Mental Health Awareness Month- Part 1

The month of May has been identified as, Mental Health Awareness Month. Some may not realize the progress this topic has made over the years. Allow me to preface this by saying, I'm not a mental health professional, therapist, or none of the above. I'm simply a regular person who has lived the life of mental health for about 14 years.

Back in 2009, I remember being in my hometown riding the light rail. I remember feeling like my heart was going to pound out of my chest, feeling claustrophobic, extremely hot, and nervous. I remember getting off at the next stop, which wasn't my actual stop. I needed air. Once I realized where I was, I started to panic all over again because it wasn't my stop and was in the middle of nowhere (in my head). I got back on the train to head back home because I didn't feel like myself. I called my mom (who wouldn't), and explained how I was feeling. She thought it was because I hadn't eaten and needed to add protein in my diet. This feeling happened every day, and everywhere.

To give a little background, I had MAJOR life changes that led to the above moment. From divorced parents, a sick grandparent, transferring schools, and adjusting to being away from my mom and sister was a lot.

March 2009 was the first time I had ever experienced my body being anxious on a daily basis. In April 2009, my Granny passed away. Anxiety and depression worsened. After failing every class and being on academic probation because my grades had slipped severely; to having 8 panic attacks a day; the physical inability to do my job (which caused a decrease in funds); loosing weight, and holding in every feeling and emotion became too much. I remember going to the doctor in late April 2009 because I had enough of feeling "sick." After bloodwork and conversation with my PCP, he told me I had anxiety and depression and wanted to start me on antidepressants.

Listen, as a Black girl growing up in church, that was just unheard of. During that time, being on an antidepressant meant you were "crazy," "weird," etc. Initially, I refused. After learning that I had lost 25 pounds and every level on my bloodwork report was severely low, I had to give in.

My anxiety/depression was so bad to where I was living with a few family members so they could take care of me. I hadn't told them what was really wrong, all they knew is, "Brittany is sick." I ended the semester with the lowest GPA I have ever had in my life, and was told that I had to be on withdrawal of privileges from my chapter due to my grades. I then withdrew from the world because I was so embarrassed. People who knew Brittany, knew me as a scholar, upbeat, fun, ability to multitask, always had a job, and involved in every activity. I wasn't the same girl.

Living with one of my cousins was something I didn't know I needed. I sulked in the bed every day, kept the blinds closed, didn't want to shower or get dressed, nor eat. After awhile, my cousin said, "enough!" She would then open my blinds every day, her then husband would cook gourmet meals, and she would help with my hygiene regimen and would get me out the house. There wasn't anywhere she went, and I wasn't with her, her mom, or her Granny. After living with her for a while, my mom was notified that I needed her. I remember the day she knocked on the door and I answered. As soon as my mother saw me, she cried. I didn't look like the same Brittany from when she left. She simply said, "Brittany, pack up! You're moving to Missouri with me and your sister. Your flight has already been booked."

I left Denver with a duffle bag and a purse. My friends and most of family had zero idea why I left, and some never even knew I left because I fell under the radar so deep. I simply said, "I'm sick and I'm leaving." I left the next day and was met with my mom's KC bestie at the airport. I had heard great things, however, I just wasn't myself. She fed me a wonderful home cooked meal and loved on me until my moms flight arrived. My mom, sister, and stepdad were so astonished at the weight I had lost and how pale I looked. I remember telling my mom, "whenever I get better, I'm moving back to Denver."

In July 2009, we took a trip home to move all of my things out of my apartment and I never returned home (only for occasional visits at the time). Once in KC, I met with a new doctor, who happened to be a Black woman! She encouraged me to stay on medication and to speak with a therapist. She referred me to my very first therapist, who happened to be a Black Christian man. Between my family, lots of prayer, therapy and medication, I started to see a shift.

Come back for Part 2 of the story!! I will be posting part 2 on my birthday!