My mental health story
We need to fight the stigma associated with mental illness and make sure that parents and friends are equipped to intervene when they see a loved one in danger.
Kevin Frazier edits The Oregon Way between Zoom classes at the UC Berkeley School of Law. He looks forward to returning to his home in Oregon as soon as he wraps up his schooling.
I don’t have a full body mirror in my apartment. I don’t remember the last time I stepped on a scale. I put everything away with the nutrition label facing the wall.
Why?
Because when I was in the fourth grade something clicked in my mind that told me to starve myself. I am not sure what set that click in motion, but whatever it was made my mind focus almost exclusively on one thing: staying below 65 pounds. Suddenly, Special K bars replaced Pop Tarts, running to school became the norm (rather than taking the bus), and weighing myself became my bedtime routine. I did whatever it took to get as close to 65 pounds as possible.
If that sounds like a low weight for a “growing boy,” then you’ll quickly realize why it didn’t take long for my mental illness to compel my parents to put me in the hospital.
Their actions saved my life; at one point in the hospital, my heart rate dipped to just 33 beats per minute. My body simply didn’t have anything to run on (though I ran and ran and ran as though it did) and, thankfully, it showed. Friends and family members quickly saw the destructive power of my mind on my body—I was literally shrinking.
Though my days as a formally diagnosed anorexic are behind me, the changes made to my mind during years of counting every calorie and running off every “excess” snack are still around. So triggers like mirrors, scales, and labels are best to be avoided.
What does this have to do with policy?
The leaders charged with addressing an epidemic of mental illness among Millennials and Gen Zers are unfamiliar with what it’s like to grow up in the Internet era combined with experiencing depression, anxiety, anorexia, and/or a slew of other difficult mental illnesses.
Take, for example, the University of Oregon Board of Trustees—which has a direct role in empowering and assisting students with mental health concerns. Though the Board is surely comprised of well-intentioned individuals that are passionate about the future of the University, I am unaware of any board member under the age of 35 that has publicly shared their own experience with mental illness. In other words, the Board, as is the case with many public institutions, lacks the sort of first hand experience required to fully understand the mental barriers facing many students in this age of anxiety.
That’s (in part) why I’m applying to the Board and encouraging other individuals with mental illnesses to apply to positions of influence. We need to fight the stigma associated with mental illness and make sure that parents and friends are equipped to intervene when they see a loved one in danger; we also need to make sure those parents and friends have resources available to assist a loved one in need.
I’m around today because my family had friends in the medical profession to consult when my symptoms became obvious, had means to hospitalize me when those symptoms threatened my life, and had the flexibility to drive me to outpatient treatment across town once I was released.
Others, many others, are not so lucky. Their loved ones don’t know how to respond when troubling signs emerge. Nor do their loved ones have the means to act once those signs are spotted. That’s precisely why we need to create an ecosystem of support that assists students suffering with mental health. Having the means to maintain one’s mental health shouldn’t be left to chance because it’s a near certainty that students today will need assistance with some sort of struggle.
Mental health must become a component of services directed toward our youngsters. Bombarded by social media, faced with pandemic-induced uncertainty, and forced to endure hours of Zoom, our students are navigating a time seemingly designed to challenge their mental health. Only by openly speaking about these struggles and normalizing their occurrence can we begin to turn the tide against this epidemic.
I don’t think everyone should have to write a post about their mental health struggles nor apply to their school’s board, but I would encourage those who have faced their own mental struggles to consider ways they can share their story.
If you are looking for a first step, then consider this an invitation: I would happily talk with you. After all, I’m only able to write about my anorexia because I’ve practiced doing so on a much smaller scale — friend by friend, family member by family member.
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THANK YOU for openly sharing your story. Here's hoping we're better able to provide mental health support without judgment or assumptions to all who might need them in the years to come.