A Fight With Myself

By Christina Hudson, Miss Greater Grand Rapids 2004

A dictionary may describe the word “stigma” as a mark of shame or discredit. I, personally, define “stigma” as a brick wall that prevents people, both young and old, from opening their minds.

As Miss Greater Grand Rapids 2004, I set a goal for myself this year. I hope to help all of my brothers and sisters that serve the mental health community break down that wall of “stigma” that relentlessly follows the people who live their everyday lives with any form of mental illness. I have had many experiences with “stigma,” but none of them compared to my very first confrontation with it.

My very first encounter with “stigma,” and most likely my most significant, was with someone I thought I knew very well. I spent most of my time with this person. This was supposed to be my very best friend… It was me. I had started to judge myself. I had decided depression was something I could handle myself. I diagnosed myself and prescribed my own treatment…cutting.

I started cutting in middle school. At a time when I should have been cradling my innocence and exploring new things, I locked myself inside this world of black that I felt I had created.

The deeper I fell, the more I cut; the more I cut, the worse I felt. Sure, the cutting served the purpose at that specific day, time, second, and minute. However, when the pain subsided, I was still left being the same person I was when I started. The only things that changed were the body parts I inflicted the punishment on and the voice inside my head. I started to hear that I was nothing. I was worthless, everything was hopeless for me, and there was no real reason for me to be alive. After a while, your heart really starts to believe what your head is telling it.

This feeling went on for a while and after about two years of hiding the depression, the cutting, and the pain, I really didn’t know how much more I could take. I knew I could not go through life feeling this way. As far as I was concerned, I would rather be dead than alive and feeling like this.

After a few days, I made up my mind about how to handle my situation. I realized something had to change, and that change had to start with me. I talked to my mother (she had discovered the cutting), and we decided I needed to get professional help. We set up an appointment with my physician and she referred me to a psychiatrist. That was one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. I had finally found what I needed to get me through the rest of my life… a real treatment.

For the past eleven years, I have been seeing a professional for my depression. We talk about what is going on in my life right now, and we talk about the past. The big thing is we TALK. I no longer feel like I have to keep all of my feelings bottled up. I have stopped cutting myself, and more importantly, I have stopped judging myself. I truly and honestly feel as though I went through all of this for a reason, so I can share my story with the world in hopes of helping the many that need it. Stay strong!! Something that may seem like a struggle for you is always written in the master plans.