In early 2019, I was driving home from work as always when I looked up and saw the snow-covered mountains. It was a cold, sunny day— one of those days when the haze has cleared and the freezing air brings with it a sense of clarity. The snow-covered mountains glinted in the sun, sharp and imposing, like the jagged edge of an unfinished sculpture. It was an incredibly beautiful sight, and I felt my heart swell and a smile tug at my lips. I so appreciated my life in that moment, that I lived in such a beautiful place on such a beautiful planet. I was moved. I felt a little teary.
Later, I recounted that experience to my therapist. “It was so weird,” I said, “I don’t know why I got so emotional.” She just smiled at me and said, “It’s a wonderful thing to be able to appreciate the good things in your life. It’s normal. It’s just been a while since you’ve been able to do that.”
Looking back, that was a major turning point for me— the bellwether alerting me to the hard-earned change in my mental health. At that point, I had been in therapy for nearly a year, and had been on antidepressants for about the same amount of time. With mental health, change comes slowly, and often so gradually that it’s hard to notice. Therapy is often exhausting and difficult, and the process of finding an antidepressant that works and getting to the right dosage is long and arduous. It can feel like nothing’s getting better, it’s just getting more logistically complicated. But then you notice the mountains.
The first time I went to my psychiatrist (for mental health medication management), I had a panic attack. I was so used to living with with that level of anxiety that I just went through with the appointment, even though it felt like my heart was going to collapse in on itself and I was drenched in a cold sweat. I didn’t say much at the appointment, even though I had carefully prepared notes. My doctor, an incredibly sweet man, was patient with me, laying out his proposed medication plan and congratulating me on already beginning therapy. When I left, I got back into my car and cried. I had a new prescription, but I couldn’t imagine things feeling better when such simple tasks were so difficult for me.
Several months later, I was back at the psychiatrist’s office for a check-in on my medication. We had adjusted the dosage a few times, and added in a supplemental medication. He asked me about work, and for my opinions on various science fiction movies. “I’m… I’m starting to feel better,” I told him, hesitant to say it lest I jinx anything. He nodded and smiled. “I can tell,” he said. “You seem a lot better than the first time you came in.” I laughed, suddenly aware of just how different I was now versus then. I was so grateful for the change.
The worst days of my mental health struggles are terrifying memories. I remember the way that I felt and it’s like sensing a real danger— a tiger about to pounce, a tiger made of my own despair. Back then, existing often felt like too much to handle, and the memories sometimes boil and spurt deep in my brain. I treat these memories carefully, like a dangerous chemical. I don’t want them to get too close, to spill over into my current life.
However, sometimes something trips me up, and a stray drop of those dark days lands on me. I have a bad day, a bad week… or, in the current case, a bad few weeks. Since I started actively treating my mental health, it’s never been as bad as the worst days, but I don’t like the reminder nevertheless. I don’t like being on edge, as if something terrible is about to happen at any moment. I don’t like the circles of my thoughts, and the muddy, foggy feeling in my brain. I don’t like compulsively second-guessing the love people show me. I don’t like doubting my own worth.
And yet… I will be fine.
I will be fine. I say that with confidence, not as a dismissal. I will be fine because I know what to do: keep working on it. Keep up with the therapy, the meds, the deep breathing. Go on a walk and feel fresh air and sunshine on my face. Do some puzzles, make a necklace, bake some cookies. Lean on my loved ones and work to trust their love. Laugh.
Life is hard work, happiness even more so. But one day, you may look outside, see something as simple as the mountains, and be moved to tears. And it’ll be worth it.
If you or someone you know needs help with mental health, please call 988 (The National Suicide Prevention Hotline), call your local warm line, or visit the National Institute of Mental Health website.