Hello,

My name is Shannon-Rose McKenna, but you can call me Rosie. I’m 20 years old, and I’m in my second year of study in drama at Edge Hill University.

And I have generalised anxiety disorder.

Yes folks, I have a mental illness. This does NOT mean that I need to be treated like a bomb about to go off, nor does it mean that I am a victim of some sort. However, these are the stigma’s I personally find myself facing when I talk about my anxiety, or my panic attacks, or in general about how I’m feeling.

So, generally, I don’t.

It wasn’t even until this summer just passed that I mentioned to my mum that I have anxiety, that I’ve been struggling with panic attacks throughout most of my teenage years, and that I feel very uneasy in, well, existing, most of the time. I mentioned it to my dad as well, though just in passing, I need to build myself up to having a full conversation with him about it.

So if you’re reading this dad, sorry I haven’t talked to you about how I’m feeling yet, I’m building up to it. Baby steps.

So, university. For a bit of background, I come from a town called Ballymena in Ireland, just about a half hour’s drive from Belfast city. So when I came to Edge Hill for university, I wasn’t just leaving home for the first time. I was moving to a different country, and yes, there are plenty of other students who the same. Yes, going to university and leaving home for the first time is a big step for everyone, even if home for them is just the next town over. Everyone gets nervous, and feels home sick, and some even wonder at times if coming to university at all was the right choice for them at all. All of these feelings are natural.

However, I’m pretty sure that the majority of students don’t recover from a fresher’s event by hiding under their bed with a duvet crying because oh god, there were so many people. Or oh god, I could’ve been crushed to death in there, oh god, it was so loud my ears are still ringing what if I’m deaf now? Oh god, what if everyone I was there with was just pretending to be nice to me, and now they’re laughing at me?

I’m pretty sure the fresher’s week recovery process for most students was a fry-up and pain killers, not the scene described above.

However the above scene was part of my fresher’s experience, and was a scene that repeated itself more times than I would care to recount throughout the past academic year, and fresher’s week was not the first time I found myself having a panic attack either.

As I mentioned before, there’s a stigma attached to mental illness. This everyone knows. My personal experience of that stigma is to be treated like I’m made of glass, and be wrapped in cotton wool.

So I did the same thing I’ve always done. I told no one.

My tutors didn’t know, my classmates didn’t know, my hall mates didn’t know and those I made friends with didn’t know. And for the most part those people still don’t know. Unless they’re reading this, in which case, surprise!

The only people I did feel comfortable enough to tell were my now very close, immediate group of friends. Which include the people I now live with, one of the librarians at Edge Hill’s library, and our former VP FAS.

And these truly wonderful people I have to thank, because honestly, they have given me more confidence in myself than I ever thought was possible.

It took me a good few months to feel comfortable about opening up about my anxiety, above all else I was terrified of becoming a burden on my friends. Because then they would feel obliged to be friends with me, they may feel sorry for me. And I didn’t want that. I wanted them to be my friends because they liked me, not because they’d feel guilty for excluding me. And I was worried that they’d want to exclude me after they found out how messed up I was inside.

But that didn’t happen.

They were so supportive, and understanding, and they didn’t treat me like I was made of glass. They never once made me feel like a victim, or a child.

When I had to cancel plans at the last minute because I would break down into tears at the thought of having to leave my bedroom, they understood.

The odd time I missed a lecture because I’d had a panic attack the night before and just couldn’t get out of bed due to exhaustion, they took notes and filled me in on what had happened.

But thanks to those incredible friends, who were always there to listen to and support me, I didn’t have to disclose to my tutors, my classmates or my hall mates about my illness, which I was loathe to do. And I didn’t have to bottle everything up so much, so when I did have panic attacks, they weren’t as bad, because I had talked through half of my baggage with someone else.

Thanks to those friends, I was able to cope with university.

And now, I find I can talk freely about my anxiety, because I know I have a strong support network behind me. Anxiety no longer feels like a gremlin on my back, keeping me hunched over. It always lurks in the back of my mind but now I can stand up straight and not be weighed down by what feels like the whole world on my shoulders.

In short, all I needed was someone to listen to me, with no pressure or judgement. And I found those someones’ at Edge Hill.

In fact, recently I had a panic attack in front of one these someones, which has always been my worst nightmare, to break down so completely and be so vulnerable in front of another person, and put them in the awful, awkward position of trying to deal with me. But she was wonderful, and understanding, and gave me space and didn’t smother me. She used logic to calm me down, and when I asked her to give me a minute she immediately left the room, no ‘are you sure?’ or ‘It’s not that bad,’ or the worst one, ‘there’s no reason to panic.’ Because when I’m panicking, most of the time I know that I shouldn’t be, and having that pointed out to me makes it 100 times worse.

So, this article feels a bit like I’m coming out. I’m not hiding it anymore. I’m dealing with it.

Hi, I’m Rosie McKenna. And I have generalised anxiety disorder.

It does not define me, and it does not control me. And if I don’t let it define who I am, I certainly hope that you, the reader of this article, won’t let it define your opinion of me either.

I’m writing this article to highlight the fact that many people suffer with mental health issues and do not tell anyone about them for fear of discrimination, and as a result those people suffer more, because they’re bottling it up until it gets too much for them.

So I have a plea, and that plea is in two parts.

Mental health issues are not something to be afraid of and they are not something you should feel you have to hide. There is no shame in having a mental health disorder. If you find that you’re suffering in silence with an issue like anxiety, depression, or any other issue on the wide spectrum of mental health issues, or indeed if your just feeling down, or not yourself, talk to someone. A friend, family member, your doctor, find your someone. You don’t have to suffer in silence.

The second part of my plea is this, mental health issues are not something on which you should build your opinion of another person, and should not dictate how you treat that person. If you allow your opinion of a person to be marred by a disability that they have, that says more about you as a person than it does about them.

And so I’ll leave you with this, a quote I’ve come across time and time again when reading about mental health:

‘Mental health issues are not a sign of weakness, they are a sign of having remained strong for too long.’