Back in the fall term, an engineering student reached out to us to share their story. This is their experience with mental health and making it through a challenging engineering degree.

I spent the night in the emergency room last night. I couldn’t breathe and I was experiencing chest pain. I couldn’t manage my thoughts. I felt out of control. I began thinking that there was nothing in my life worth living for. Nothing I tried would make these thoughts go away. I knew I needed help. So I went to the emergency room.

I saw the doctor and an on-call counsellor. She listened to my story. The entire time I waited for her to say that I was overreacting or wasting her time. I waited for her to tell me what I hear too often — that I need to calm down.

But she didn’t say that. She validated my feelings and empathized with me.

We made a safety plan. A plan that at the very least, meant to help me through a tough moment, and at the most, provide me with a plan if I felt like I would hurt myself or others. We discussed my support system, reasons for living, and we made short and long term plans together. At the end of the ﬁve hours I spent at the hospital, I felt like I would be okay. But most importantly, I felt cared for. I was asked to call my boyfriend’s mom to come and get me and my anxiety crept back up.

She’s going to think you’re ridiculous for calling. You shouldn’t bother her. She doesn’t really care what you’re going through. She would rather sleep than be here with you. She’s going to think you’re a mess. She won’t want you to date her son anymore. His family is better off without you. You’re so pathetic.

I took a chance and called her. She was, of course, nothing but compassionate and helpful. She was very concerned and wanted to help me in any way she could. I got home at 5 AM, needing to leave for work in 2 hours. I couldn’t silence my thoughts about what my boss would think when I called and said that I couldn’t make it.

He doesn’t understand your problems. You look ﬁne at work — he probably thinks you’re exaggerating your problems. You don’t appear depressed or anxious, so he doesn’t believe you. He thinks you’re overreacting. You can’t do anything right. You suck at your job. You’re going to get ﬁred. He doesn’t care that you’re struggling — you’re just an employee. Everyone at work is going to think you’re lazy. You don’t deserve this job.

After 40 minutes of drafting, I sent a 3-line email to my boss explaining that I couldn’t make it in. It was 6AM before I fell asleep.

“Everyone gets nervous sometimes.”

“You don’t look depressed.”

“Some people have it way worse.”

Too often, I hear a combination of those words when I tell someone about my mental health struggles. The stereotypes and stigma surrounding mental health made it very hard for me to even accept that I had a problem. And I think that’s the case for a lot of people.

This term has been a turning point in my mental health journey. While I had suffered from anxiety throughout my teenage years, the university environment ampliﬁed the struggle. I tried to chalk my anxiety up to nervousness or stress. I convinced myself that I was overreacting. I thought that because I was functioning and wasn’t hearing voices or hurting myself, that I was ﬁne.

But mental illness looks and feels different to everyone. As an engineering student, I attempt to quantify everything. But mental illness occurs on a spectrum. Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, or drug abuse are all very real symptoms of mental illness — but so are symptoms such as excessive worrying, irrational fears, and persistent sleeping problems.

Being a student at UW for engineering often goes hand-in-hand with being an overachiever. We battle long hours of class, difﬁcult exams, and co-op all at the same time — but somehow still make it through. But just because we’re here and making it through, doesn’t mean that we’re all okay.

On the outside and to people that I don’t know well, I may appear to be perfectly healthy. I’m intelligent, I have a job, I take care of myself, and I’m often smiling or laughing. But on the inside, I’m in pain, my thoughts are racing, and I’m out of control. This is what is sometimes referred to as “high-functioning anxiety”.

Through the university’s mental health services and counselling services, I accessed counselling during times of emergency. I then began seeing a doctor at health services for medication. I now take two types of medication, one daily and one as needed.

Now, on co-op, I struggle with adjusting to my medication. I miss work frequently, due to increased anxiety and physical symptoms such as nausea, insomnia, and fatigue. Because of my high-functioning nature, each day I am hopeful that I can return back to work. But at night, the panic and anxiety sets back in again.

When I do miss work or school, I spend the day in bed. In response, I often hear “I wish I could spend all day in bed, that would be so relaxing”. But it’s not. I don’t want to be in bed — I want to be at work. I spend my day drifting in and out of sleep, sleep being the only time I don’t feel paralyzed with anxiety. I often go days before even approaching the recommended caloric intake of one day. I can’t be bothered to feed myself, put on clothes, or tend to my appearance.

It’s now been over a week since I’ve been at work — my longest absence. After a counselling session, I am going to attempt to go back tomorrow. But it’s going to be difﬁcult. Along with the normal stresses of a job, I face anxiety related to stigma. I wonder what people will think. I worry about looking too depressed or anxious, but at the same time, too happy. I am afraid that if I look too happy, people will believe that I’m exaggerating or overreacting. I believe that my colleagues will decide that I’m more trouble than I’m worth and that they won’t realize I have a diagnosed illness and I’m trying my best. And as a result, I struggle with validating my illness. This fuels my anxiety further.

When I tell people that I suffer from anxiety, they equate anxiety with nervousness. Anxiety is more than that. It’s sensory overload; feeling afraid, physically sick, angry, and nervous all at the same time. It’s imagining the worst case scenario in your head, over and over again. It’s feeling the emotions associated with every worst-case scenario that you create in your head. It’s overwhelming, intrusive, and irrational thoughts that will not stop about both real and hypothetical situations.

Mental illness is not all or nothing. You can be depressed and be happy. You can have anxiety, even if you have moments of calm. Experiencing happiness or serenity does not invalidate your depression or anxiety. People that are mentally ill experience a wide range of emotions.

I, and many other people with high-functioning mental illnesses, struggle with validating my own feelings and behaviours. When I am reminded that other people have it worse or that everyone gets “nervous” or “sad”, I begin to doubt myself and my illness. But I have to remind myself that mental illness is more complicated than being “crazy” or “normal”. We all have to remind ourselves that mental illness is not black and white.