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I've always hidden away the stories of struggle that I have had with my mental health. The hardest thing I guess was accepting the fact that I was mentally unstable, that I was unable to cope with the world that surrounded me. I remember when I was 15, ready to end my life, ready to jump out of a window from a 2-story building, hoping that the world around me would shatter that I would crumble with it. I remember sitting on the ledge, my legs swinging out in the air, looking down into the streets below where kids were playing freestyle football. I clearly remember every single memory. I wish 15-year-old me was able to tell herself that everything was going to be okay, your mental health is just bad and that you need help. I wish that talking about my mental health was not taboo in Bahrain, and that I was able to get professional help at a younger age and be diagnosed.
I only got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder when I was 18, and it took two therapists to get it right and realise that I was actually suffering, that there was something going on with myself. It took two initial assessments to realise that I was struggling, to understand what I had and how to work with my mental health.
I’m still struggling, I am still trying to get everything alright in my head, but I know that I am going to have my days of highs and lows and that I know that everyday is not going to be perfect. Even though I am still struggling, I am in a much better place. I am learning to look after myself, and am more self-aware of when I am falling into a low episode or when I am mentally drained.
I was bullied severely, mentally, and emotionally that I forgot what it was like to be human, to have emotions. I wish I could tell 15-year-old who was struggling with her mental health and trying to socially cope with school as well, that everything was going to be okay, that it was okay to be sad, that it was okay to be terrified.
I wish I could tell 15-year-old me that the tantrums of anger was just her way of trying to be heard, that it was something she could not control. I wish I could tell 15-year-old me that those bullies who taunted her for being angry all the time, for crying out of command all the time was actually her body’s way of expressing her sadness, her unstableness. I wish I could have told her that her mother is actually understanding of what she is suffering with and that is always asking her if she is okay.
I’m happy now. I have an amazing support system with my friends, my family, myself. I have learned to seek help when needed, even if it was professional. I have learned that it is okay to not be okay all the time, and that I did not need to put up a strong front all the time so that I would not be broken down easily. I have learned that it was okay to let my guard down, to talk and express my feelings. I am still learning, but I know that I am in a much better state of mental health compared to 15 year old me.
