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Although becoming increasingly acknowledged and understood, mental health issues in teenagers are often reduced to “phases”, “hormones” or “just part of growing up”. At least, this was my experience in school. I am 22, and I have been suffering from various mental illnesses for over a decade – including depression, anxiety, PTSD and Borderline Personality Disorder. I went through school, sixth form, and most of university, without any support. Secondary school was an avalanche of depression. Sixth form was a hurricane of anxiety. University was acceptance. Now I am learning to manage my illness.
This is the first in a series of three papers, exploring each level of education and the impact mental illness can have on both education and being a young person in general. This piece will begin the series with secondary school.
My story
I distinctly remember the first time I felt something akin to depression. I was six years old, and I had just gotten home from school. I sat inside and heard children outside, giggling amongst each other. It occurred to me that no one wanted to spend time with me outside of school. I concluded that I must be awful.
It did not improve. By the time I was 13, and far into secondary school, I was struggling. I was moody, defensive, easily angered, spoke bluntly (and therefore had very few friends), fell asleep during lessons, was fanatical about my hair and had regular panic attacks. I was all but convinced that I was the worst person in the world and that there was no reason to live. I threw my mum’s lovingly made packed lunches away more often that I ate them. I spent my evenings right through to very early mornings online – going into chat rooms, creating personas on games, trolling the forums – pretending to be anyone else except myself.
I was bullied mercilessly. I was an awkward-looking teenager, and my peers did not hesitate to point it out, branding me “rank”, a “proper minger” (see: 2009 slang for “ugly”). It did not upset me. I knew it was true, but I did not need reminding. I grew an absurdly long side fringe to cover my face. “Nice hair”, they would say, with a smile...