But Why a Blog?

Okay, I’m sorry. I suck at titles.

But before this week hijacked it, I was planning out my first blog post. I have a bunch of scribbles on my computer from whenever the writing bug bites, so most of what I post is actually like my fourth or fifth draft. I don’t think my first drafts even make any sense most of the time.

So for my official first post, I wanted to share the event that really brought about the creation of this. I think we were driving when my mom told me “no one ever makes a blog because their kid makes it. Every single time I was looking for answers on how to parent you, all I found were the tragic ones.” I told her she should do something about it. But the idea never really got any traction until The Incident.

I knew that a full blown, hyperventilating panic attack a few days into school that required one of my suitemates to call the resident assistants shouldn’t be ignored. Determined to handle everything by myself and terrified that my family would pull me out of school, I convinced myself I didn’t need anyone’s help. I hadn’t even opened up to my parents, my high school friends, or anyone at college.

I was barely two weeks into my college experience, and I was already proving to everyone that I was going to fail. I knew, even before leaving, that something was wrong. I chose to ignore it, figuring that I could keep it a secret and finally have my own independence. I now realize that everyone around me knows how capable and strong I am, and that I was only trying to prove it to myself. Depression’s a liar.

I promised before leaving to keep my mom in the loop about my mental health, and she gave me that parental side-eye. But I’m extremely stubborn, and I needed to handle this on my own. Kids need to go through this stuff by themselves to develop the coping skills they’ll use every day for the rest of their lives. They need to know that they can do it by themselves and by swooping in and handling the whole thing for them. I can’t even imagine how painful it must be for a parent to watch their child go through that, but they’ll come out of it stronger. Most importantly, they need to learn how to ask for help on their own.

Long story short, after nearly four years after my first hospitalization, I was back in. I thought I had failed. But if there’s one thing that recurrent depression has taught me, it’s that recovery is a roller coaster. You hit rock bottom, but you always come back up. There was a three-day hospital stay, an awkward conversation with my mom, and more than a few uncomfortable social encounters with classmates; but the world didn’t implode. And that’s when this idea really took off. My mom had come over to hang out on my second night, and she turned to me and said “I’m ready. I’m ready to start our blog.”

SO HELLO WORLD. Do your worst, we’re ready.

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