What It's Like to Always Be The One Who's Not Okay

I had a mental breakdown today and like always, the first thing I did was text the people I love most, hoping they'd hold me together when I fell apart, again.

Mental health is widely discussed these days, which is a really good thing. I’m so happy that more and more people are becoming aware of the importance of having these conversations and taking care of their minds. What I don’t hear often is how hard it is being the one in your friend group who is suffering.

Yes, we all have mental struggles to some extent — but sometimes things get ugly. For me, things are ugly a lot. I tend to keep it all to myself out of fear of burdening my loved ones with the stress of having to hold me up when I no longer have the strength to do it myself.

I’m writing this from my second lowest point of the year. And even while I’m hurting mentally, I can’t help but write out my gratitude for my friends. They’ve both been so understanding of my pain and are showing up in the ways they can. That means more to me than they’ll ever know.

But I can’t help but feel… guilty. My friends aren’t perfect. They have their own struggles — mental and otherwise. And yet somehow, it seems like they’ve managed to figure their shit out enough to make it through the day. I haven’t mastered that part yet.

The guilt, I think, comes from constantly being the friend who needs support. The one always in crisis. I worry they don’t lean on me the way I lean on them because they don’t think I can handle it. Which… may be true. But I still wish they could rely on me the way I rely on them. I wish my issues weren’t so loud and overwhelming — overshadowing their own problems.

How do I navigate feeling my own agony while trying to support them through theirs?

Being the unwell friend is a tough position. While it isn’t necessarily my fault that I’m going through these things, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m making their lives harder just by giving them reasons to worry. I feel shame whenever I run to them with my problems, knowing I haven’t stopped to ask if they’re even in a space to carry it with me.

I guess I’m selfish in that way — unintentionally. I rely on them so much because I feel like I can’t rely on my family to bear the weight and still see me as the person I am. My friends have proven time and time again that no matter how much of myself I show them — even the messy, heavy parts — they’ll remain by my side. No questions asked.

I can’t say the same for family. Whenever I break down or open up about my pain, they walk on eggshells. They treat me like I’m some fragile artifact. I hate that. My friends will listen to me rant about the ugliest feelings and then go right back to cracking jokes like nothing changed. I value that simplicity.

My words are all over the place — I know. But that’s kind of an ode to the place I’m at in life. I’m not stable in any aspect of my being right now, and I want to be truly open and honest about that. I’m trying to understand myself, and writing is how I document every era I walk through.

Being the unwell friend can feel weird. It can feel suffocating. It can feel isolating. And even though my friends always tell me it’s okay to lean on them, I also need to take accountability. My friends aren’t my therapists. They’re not licensed psychologists. They’re people — regular people with their own shit to shovel.

Yes, opening up is part of friendship. But there should also be boundaries. I can’t keep treating my friends like they have PhDs in Get Her Off the Ledge. Friendships are about give and take, and lately I feel like I’ve been taking more than I’ve been giving.

I hate how loud my mind gets. Talking about it helps. But my friends shouldn’t have to bear all of that. At what point will they say, “Enough is enough,” and stop offering the support I’ve gotten so used to? At what point will my issues trigger them?

That’s one of my greatest fears.

So I’m seeking help. Because it’s obvious I’ve needed it for a while. And now I’m running the risk of causing damage to the very relationships that are keeping me afloat — all because I put off getting the help I need.

Being the unwell friend is hard.

But being the support system of the unwell friend? That’s hard too. Knowing that someone you love is hurting, knowing why they’re hurting, hearing them explain their darkest thoughts — that shit can be triggering. It’s heavy.

Things have to get better for me.

And they will.

To the unwell friends of the world:

You’re not alone. Even when it feels like it, you’re not. I’m here, bearing my soul to everyone so you all can know that we’re doing this shit together. I’m not gonna tell you it’s gonna get better or that things will get easier — because you’ve probably already heard that. I’m personally tired of hearing it; I’ve heard it for years.

I’m here to tell you to hang on. If not for yourself, then for the people you care about. When you’re in a dark place, it’s hard to care about yourself or your future or your life. I stopped fighting for myself a long time ago. Now I fight for the people I love — my friends, my pets, my family (even though they make it hard most times).

I’m asking you to fight for me — a stranger who believes in you more than she believes in herself.

To my wonderful friends, Ana and Kay:

Thank you for being the greatest things to ever happen to me. For showing up whenever I need you. For reminding me that I’m loved despite my pain. For silencing the voice in my mind that tells me to give up.

You both have kept me afloat for many years and I owe you my life. I hope one day you trust me with your pain and lean on me too.

Cheers to 100 more years!!