My Story Is Evidence That Hope Exists.

On March 24, 2019, I became a three-time suicide attempt survivor. On March 31, 2019, I was discharged from the psychiatric ward and desperate to feel the yearning to survive. The moment I stepped foot outside the hospital, I suddenly was consumed by the overarching fear of what to do now.

What if people find out? What if I never feel better? Why am I still here? What am I going to do now?

For as long as I can remember, I struggled with endless insecurities. I am not good enough. I am not smart enough. I am not pretty enough. I am not thin enough. I am not enough. Those were the thoughts overwhelming my brain like a broken record. And to this day, the voices telling me I am not enough are still present but can be drowned out by the shift from insecurity to encouragement.

I WAS AFRAID OF NOT BEING ENOUGH

The fear of not being enough started in elementary school. When everyone was losing their baby teeth and receiving visits from the tooth fairy, I had to have my baby teeth pulled out by the dentist. While everyone was making friends, I was experiencing panic over every school assignment. By the time I was 8 years old, I was absolutely terrified of letting myself and other people who cared for me down. I did not talk about it too much, because I was afraid that no one else would understand or that people would tease me. Without having an outlet to express what I was experiencing or the tools to manage it, the fear transformed into relentless apprehension. Nonetheless, sometimes I felt extremely confident in myself and my accomplishments but other times I felt defeated and empty.

I never wanted to reach out for help. I never wanted to be labeled as the kid who struggled with her mental health. I was sick and tired of being the dramatic, attention-seeking, sensitive girl. Whenever I cried, it was the same response from everyone around me, “Grow up. Stop acting like a baby. Cry me a river then build a bridge and get over it. Big girls don’t cry.” The invalidation and ignorance of the world around me made me feel insignificant. And, in return, I thought the only answer was to suppress the thoughts and feelings that were breaking me. If I just ignored it, then it would have to go away. Or so I thought.

I EXPRESSED MYSELF THROUGH WRITING

Eventually, I reached the conclusion that I would not live very long. And, honestly, it made me feel more comfortable in the midst of pain and despair. Yet, there was something inside me that knew I needed to be part of a conversation. I always loved watching Oprah after school, and one day, I decided I wanted to leave behind a legacy of impactful and inspiring conversations too. Therefore, I started a blog, which I called “Inspiring My Generation” to share quotes, what I was learning, and the emotions I was experiencing. The name said it all, I was sincerely hoping to inspire my peers to join me in the conversation. At that very moment, writing became my method to express and process my feelings. It was the perfect combination of safe and vulnerable.

I HAD NO STRENGTH LEFT WITHIN ME

In 2018, I was getting ready to graduate with my bachelor's degree after just 2.5 years of undergraduate school. The fear of not being enough led me to push myself beyond conventional expectations and past my own limits to graduate early and prove that I was smart enough and good enough. During my undergraduate years, my Nonna and Papa were my entire world. I spent countless hours on Facetime with both, and they made me feel so important and loved at a time when I felt insignificant.

But, when November 17, 2018, came around, everything changed. My grandparents, my twin pillars, my best friends, and my superheroes were involved in a fatal car accident that took my grandfather’s life. Suddenly, Nonna was in a hospital bed, and I was sleeping in a chair next to her, while I was facing the reality of a world without my Papa.

About a month after losing Papa, on December 24, 2018, I attempted to take my own life. Two moments from that day impact me to this day. The first was the moment I fell into my aunt’s arms with tears flowing down my face asking her why it did not work and why I was still there. The second moment was when my uncle lay in bed next to me while I was shaking and explained the importance of getting help. We made a promise to each other: We would get through this together.

On January 20, 2019, just 27 days after I attempted suicide for the first time, my uncle died by suicide. I will never forget the moment the cop looked at me and said, “Yeah, he is dead” while I waited outside the house barricaded by the crime scene tape. There was no strength left in my body at that moment, as my knees buckled, and I fell into the grass.

I ended up attempting suicide two more times, which led me to a short psych ward hospitalization.

I GOT A DIAGNOSIS

After seeking therapy and treatment options post-psych ward, I received a diagnosis that changed my life. I was officially diagnosed with bipolar 2 disorder, which made the highs and lows, the jumps from confidence to uncertainty, and my entire mental health experience make sense. Because I finally knew what I was dealing with, I was able to acquire the treatment and support that I needed at the time.

Therapy, medication, coping skills, self-care practices, exercise, and nutrition all became essential components of my life. But to be honest, the stigma made me feel ashamed until I finally shared my story in a blog post. On July 29, 2019, I posted a blog about my journey, from a suicide attempt to a psych ward stay. I was informed by a loved one that I needed to remove the post because my entire life would be over if people knew the truth. And, just then, I knew I rediscovered myself. By middle school, I was completely mesmerized by the conversations and impact Oprah was creating. And, at 21 years old, I was determined to embody the same character, strength, and positive force of nature that she holds.

I FOUND HOPE

It's funny how I found a spark of hope and light by reconnecting to the 12-year-old inside of me who desperately wanted to feel seen and heard. On March 13, 2020, I announced that Inspiring My Generation would grow from a blog to a 501©3 nonprofit organization focused on mental health awareness and suicide prevention. I became an advocate, an author, a speaker, and an entrepreneur. I have developed the tools I needed but never had and the conversations I always dreamed of having. And most importantly, I found a sense of purpose, something I never truly had before.

Throughout my mental health journey, I struggled, I lost hope, I found support, and I rediscovered hope.

And with that hope came a new passion: positively touching the lives of the people around me. Today, I am currently a master’s in clinical psychology student, which I intend on using to share the support that saved my life to others who need it too. I am living the dream the broken girl inside me created through Inspiring My Generation. I now have a job where I get to devote the majority of my time to advocating for people who are struggling, spreading hope and encouragement, and offering information and resources that help everyone get the support they need and deserve.

The truth is that with every struggle I have faced, I have been able to find a way to turn it around and use it to help others. I went from feeling hopeless to feeling empowered. And because of that, I finally feel secure in myself and empowered to share my story with the world through writing, podcasting, and public speaking.

Sometimes, I reflect on where I started and I remember that there was a time when I did not know who I was and felt terrified of speaking up, but today, I found my voice and I know that I can no longer stay silent nor expect anyone to suffer in silence.

Now, my goal is to spread hope for those who feel alone, hopeless, or not good enough because I have been there too. Finding hope is what changed my life and I am honored to have the opportunity to share it with others as I, and many others, work to ensure that no one feels alone in their journey.

Long story short, my story is evidence that hope exists and together, we can save lives, one conversation at a time.