Clare Pitt
I completed my foundation year like a responsible adult; dividing my time between studying, exercising, and working. In hindsight, I was running on anxiety, having failed my A-levels, I felt like I didn't belong at university, and certainly did not deserve to enjoy myself until I started university 'properly'. I wanted to prove all my school teachers and 17-year-old me wrong so badly that I sacrificed my mental wellbeing for my studies. Like many, my university experience wasn't linear because of this foundation year.
Consequently, when I began my degree, I studied with first years, behaved like a second year, while living in a house with final year students. As I did not make an effort to build on friendships from the year before, I had no one around me and became very isolated.
In desperation to feel a sense of belonging, I starting talking to a guy from a society I attended and I quickly became part of his friendship group. This group was not malicious at first, they were good company and I enjoyed spending time away from a desk. However, after an awkward drunken new years celebration, the guy was desperate for us to be a couple, and the friendship became toxic incredibly fast. I was manipulated and gaslit constantly, I felt like I was going insane which meant that I leaned on them to keep myself stable. Furthermore, all the stereotypes and stigma around mental illness were used against me and eventually on top of the mild anxiety attacks, my self-worth dropped and I developed depression. I was told that I should swap to an 'easier' degree, I shouldn't trust other people with my 'problems', and I had poor judgement about important life decisions. I spent all my energy trying to maintain enthusiasm for my degree subject, while also defending the constant threat to my personal boundaries. I wasn't trusted to sleep or eat on my own, they went through my private things and sent emails to university staff about me without my knowledge or consent. My confidence hit a new low. I was ashamed of myself, I doubted everything I did, and I trusted no one.
Friendships going wrong at university is as common as not attending lectures. While context varies, stereotypes and prejudice about mental health can be found in every friendship circle in every university and beyond. I wish I knew that university life is not only a learning curve for your degree subject but also a place to develop my interests, sense of self and social skills. Balancing all of this is fundamental to growing up, yet the pressure to be good at all of them is overwhelming for many.
Second-year was set to be better as I moved in with a wonderful group of people I had managed to stay in contact. I continued to find my degree fascinating, especially now I had a course friend who kept me attending lectures which we then enthusiastically discussed while watching David Attenborough and eating pizza. I started to learn to not feel guilty about spending time with friends and I even trained and ran my first two marathons which remains an aspect of my physical wellbeing.
However, I was traumatised from the year before, I was scared to go out to clubs and cafes in case I met my old friendship group. They always found a way to message me on social media and I even turned up to my new house uninvited. I became increasingly insecure about my academic and social capabilities and as the deadlines piled up, I eventually spiralled into a very dark hole which I could not get out. I went to the university counselling service who provided me with 8 counselling sessions, two more than their funding warranted, and was added to the NHS mental health service which had a 2-year wait. I was pleading for help but because the system is based on risk, I wasn't yet a priority. My feelings were invalidated, my confidence worsened and I carried out riskier behaviour. My housemates constantly found me in a slum of mental anguish and supported me consistently despite being in the midst of completing their final term at university.
However, society told me that I wasn't trying hard enough to get better, I was overreacting, and people had it worse off. I had been taught that talking about it would scare people away and limit my opportunities in the future so I put on an upbeat masquerade. I covered up wounds, put on a fake smile and pretended I was fine. By the end of second-year, I had made 8 calls to Samaritans, had two minor ambulance visits and a trip to A&E. I had passed second-year with good grades but in exchange for crippling anxiety and depression.
The last A&E visit caught people's attention and the university was forced to do something as concerns were raised. I was terrified and ashamed. I didn't believe I was worthy of receiving help, I was depressed with no 'real' excuse; I know now this was just the disease talking. I had several meetings with officials at the university and everyone kept a close eye on me much to my dismay. While at the time it was embarrassing, this really was the turning point for me. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay while struggling through my studies and help was put in place while I found my feet. To think that if it wasn't taboo to have a mental illness, if it was considered normal to tell people you are struggling, my second year could have ended with celebrations rather than a 12-hour stay in hospital.
I personally emailed my project advisor about what was going on before he found out through anyone else. I was due to go on a 2-month expedition to Kenya with him over summer and was looking forward to being in the field as it maintained my enthusiasm for my subject. However, there were threats of cancellation as everyone was worried about my personal safety. Owning up to my poor mental health was my saving grace as I later found out and after an extensive meeting with wellbeing, I was allowed to go to Kenya with the university. On the trip, I made a conscious effort to talk honestly to everyone about mental health which ensured my safety and gave an opportunity for everyone to be honest too. I broke the silence, I had to be brave so that I could be empowered. Despite my struggles, I’ve made friends for life from university who continue to support me and I try to support them in return. I’m not pretending it was easy, I had wobbles in my final year, a lot of therapy, and had learnt many coping mechanisms along the way. However, my friends, work colleagues and even my department all backed me up and bit-by-bit my confidence improved and my depression lessened.
If I felt isolated when I had the opportunity to leave the house and meet new people, imagine how detrimental Covid-19 restrictions are for current students. Whether you are in the 34% of students who have been told they need professional treatment or not, we all need to continue to put pressure on tertiary education institutions and governmental bodies to improve mental health services. Something I didn’t learn until my final year at university was that nothing takes priority over your wellbeing. However, students feel pressurised in academia and student life to consider otherwise; why is this the case? As a community, we must change how we view, talk and respond to mental health. Learning to communicate when we are ‘not okay’ and learning to discuss mental health without invalidation needs to become the social norm. I implore all those who have read my story to break the silence and discuss mental health with integrity and an open mind.
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