sister had just started to turn her life around after being hospitalized for suicidal ideation and things were looking good for her. For me on the other hand, I was on a downhill spiral and had been attending therapy for 3 1/2 years prior to my parents divorce for general depression and anxiety. I had never made much progress in therapy which was annoying because it was weekly sessions of $150 for about 3 1/2 years and I felt that money was going no where. In college I stopped going to therapy because it just was not helping. I started vaping "dab pens," the vapes with THC, periodically in college and I just about lost my mind. I grew far more depressed than I could have ever imagined and that was startling considering I had already felt depressed severely enough to attend therapy for 3 1/2 years, but this was a whole different monster. I literally am not exaggerating when I say I had absolutely no idea who I was other than my name, who my family was and where I was from. I did not know if I was kind, smart, athletic, creative, funny, agreeable, opinionated, or even enjoyable to be around; people would ask me of my hobbies and I'd go blank. I completely lost any idea of who I was and it was the most uncomfortable period I had endured in my life. I endured UC Davis for 1 1/2 years until I had to drop out to save my life. I grew so depressed that I dreamt of taking my life almost every night, and being a science major I grew very depressed because of the rigorous schoolwork and because I had learned through science everything is essentially meaningless and random. My school's mental health resources were all for show and were not designed to be effective whatsoever, as they always recommended putting "school first," which insinuated to me I was meant to be seen as a 'student,' not a human being going through tough times. My roommate's mom died of cancer my first semester at Davis as well and UC Davis's response was "Don't focus on that until after finals week," just to put it into perspective for you how much UC Davis really cared/cares about their students. When I dropped out I searched out psychiatrists because my parents and I both felt I potentially had an underlying issue beyond situational factors. I was presumed to have Bipolar Type II although they were very hesitant to formally diagnose me with the specific ailment, and they decided to list it as an undisclosed mood disorder, or something like that. They were far from hesitant to pump me full of expensive and serious drugs, though and I probably was prescribed about 5 different medications in the time we had searched for the right medicine. None of the medicine worked, they just made me dull, tired and nauseous and not a single good thing came out of using them. To be honest I really don't know if I am actually Bipolar II, but I do know I relate to their symptoms a lot. I also find that I relate to other people with Bipolar I or II, so maybe I do have it. In the end nothing could help me in the mental health community more than I could help myself. The drugs, the useless venting, the group therapy sessions, they all just kept me in place which I suppose was better than moving backward, but I wanted more from life than stagnation. I decided, for me, it was best to pretend I didn't have Bipolar Type II at all even though I still continue to relate. I feel better with myself at night reminding myself I am an individual with an individual brain that is unlike anyone else's and only I know my brain. I just did not like the label, it was uncomfortable for me, but it wasn't uncomfortable because of any internalized shame, it just did not help solve my problem to put a label on how I think. I wish I could say there's some epic happy ending to all of this but I'm still dealing with this, as I was at my worst just about a year ago. I do want to say this though, I feel more normal than ever and I have performed in school and work better than ever since I stopped going to therapy and had people with cheap online psychology degrees tell me that there was a list of things wrong with me and I'd be that way forever unless I took their magic pill. The thing that cured me the most was productivity and productivity only. I used to rot in bed all day and get like 4 hours of sleep at night (because I was a science major who would have to study 17 hours a day). You'd be surprised how greatly a negative environment will tear you down as a human being from the core to the point you're estranged from your own self. I am no longer a science major because it wasn't good for me, I no longer go to UC Davis because it wasn't good for me, I no longer stay in bed all day because it wasn't good for me, and I make sure to get 8 hours of sleep because it is good for me. Life isn't about what you want it's about what's good for you. I think before you accept or surrender your identity to a diagnosis it's so important to consider your lifestyle choices and how those may be playing a role in your discomfort. Not all therapists and psychiatrists are bad, but they do want to make money and you're their money bag so just make sure you protect yourself and constantly advocate for yourself. I only got more 'sick,' when they convinced me I was 'sick,' and the moment I decided I wasn't sick, I was just struggling, was the moment I made an inch of progress. That's how I cope with it, and I don't know if it's healthy to approach it that way for everyone but it has been really working for me.