Learning to Talk to Myself
Muhaimin Hasan
I believe that in every person’s life, there comes a time when they must confront the monster that is their mental health.
By "confront,” I mean coming to understand how to properly manage one's mental health. However, I, like many other Asian Americans, struggled to come to grips with my mental health. I was lucky that I stumbled upon something that helped greatly in my efforts to improve my mental health. So I thought I would write this piece to hopefully give others who faced a similar predicament to mine: some help.
Upon starting high school, I lost motivation for many things. I wasn't turning in schoolwork, I slacked off on extracurriculars, and I wasn't participating in activities with the same zeal that I had a year ago. Looking back, I think this was probably due to feeling an inordinate amount of pressure to perform. Having had 2 older sisters perform exceptionally in high school and move onto prestigious universities, my parents - as many other parents do - expected the same of me. I felt that it was extremely unfair that I was being held to the same standards that they were held to. I didn't want to do what they did, but I felt like I owed it to my parents to perform this way. This feeling eventually transformed into a huge burden that affected many parts of my life. I can't think of any other circumstance that would have adversely affected my mental health. I think I can say with pretty high confidence that many of my peers have probably felt the same way.
So then, having said this, I decided that something needed to be done about this "thing" that was causing me so much anxiety. I am a very talkative person so I immediately felt the need to talk to someone. This was where I hit a wall. Who to talk to? My parents didn't seem like the right choice because I had never talked to them about my mental health before; I had never planned to and they didn't share my experiences. My two older sisters were both in college and while I could have reached out to them, doing so over the phone didn't seem like it would give me what I wanted. Friends seemed like a good option, but we never discussed mental health or how we felt for that matter. The school counselor was something that crossed my mind but I wasn't about to talk to a stranger. Having found no avenues to turn to, I felt at a loss.
One day in October, I opened my laptop, pulled up Notepad, and began to write.
By my very nature, I am not a writer. I by and large dislike writing and struggle with it immensely. That night, however, I wrote with a fluidity I had never known. I wrote about my struggles in school. I wrote about how I thought it was unfair that I was being held to a standard that I got no say in. I wrote about not being able to find someone to talk to. By the end, I was amazed. I felt great. Thoughts and feelings that I had harbored for who knows how long were laid bare. Albeit just for myself to see, it was liberating nonetheless. The very same day, I came back and wrote some more before bed. For about 60 consecutive days I wrote. As far as I can remember, that was the first time I had done anything for 60 days of my own volition. And, I had noticed a marked improvement in my mental health. I was less bogged down by my feelings,did better in school, and performed better in extracurriculars.
The journal didn’t just serve as a way to talk. It also served as a diary of sorts. I would write about the most arbitrary things, like what I had for breakfast or the people I saw. With time, I felt better and better and wrote less frequently, about once a week. Now more than ever, in this pandemic, my journal has been a great outlet since I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about anything.