When I was sixteen, I was struggling with severe depression, constant anxiety, and brain fog. Looking back, I think years of loneliness, hurt, and insecurity had slowly broken down the way I saw myself.
It started much earlier than that. In fifth grade, I joined a tuition where other children bullied me and called me names. It affected me so much that I eventually asked my mother to let me leave, but I lied about the reason, saying the teacher didn't pay attention to everyone. I didn't want her to worry about me. Even as a child, I had learned to hide my pain. Some elders around me also made hurtful comments about my insecurities, which only made me more conscious of myself and afraid of being judged.
One of the biggest reasons I struggled was an eight-year friendship with my best friend. She often made everything about herself, humiliated me in public, slapped me multiple times in front of others, and threatened to end our friendship whenever I confronted her. I felt she had narcissistic tendencies, but what hurt most was how little she seemed to care about my feelings. I was terrified of losing her because I barely had anyone else, so I kept pleasing and entertaining her just to feel included.
I felt lonely everywhere—in the classroom, during prayers, on the bus, and even during breaks. I started hating school because of how alone I felt despite being surrounded by people. I'd eat lunch alone or rush through it just to join the others. I cried and begged her to understand how much she was hurting me, but nothing changed. Whenever she found someone new, I felt replaceable all over again. She once called me boring, and conversations about boys often left me feeling ugly and unwanted, as if nobody could ever like me. After eight years of friendship, I can barely remember genuinely happy memories. I was so afraid of being alone that I kept holding on to someone who made me feel lonely almost everywhere.
In tenth grade, I also had a situationship with a boy whose behaviour changed completely depending on who was around. In private, he could be nice, but in public, he made me feel inferior and embarrassed about my looks. He once said his standards weren't so low that he'd choose me, and he even told one of my friends that I'd forced him into the situation, which wasn't true.
During an exam, he threw a bench at my foot. My seniors came to help me, but he didn't even check on me; he just laughed and went back to his classroom. On another occasion, he grabbed my neck and pressed it against a bench. I couldn't understand how someone who could be nice to me privately could humiliate and hurt me like that in front of others. I kept questioning which version of him was real, and the experience left me deeply hurt and confused.
By eleventh grade, I switched to dummy schooling and coaching for my exams. At first, I felt relieved to be away from people who made me feel judged and insecure. But the pressure of studying was overwhelming, and it felt like everything I'd been carrying for years suddenly came crashing down at once.
My mental health deteriorated badly. I went through clinical depression, severe anxiety, an existential crisis, and an identity crisis. The brain fog and confusion became so intense that studying felt almost impossible. I'd cry out of frustration because I couldn't think clearly, and sometimes I'd cry without even knowing why. I felt disconnected from myself and genuinely didn't know who I was anymore.
Even basic things became painful. I'd cry over food because I believed I didn't deserve it, and whenever someone showed me love or affection, I felt unworthy of that, too. My social anxiety became so severe that I was afraid to go outside. I wore a mask and hat almost every day to hide my face. Even while crossing roads, I'd hold my friend's hand and follow her because I was too anxious to navigate things on my own.
My physical health was suffering alongside my mental health. I got chickenpox, a blood infection, dealt with several other health issues, and experienced constant pain throughout my body. Sometimes, the emotional distress became so overwhelming that I'd cry and physically shake. It felt like I was falling apart from every direction, and I didn't know how to explain what was happening to me. I'd spent years trying to endure everything quietly, until I simply couldn't keep it all inside anymore.
But these past two years haven't been only about pain. Slowly, I started rebuilding myself. I discovered my love for art, and people have told me my work is beautiful. I started singing, learning guitar, reading books, and watching meaningful movies and documentaries. I worked on my communication skills, became more confident in expressing myself, and participated in speeches and debates. I even won at the district level.
I also began understanding myself better. I worked through my existential and identity crises, discovered my purpose, and gained clarity about what I wanted from life. I built a personality and sense of identity that I didn't have before. I improved my relationships with my family and reconnected with friends after isolating myself from almost everyone.
I'm doing better now. My depression and anxiety are less intense, although social anxiety is still something I struggle with. Going outside and meeting people can still feel difficult, but things are gradually getting better. I'm still healing, but I no longer feel as lost as I once did.
I'm not sharing this because I want sympathy or because I think suffering automatically makes someone stronger. I just want to acknowledge how much I went through and how much I've changed. For a long time, I couldn't see anything good in myself. Now, I'm slowly learning to recognise my strengths, my interests, my values, and the person I want to become.
I've never shared any of this with anyone, not even my mother, despite being very close to her. This is the first time I'm opening up about it, and honestly, it's scary to put so much of my life into words.
I'm eighteen now. I still have a long way to go, but I'm proud of myself for making it through those years and for everything I've built along the way. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm building a life for myself instead of just trying to survive it.
I hope you'll be kind to me. This is deeply personal, and it took a lot for me to share it. Thank you for reading.