Leaving university helped me conquer my depression

I had suffered with depression for a fair few years before I started University, on and off, stubbornly refusing any attempts made by family, friends, and school to convince me to speak someone or accept help. To me, going to Leeds University was just a way to facilitate finding my independence, escaping circles of friends I had been too self-absorbed in my own misery to treat right; a fresh start, a change of scene. Of course, depression is a leech which sits on your back, sucking your energy and positivity, a weight that grows heavier as you find your support network has vanished, isolated in your room, having spoken to no-one for days.

That’s the thing about University. It became ever easier to withdraw. No one was expecting to see me. Attendance was poor across the board, so skipping a lecture here and a seminar there became skipping a week here and a week there. I had my own society, and managed to find a group of like-minded friends, but that once-a-week respite from crushing loneliness just meant drinking. And drinking meant arriving home alone, any morsels of willpower gone, crying down the phone to the only sympathetic ear I felt I could open up to – Leeds Nightline – and self-harming repeatedly.

It was a bleak cycle, and as any person who has suffered depression will tell you, the overwhelming belief that you do not deserve to feel good, and that you have nothing to offer the world, will stamp out any flicker of motivation to get help. It is a deep, dark hole, and at the worst of times, the black hopelessness of the situation left me suicidal. When leaving your own bedroom seems an insurmountable task, the journey to University for a thoroughly uninspiring course was the last thing I cared about.

My boyfriend, who helped me through it all

Despite managing to hand in all the assignments required of me, and surviving first year with a respectable mixture of firsts and 2:1s, my lack of attendance was finally flagged up in second year. With every letter of warning, I felt my desire to attend lessen. I discussed depression with the attendance monitor, and she urged me to get a letter from the doctors to see if they could cut me some slack, but at this point I felt my time in University was up. Within a matter of hours, and without consulting my family, I had filled in the required form and decided to leave in November of my second year.

It was a weight lifted, a relief. I can’t blame the University for a lack of support. Had I wanted to reach out, things may have been different. I have only myself to blame for the times I booked in with the counselling service, only to cancel, stubborn in my desire to sort things out for myself. Unfortunately, depression is a beast that few can handle alone.

Upon leaving University, the relief gave way to panic.  I had suffered my first panic attack in second year – blind dread from nowhere, a pounding heart, dizziness, sweating, hyperventilating. I was diagnosed with anxiety, and given some thoroughly unpleasant beta-blockers to help with the physical symptoms of panic attacks. With money worries, a family support network that had decided to move to Canada, an oppressive living situation, no job, and some bizarre latent fear of cancer, my anxiety spiralled into unbearable health anxiety and fear of illness unlike anything I’ve ever known.

It felt worse than depression, far more traumatic. I would check my body obsessively for lumps, bumps, tumours, countless times a day. I was unable to focus on anything, trying to relax and watch TV with my boyfriend was a nightmare – every flicker in my vision or pang of sensation spiralled into a panic attack, a certainty of death. How would the illness be diagnosed? How would I deal with the news? How would I cope financially? How would I deal with the loss of independence and dignity? These questions clouded almost every minute of every day. Curling up in a ball and crying out in distress, my boyfriend was left to pick up the pieces, reassuring me endlessly. The patience of a saint is required when dealing with someone suffering with anxiety. Seeing him upset, and knowing the burden my mental health was putting on him, was the main thing that finally made me accept that enough was enough.

Since recovering, I’ve grown the confidence to start modelling

The NHS’s mental health services can be rightly criticised, and I will not pretend for one moment that they are not overwhelmed by the current demand, and therefore cannot provide the services required of them (though I will withhold criticism of current mental health funding for another article). I spent 4 months on the waiting list, and for somebody in a more vulnerable position than me, this could cause untold harm. Thankfully, for the first time in 5 years, I had a handle on my self-harm, so it was just a case of waiting for a call.

Having always been a sceptical of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, I will now be the first to shout from the rooftops about the complete transformation of my life in the months following my treatment. CBT has helped me to understand the way my thoughts and behaviours work to perpetuate my depression and anxiety. It is through having a greater understanding of the way our minds work that we can notice when we are slipping back into unhelpful patterns, and therefore hopefully stop mental health problems from having such a stranglehold over our lives in the future.

I am extremely lucky. Depression throws everything imaginable at you to block you from seeking help. That first step towards getting treatment was undoubtedly the hardest – every fibre of your being is grinding you down with negativity and a lack of self-worth.  Every bone in your body tells you that you deserve to feel this way. If you can make it past this barrier, and drag yourself to the doctors and make the first steps towards finding an appropriate treatment for yourself, you’ve won more than half the battle. I am happier now than I have been since childhood. I am creatively fulfilled, I once again see the beauty in the world, I live with passion and love, and after believing for so long that I was just a deeply negative person, I now can see the positivity in a world that I used to believe I had no place in.