There are some days I wake up and can’t shake the jittery feeling of unease. It is a feeling that needs no trigger and creeps up on me at the worst possible times. My mind becomes full of worries that are often not realistic and blown out of proportion. Pessimism clouds over every tiny thing I do, over every figment of thought I carry. If I am alone, the feeling only grows to the point of exhaustion and suffocation until the spiral ends magically. Or sometimes I am lucky enough to find a friend who eases my worries and distracts me. Still, the feeling always comes back. 

This is crippling and chronic anxiety.

Growing up, I never acknowledged this feeling. Not focusing on it, I thought, would make it go away. Everyone must have gone through the same things. The fact that mental health is such a taboo in Turkey did not help. Going to a therapist was frowned upon. You were considered to be crazy and weak if you were seeing a “shrink.” 

That’s why, up until the beginning of my sophomore year at Yale, I didn’t seek help and didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling. I was scared that if I revealed too many of my problems, people would see me differently — some would even leave my life irrevocably. 

I decided to try Yale College Community Care when the feeling became unbearable and impossible to ignore. It was a faster solution than trying to find a permanent therapist through Yale Mental Health and I was still convinced that I did not need a permanent therapist. Not long after, though, I realized that there was value in talking about the thoughts and emotions that I repressed  for so long. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped to know that I didn’t have to live with the constant anticipation that something bad was going to happen. I didn’t have to feel trapped in  my own mind. 

My therapy journey since then has had its ups and downs. While Yale Mental Health has sped their system relatively more since then, it was painfully difficult to access the necessary resources at times. I was not the only one with these struggles; It took most of my friends months to be assigned to a therapist. It took loud, desperate cries for help for Yale Mental Health to offer faster help and care. 

Even then, I was very reluctant to talk about my mental health concerns with friends. I felt uncomfortable mentioning I was going to therapy. I was unwilling to acknowledge my depressive episodes and anxious spirals. There was a time I took offense just because someone asked if I had a good session. 

Last week I bumped into an old friend by Hillhouse Ave. who asked how I was really doing: not the type of “how are you doing” people ask instead of saying hello while passing by. And for the first time I felt truly comfortable admitting that I was in fact walking back from therapy. When he asked about my anxiety, I was open about how overwhelming it could get. He was pleasantly surprised by my honesty and commented, “I wish more people talked about it.” And indeed, I wish more people did. 

Only in my senior year on this campus I am truly aware that I am not the only one who battles with anxiety and intrusive thoughts, who at times feels betrayed by her own mind. While everyone has their own methods of dealing with mental health issues, in my experience, it helped to talk to my friends about it. This is not to say that everyone will understand or sympathize, but someone out there does care. To know that is a beautiful and relieving feeling. It may not always be  enough to relieve the pressure of what we are going through, but it is a good start.

SUDE YENILMEZ is a senior in Berkeley College majoring in global affairs. Contact her at sude.yenilmez@yale.edu.