This Mental Health Awareness Week, student Aaron Gough shares his first-hand experience of how anxiety and depression impacts uni life…
In the last four or five years, I’ve gone from having heavily hypothetical discussions about mental health issues to having a personal connection with them.I used to sit in pubs with friends saying things like, “Oh it’s just terrible, the support system really isn’t enough” and, “I just don’t get how someone could actually kill themselves.’
But now I find myself trying harder to really understand some of the most common mental health issues facing young people today: depression, anxiety, suicide, and a sprinkling of other ailments.This Mental Health Awareness Week, I thought I’d take a minute out of my very un-busy schedule to sit and reflect.
I am not armed with the facts, I have no statistics, only the experience of a white, middle class, university-educated, cisgender man - arguably not the most representative, but I can tell you what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, and hopefully you’ll be able to get something from it.
I haven’t openly dealt with anxiety for years. It is something I deal with daily, sometimes in passing, sometimes not so much. I am, for all intents and purposes, functioning, which I think is an understatement.
My anxiety hasn't particularly stood in my way in terms of university, friendships, or my family life - instead, it mainly manifests itself in a death-oriented paranoia. While I look fine, sometimes I am preoccupied with the notion that I’m definitely seconds away from death for no reason - like none at all.
I deal with it by constantly negotiating with myself. I try to recognise why something is making me anxious, and why I don’t need to feel that way, but for the most part it’s easier to just ignore the instincts that tell me - with absolute certainty - that I am going to die. I am aware that this is not a good system, but it has proved itself to be the most efficient at times when panic attacks are not an option.
I’ve got it bookmarked to sort out at some point, however it’s more of a stamina thing; while I can avoid it I will, because I don’t see my anxiety as worthy of medical treatment. I don’t feel like it’s severe enough, and I don’t think that the currently overworked and underfunded NHS mental health services should have to extend services to me, a perfectly ‘functioning’ person - despite the fact that I deal with it daily.
I have been lucky enough to experience depression as a tourist - it wrapped itself up nicely into a neat year-long episode while I was having a particularly rough time in my first year at uni. All in all, though, I am lucky enough to have never actually contemplated suicide - something which I think people often forget is a privilege.
I have seen the people around me work through some real hard shit, some are still working at it every day, and some will have to work ‘til the end. People may not be happy, they may struggle day in, day out. Staying alive is a choice, and for some people, it’s a fucking hard one.
I’d never really considered the difference between ‘having depression’ and ‘being depressed’. In my first year of uni I was depressed, I didn’t ‘have’ depression - the permanence that comes with these things is something that honestly surprised me because in my experience, there’s been no consistency to depressive episodes, whether in terms of length, how they manifest, or in their severity.
Varying from binge-watching Netflix instead of doing university work to being hospitalised through attempts on your life, the range of manifestations is again something that took me by surprise. Relatively normal behaviours for young people - wanting to get takeaways a lot, drinking a lot, not going to classes a lot - can all be indicators that a person needs support.
Now, I’m not saying that everyone who binges a Netflix show is depressed, but I know that it’s what I did when I was depressed - something which I’ve only been able to identify in hindsight. I watched a screen every second of the day, during every task, to dissociate and distract myself from the fact that I didn’t like my life and that I was having a hard time.
I never went to uni, I failed nearly everything, and I had to retake a year because of it. This whole time I was still going out with my mates every week, I made time for my family, and I had bursts of productivity, all of which led people to think that I was ‘fine’. It’s taken me years to realise that I really was not okay.
I am lucky enough to have a social circle where talking about how I feel is not something that’s ever been mocked or pushed aside. I am, however, sad to admit that I take this for granted. Because of the openness of my own friendship group, it’s been easy for me to forget that some people are made to feel embarrassed and ashamed for even bringing up their mental health.
The ability to openly talk about your mental wellbeing is the only thing I can think of that can actually help you get moving forward or even just coping with whatever it is that you’re dealing with.
So yes, I am going to give the arguably played-out advice that is: talk to someone, whether it’s your best friend, your mum, your mum’s best friend - or better yet, your doctor. It won't be easy and it requires a bravery that is severely underestimated, yet I will say, that whilst difficult, I think it’s the only thing that has kept me from losing my mind (big ups Cath, my mum’s best friend).
On the other end of things, if you know someone around you who is struggling and has managed to be brave enough to speak up, or if their actions have shown you that they are not okay, don’t hesitate to bring it up. It doesn’t have to be a long, eloquent speech - it can be as easy as throwing out a, “You haven’t seemed like yourself lately, man,” or even opening up about your own feelings.
Conversations go both ways - if you acknowledge feeling shitty, the person on the other end is more able to let go of any guilt they feel and say their piece too. However you do it, just start a dialogue. These issues become standard topics of conversation and although things might never get easier, they can become more manageable day by day the more you get used to talking about them.
I have sat around tables with friends and compared panic attack stories, odd symptoms of respective problems, and had in-depth conversations about the things that I struggle the most with (whilst washing up six-day-old mouldy beans in a mug… now THAT'S depressing).
Whether it’s counselling, helplines, or just chatting to your mates, I cannot stress enough the importance of talking. Take it from me - a completely unqualified 23-year-old man - it could save a life, maybe even yours.
