Beneath the Surface

Each person's experience with anxiety and depression is uniquely their own, and mine is no different. For years, there were moments when loneliness was overwhelming, sadness consumed my every thought, and anxiety struck so powerfully that even mundane tasks seemed insurmountable. Still, amid the shadows, flickers of hope appeared, encouraging me to stay alive to fight another day. Today, I wish to share not only the difficulties but also the resilience, the small triumphs, and the insights gained throughout my journey. If you have ever felt isolated in your own struggle, I hope my story can foster a sense of solidarity and inspire you to discover strength within yourself.

Up until the fifth grade, I was a joyful and self-assured child who eagerly anticipated school each day, feeling secure in my friendships and at ease with myself. However, everything shifted abruptly when, almost overnight, my peers acted as if I were invisible—disregarding my presence, leaving me out of games, and avoiding making eye contact in the hallways at school. They would make cruel remarks, such as, “I smell something, but I don’t see anyone!” when encountering me in the bathroom. Initially, I was bewildered and hurt, unable to comprehend why the very friends who once shared laughter with me now pretended I didn’t exist. This sudden alienation gradually eroded my confidence, making me question my value and wonder if something was wrong with me.

Before long, anxiety overwhelmed me, plunging me into an unseen battle marked by emotional pain and distress. The ongoing taunts and exclusion steadily broke down my self-esteem, triggering deep feelings of fear and loneliness. Eventually, the mounting stress and anxiety became too much to bear, manifesting in intense physical symptoms that baffled me. Ultimately, the persistent, gnawing anxiety in my stomach led to a hospital visit where I was diagnosed with a nervous stomach. During the 1980s, medical professionals rarely considered mental health or acknowledged anxiety as a cause of physical illness. Their advice was to follow a bland diet to reduce stomach acid, and I was sent home.

After enduring several months of relentless bullying and exclusion, the harassment ended as quickly as it began, and my classmates moved on, leaving me with a complicated blend of relief and unresolved confusion. I never discovered the true motives behind their cruelty or why I became the target initially. Was it something I said or did, or was it merely the unpredictability of childhood social dynamics? Though my stomach issues ceased, I never fully trusted my classmates again. From that point onward, I concealed my vulnerabilities behind a mask of loud, confident bravado.

Experiencing my first menstrual period in eighth grade marked a significant and challenging turning point in my life, as the sudden flood of hormone fluctuations brought about intense mood swings that felt overwhelming and confusing. Alongside this emotional turmoil, I experienced profound sadness and hopelessness, occasionally descending into dark thoughts that obscured any sense of a hopeful future. It seemed my body was maturing more rapidly than my mind could keep pace with, and the mixture of physical unease and emotional chaos formed an unprecedented storm I had never encountered before.

Amidst this restless blend of adolescence and insecurity, I convinced myself that having a boyfriend would confirm my value and demonstrate that I was worthy of love and attention. Driven by a desire to please and a need for acceptance, I overlooked warning signs and suppressed my inner doubts, hoping that being liked would alleviate the emptiness within. Tragically, this vulnerability placed me in harm’s way, culminating in an assault during a date that shattered my already fragile trust and sense of self.

For many years, I carried this devastating secret by myself, unable to share it with anyone. Outwardly, I presented a confident and bold facade, but behind closed doors, I was engulfed by intense self-hatred. My silence about the rape bore heavily on me, pulling my spirit down into a deep pit of depression and overwhelming anxiety. Without the courage or security to open up, I waged these internal struggles alone, enduring several suicide attempts as I sought desperately to escape the torment. This solitude only deepened my suffering until one attempt came perilously close to ending my life, forcing me to admit myself into a mental health facility.

My time spent at Charter Hospital was both demanding and profoundly transformative. In the initial week, silence consumed me as I grappled with the heavy weight of trauma and fear, unable to express the long-buried events from years past. Yet, thanks to the support of my therapist and the nurturing environment around me, I gradually found the courage to disclose the harrowing ordeal of rape that had long tormented my mind. Although each discussion was painful, it marked a crucial step toward reclaiming my voice and strength. Over time, I embarked on the path to healing—relearning trust, facing my anguish, and uncovering an inner resilience I hadn't realized existed. The process was undoubtedly challenging, but those weeks sowed the initial seeds of hope and recovery that flourished well beyond my return home.

After my stay at Charter Hospital, I made the difficult decision to quit teaching, hoping that stepping away from the stresses of the classroom would allow me to focus on my recovery and regain a sense of stability. I returned to college to pursue a master’s degree, believing that furthering my education might offer new opportunities and a fresh start. However, despite these hopeful changes, my mental health began to decline once again, revealing just how complex and ongoing the journey toward wellness can be. The pressure of adapting to a new environment, academic demands, and the lingering effects of past struggles weighed heavily on me. Knowing I couldn't allow myself to sink back into despair, I sought counseling through the university, tried to practice self-care, and continued navigating the unpredictable terrain of mental health.

One night, once again overwhelmed by feelings I couldn’t control, I got drunk and, in despair, tried to take my own life once again. Fortunately, my counselor recognized how dire my condition was and prescribed medication to help regulate my emotions. As my body adapted to the new treatment, I was admitted to the State Mental Hospital in Yankton, where I found the care and support, I so urgently needed.

Upon my release and return to my counselor, she said something that might have sounded harsh to others but strangely resonated with me: "Tara, you've attempted suicide multiple times, yet you don’t seem very skilled at it. Perhaps it’s time to stop trying." Her words stunned me, and although I wanted to respond, I remained silent. She was speaking the truth, and for the first time, I truly heard it.

From that moment, something inside me shifted. The frustration and weariness embedded in her blunt honesty cracked open a space where hope could finally take root. It wasn’t that life suddenly became easy, or pain vanished overnight, but I began to inch toward a new goal—not perfection, not immediate happiness, but simply survival and the small victories of each day. I started to lean more deeply into therapy, embraced the medication as a tool rather than a crutch, and allowed myself to ask for help even when it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

Slowly, the mask of bravado slipped away, revealing a woman who was no longer defined by her trauma but empowered by her resilience. I learned to trust again—not blindly, but cautiously, and on my own terms. With time, I found my voice not just in whispered confessions behind closed doors, but in speaking out, sharing my story, and connecting with others who understood the darkness I had survived.

The road ahead remained long and sometimes treacherous, but I was no longer walking it alone or in silence. Instead, I was choosing life—messy, unpredictable, and precious—and with each step, I reclaimed a little more of the hope that once felt out of reach.