My Own Worst Enemy
November 15, 2023
Writer: Olivia Richie
Editor: Chava Makman
Since moving back to college this fall for my sophomore year, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships. I remember, as a freshman, I was taken aback by how incredibly lonely the experience of moving to school was. For myself and most, it’s a new world; every one that you know, your friends and family, the people you love, are left behind.
Many people claim that this new college environment presents the opportunity to make valuable, lifelong connections. Yet, in my freshman year, I found myself the victim of one of the worst relationships of my life. From the manipulation and lies to the isolation and judgment–I was made out to feel completely useless. But this abuse was not the fault of a partner, friend, or even a parent: It was the relationship I had with my own mind.
I don’t know exactly when this relationship began to turn sour, though it wasn’t all at once. I had struggled with anxiety for as long as I could remember, but somewhere along the line, my fears and insecurities metastasized. My mind began to feed me lie after lie, and I eventually gave in to the deceit. I became convinced that I was worthless. A failure. Unlovable.
Looking at other students, it was as if everyone else had it figured out. They all seemed so happy. In my mind, they surely did all of their work and knew all the answers, unlike me. For certain, they were smarter and more successful, and I could never compete. I wanted the fiction that I had painted of others: I wanted to never be tired and never need a break. I wanted to understand everything in my classes. I wanted to do all of my work and do it right. I wanted to be the fastest. The brightest. The best. I wanted perfection–anything less would only prove my inferiority.
For those who are unfamiliar with intense anxiety, it is important to understand that it eats away at every aspect of your life; when you believe that you are unworthy of love or companionship, it becomes too frightening to seek it. When you are convinced that you are a failure, it becomes nearly impossible to ever try. And worst, when you are certain that your presence doesn't matter, you begin to wonder if life might be better without you in it. These were the thoughts that bombarded me every day, ones that flooded my mind and sunk me deep into a depression.
This intense pressure began to reveal itself in the form of panic attacks and emotional breakdowns. I frequently called my mother in tears, causing her to race to Ann Arbor to console me. She begged that I let up on myself, to drop a class or take a step back from the workload, but I refused. In my mind, to ease up would make me a failure.
While I didn’t know it at the time, this toxic mentality was actually the manifestation of clinical depression and anxiety. I had known both of those terms before, and I knew that I frequently felt depressed and anxious, but those were emotions, not diagnoses. In my case, I believed that my depression wasn’t an illness; it was just what I thought I deserved for being me.
My mom, on the other hand, knew better. She was once in the same position as me, and knew something had to change. I could see her broken up with frustration and pain for how I was treating myself, but she didn’t know what to say to help. There’s not much you can say. But, somehow, despite being buried so deep, my mom eventually found words that reached me:
Why do you think everyone else deserves kindness except for you? Who is telling you these lies that make you beat yourself up?
But there was nobody else. It was only me.
This is the relationship we all forget about. The relationship between what our minds tell us and how we react to it. We forget that just like with any other person, the conversations that take place in our own minds can be detrimental. The lies and insults, the abuse and judgment, it means just as much coming from our own hearts as it does when it is spoken to us. How are we ever supposed to be happy if we constantly make ourselves victims of our own thoughts?
At some point, you just have to give yourself permission to be better.
My mother’s words did not suddenly make my depression or anxiety disappear, but they did make me realize that I didn’t have to comply with hateful lies. We all feel like giving love and happiness to ourselves is something that must be somehow earned, rather than something we deserve. But that’s not true, and it’s only once this perspective changes that you can change, too. You must realize that you deserve love just as much as anyone else.
For me, that change in perspective meant finally agreeing to see a psychiatrist and take medication. Maybe for you, it’s something different. Regardless, we all owe it to ourselves to love who we are. You deserve to be happy, even when you think it's unearned. You deserve to be yourself and trust that it’s enough. You deserve to wake up and know that you are loved.
But, don’t take my word for it...
Because what you tell yourself is far more important.
