I’m So Grateful My Mental Illness Began in Childhood

By Sarah McManus, MSc

 No really, experiencing it for the first time as an adult looks like hell

My first memory of my OCD is when I was around six years old. There were rituals I had to do, but I already felt that undercurrent of ‘Everyone else isn’t doing this, this is weird’. Between that, trauma, and being (undiagnosed until adulthood) Autistic, I experienced a lot of depression.

And I’m glad about that because it would have knocked me off my feet much harder in adulthood.

Lifelong periods of blue

Actually, blue is too nice a color, too deep for the often grey periods that depression brings. It shouldn’t be called ‘the blues’, but the barely colored shades of grey.

I don’t remember my first experience of depression, but I remember feeling ‘fed up’ and often ‘sad to the point of being stressed and exhausted’ in my pre-teen years. Years of relentless bullying and, once again, undiagnosed Autism, took their toll. Getting up in the morning became increasingly difficult, communicating with my parents felt impossible, and school was unbearable.

Being depressed or anxious as a child or teen will not necessarily be labeled that way, and over the years I lived under the labels of ‘weird kid’ ‘clingy’ and then ‘teenage angst’, none of which helped. My feelings were constantly dismissed, invalidated, and not taken seriously.

You know when you don’t want to be given labels like that? Adulthood.

Hitting a wall

“Is this all that life is about, working until you die? Nothing is fun anymore, what’s the point? I’m exhausted as soon as I wake up every morning.”

When a friend who’s a similar age to me began to say things like the above, the reason why was very obvious, at least to me. I empathized, made some suggestions, and then said simply,

“You’re depressed, you need to treat yourself the way you would others who are depressed”

Their reaction was instantaneous.

“I’m not depressed!”

In spite of describing how they felt in classic, textbook terms of depression, they didn’t recognize what they were going through as depression. I’ve heard this from other people too, usually because they don’t think they have it bad enough, they haven’t ‘earned’ that title, or because they think depression is something that happens to other people, not to them.

I tried to explain why I thought they were depressed until a mutual friend stepped in and told me quietly it might be better to ‘ease people into these things’. I’m so used to dealing with depression and anxiety that when I see it in others, it only feels natural to say so, so they can begin to deal with it. I worry about how long it’s going to take them to realize what they’re going through so they can get some support.

Similarly, I’ve worked with people who only developed anxiety as adults, and it stuns them, they, understandably, don’t know where to begin. A little flutter in their chest is enough to send them into a meltdown; a couple of intrusive thoughts can ruin a whole day. It’s a significant shock to their system and an initial period of anxiety can destroy their life.

I’m not saying that I don’t understand, I empathize fully with what adults experience when their mental health goes into decline for the first time, but it makes me glad that I started to deal with it at a young age.

Tried and tested, trial and error

As my mental illness started at a young age, and I had no idea how to articulate it or ask for help, I began to learn how to soothe myself when I was young too. I learned to try different methods to figure out thoughts and feelings I didn’t understand.

From drawing, acting out upsetting situations with my dolls, and challenging my thoughts, to self-harm, and ignoring everything (not all of them can be healthy right off the bat, unfortunately!) I tested various methods to ease my anxious thoughts and depressive brain. It didn’t all work, but until I was old enough to put it into words and seek counseling, I managed.

I’m sure there are upsides to onset being in adulthood, such as experiencing a happy childhood first and being taken more seriously when you first look for help and support. Even so, I’m grateful for the young age my mental illness began, because, in my early thirties, I know how best to deal with it.

Of course, doing the right thing is easier said than done, but that’s another story!

Source: Medium. 9/16/21