Anxiety, Depression, Psychosis, and Insomnia—What Do We Not Understand?

In the last four years of my life, as I began to come aware of my relatively naive mind as a child/teenager/adolescent, I became hard on myself, feeling well... naive. Certainly ironic, but in turn, bringing me to realize that tomorrow we'll be further away from naivety than we are today.

Commonly heard, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” —Socrates

Growing up, I have little remembrance of mental health being a topic of conversation. For my younger, jovial, extroverted, carefree, and prankster self, depression and anxiety was not something I ever encountered for myself or even gave the time of day to consider or understand. Whilst I do not take for granted the simplicity that my childish brain was, especially not now, I look back and wonder if I would've rather the perspectives I have now.

At the time of starting middle school (apparently some people don't even use that term? Well, in my heavily European-dominated demographic in an Eastern Melbourne private school, that's what we call years seven to nine), I quickly discovered I enjoyed helping others, meeting new people, building connections, and that I was captivated by what others felt and thought—though at this point, I don't think my mouth had learnt how to give others a chance to speak. As my time through school progressed, I became aware of occupations and careers, and like a gold-medalist, on the top pedestal, psychology beckoned to me.

This was perhaps my first tangible introduction to mental health, and the possibility that, perhaps, some people didn't actually enjoy life, but I couldn't be sure at this point. I still needed to learn more (note the painful ignorance, I apologize for my past self).

Though it was at this point that the seed to a greater life dilemma was planted. Years passed, as I progressed through my high school years, my eagerness and passion to pursue psychology grew further. Real life and its considerable ups and downs began to reveal itself to me. Faced with the end of a two-year relationship, which I had placed a significant portion of my identity and held huge value in my life, my faith and spirituality was thrown in the boxing ring, as everything I had been taught and learnt in my time growing up as a Christian was being contested against everything else I was learning throughout life. It felt as if many circles of my life were cascading, collapsing in on me, everything happening at once—regardless of legitimacy—I felt like the events were orchestrated in a perfectly timely matter, or perhaps, untimely. At this point (to give a time frame, early 2017), I still had not considered or established that what I was dealing with was my own mental health... CRAZY? There's a good reason I started this by highlighting the element of naivety.

There I was, having a clear-cut picture of my career, absolute in my decision to become a psychologist, and yet, still not understanding what it meant to experience life with the hindrance of depression, anxiety, OCD, or any single form of a mental health illness. The coming of awareness of this one particular matter, I would say, was the very thing that launched me into a period of understanding.

2018 became a life-changing period that cannot be defined by being a positive or negative experience, but rather, just an experience in which I was left with the choice of what I would make of it. It did not go according to plan. Every idea for the moving forward of my life came to an abrupt stop. Motivation flew out the window, university became far too much, trusting in people became a strenuous task that I seldom partook in, and my once tightly held love for religious activities became too much of a mental strain. Gradually, I filled my time with other things, experimenting with new areas of life I was previously unaware of; lethargy and a lack of self-discipline was tactically re-imagined by my brain as "not feeling bound by the structures of society"—which was a nicer pill for me to swallow than "dodging any and all responsibility possible."

Then I encountered something that I could possibly limit down to being one thing and one thing only—a crippling, disempowering, and hopeless sense, coupled with a feeling of falling, sinking, like I was plummeting down a dark void with no ledges to acquire my bearings on. With nothing but darkness, leaving me disorientated, scared, and most importantly, at the time, feeling utterly out of control. I was encountering anxiety attacks.

To what degree I experienced it relative to a long-term sufferer of anxiety, I do not know, but relative to what I had experienced in my life so far: Absolute terror—more than a feeling, but a mentality of feeling trapped inside my mind.

Quickly, my wishes to know more were pouring out as much perspective and understanding than I could poke a stick at. Though not in the ideal way that I would've liked. I would read articles from individuals suffering with depression or anxiety, and things would jump out that I could relate to my own experiences: Emotionally intense TV shows would bring me to tears (100 percent blame my Dad for that, absolute cry baby in movies) and movies would illustrate new principles to me. I remember watching Get Out, the 2017 "satirical" horror movie, and the scene in which Chris fell into this dark void due to hypnosis was a perfect representation to how my newly-discovered anxiety would at times make me feel.

It is now 2019, and I have come out from one of the most emotionally challenging years of my entire life. Much of my pride as an individual, and once more hopeful future psychologist, was taken down a couple dozen notches as I found myself smack bang in the middle of the one thing I feel so strongly about supporting others in. But... it made me realize how the HELL was I going to relate and understand others in something I had not experienced myself.

As this first post has gone far longer than intended, I feel it necessary to finalize my thoughts.

So now, I am left rebuilding myself, but also progressing forward in my identity. I do not know what medical label may be suitable to me, nor do I really want to know. I do not know if I would blanket term my entire existence as being affected by anxiety, or if I simply have bouts of anxiety. But I am grateful for the life I have. I am grateful for where my life is now. I feel as if I do still have control, and I unfortunately know many people cannot say the same for themselves. But for this reason, I do not want to receive a medical label. The legitimacy of psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists, and highly professional individuals is not something that I as a student on the unqualified end of a Bachelor Degree want to question, but I have watched too many times where people have let a term or diagnosis dictate their identity, their life choices, and who they are. I am not speaking from an elitist, self-righteous, or more knowledgeable perspective, but rather, from an awfully fortunate life that I have had. I hope that through my experiences and semi-consistent visitations to an awfully dark place, I may one day help others regain control in their lives, facilitate a place where people may find support, and if nothing else, be an ear that understands what it hears.