In Times of Trouble

Standing
On solid ground
I look around
Blue

Tranquil
Everything still
I feel the chill
Peace

Take a breath in

Suddenly wet. Water

Gasping, Screaming,
Swimming, Reaching, Fighting.
Looking toward the light, but never getting closer.

Water fills my lungs
I suffocate. Succumb. Sink
Drowning

The image I just tried to portray originates from a nightmare. While I spent most of my life unhappy and overly anxious (a perfectionist, one might say), I never experienced full-blown, diagnosable depression until high school. I had this dream one night that I was peacefully standing and looking around, but when I went to breathe a sigh of relief, I realized I was standing on the floor of the ocean. I tried as hard as I could to get to the top, but I never could seem to get there. This nightmare has surfaced on several occasions since the initial.

Throughout college, I went through a slew of emotional rollercoasters—more than even the typical pre-med. During periods of high anxiety and even suicidal ideation (yes, I said the S word…), this nightmare would haunt me. When I overstretched boundaries and limitations, there it was. And when I was sexually assaulted just this past summer, it resurfaced.

People ALWAYS (no exaggeration) tell me how put together I am. “You dress so nice.” “How do you manage to sleep while taking 18 hours, working, and being part of so many extra-curriculars?” “You exercise, sleep well, are a great student, how do you stay so put together?” “You seem so relaxed.” The problem is no one would suspect that I have been in therapy pretty much my whole life. I have gone through serious bouts of depression. I have been so debilitated by anxiety that I lost my own self. And day-after-day, I put on a façade of normalcy, just like I put on my shoes each morning.

I say all of this not for you to all-of-a-sudden think I am this crazy chick who should be institutionalized, or even for you to feel bad for me. I tell you because stress, and anxiety, and depression manifest differently for different people. You never know what each individual brings to the table in terms of history, background, experiences, etc.  Most importantly, you do not always know who is suffering. Since we are going to be physicians, this is something I hope everyone can keep in mind.

I know a handful of people who have committed suicide. It is AFTER the fact, when everyone comments “Oh, if only I knew. Maybe I could have helped.” “Why didn’t she reach out?” For a lot of people, myself included, reaching out is the most painful, unbearable concept imaginable. No one wants to admit to failures. I have learned, though, though my own life that being overwhelmed does not equate failing. Life is messy, but we can all be in this together. So here is a thought: what if we approach EVERY single person under the assumption that he or she could be having a bad day? What if we invite people into our lives BEFORE they feel excluded? What if we offer to be there for each other on good days, on bad days, and every day in between?  What if we could be someone’s life vest in the midst of drowning?

Samantha Studvick, OMS-I