Ruth

The World Health Organisation defines mental health as follows: “A state of well-being in which every individual realises their own potential, can cope with the normal stresses of life, can work productively and fruitfully, and is able to make a contribution to their community.” But this not what health means to me, and I don’t feel that it adequately defines mental health.

This definition implies that the more productive you are, the healthier you are. But my sense of wellness is not defined by my productivity or how much I give to others. In fact, for me, I find that I am at a low point when I give all I can to others without taking a second to think about my own personal needs, thinking that I am unworthy of even a single second of my brainpower. Health cannot be defined in terms of a societal standard, it is incredibly personal to each one of us depending on who we are, what we’ve experienced, and what our bodies and genes are like. My sense of when I count myself as healthy is most likely radically different from someone else’s definition. But this doesn’t nullify my sense of self and my sense of health simply because I do not subscribe to or identify with an international organisation’s idea of wellness.

For me, healthy is getting out of bed in the morning. Healthy is getting dressed and not staying in pyjamas all day. Healthy is washing my hair once every two days, and brushing my teeth twice a day. Healthy is eating without counting calories, pinching my skin after, or indulging in the need to purge. Healthy is drinking alcohol as part of a fun night instead of to forget my feelings and insecurities. Healthy is only self-harming once a week, and not crafting elaborate plans to end my life. It might not seem very ambitious, it might seem incredibly basic, but for me all these things are a struggle and something I continue to work towards as I make tentative steps every day on my journey towards recovery.

‘Recovery’ is a strange concept, and I’d say that even now I’m not entirely sure what that would look like to me. My mental health struggles have been so ingrained in my life since a very young age that I can’t imagine what Ruth without a diagnosis would be like. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t aim towards my own sense of recovery, truly and completely living and feeling content in my own skin, rather than simply existing in a state of self-loathing.

I always was a sensitive, emotional child, feeling everything very intensely and being incredibly empathetic. My emotions were so strong that sometimes it got too much to feel, and I had this habit of absorbing the emotions of those around me. This is just the way I’m wired, and I count it as a sort of superpower that I am able to empathise with most people I meet. But combining this extreme emotional sensitivity with feelings of rejection, with childhood experiences that are difficult and sometimes traumatic, is what led to a sharp decline in my mental health and the beginning of my battle with multiple illnesses.

I think that I first noticed that something was off at the age of 7. I suppose that the feelings just crept in over my early childhood, but by that point I recognised these intense feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness, wishing that I could be ‘feminine’ enough and, quite simply, seem perfect to all the people in my life, but never quite making it. It was secondary school, however, that accelerated the downward spiral. The pressure and intensely toxic ‘dog eat dog’ environment took my innate perfectionism and heated it into self-hatred. I had immense anxiety about everything I did, and would beat myself up, and even self-harm, if I got anything less than 90% in an exam, all the while pretending that I was fine so I could be the perfect student and child. Discovering that I was gay, having grown up in a very Christian environment, just added another layer to my anxiety and sense of worthlessness. I began to teeter on the edge of being actively suicidal, and eventually lost my balance towards the end of my last year of school. The diagnoses started piling on, and I came to University last September extremely sick and still reeling from a number of attempts I had made on my life.

But I have come some of the way back from that after an extremely challenging first year of University. I may not have coping strategies aplenty, I may have new scars, new triggers, and fears, but I finally understand what ‘well’ means to me. I understand what I want to reach in myself, and I now recognise my behaviours and feelings for what they are and where they’ve come from. I might not yet be able to bring myself out of that dark hole, but even the simple act of recognising why I feel so terrible provides some comfort.

And I can, and hopefully will, go further. Getting a diagnosis can be terrifying, and can leave you feeling as if you’ll never be ‘well’ again. But I constantly remind myself that, while my illnesses may always be present in my life, I can achieve wellness. I can understand what it is to truly feel alive again. And I can do this because the concept of health is personal and, for me, is something to work towards as I travel on the winding road of recovery.