On Sept. 22, 2011, I thought I killed someone. We were hiking in a group in an extremely rural part of India’s northern border. We were supposed to stop to camp. I strongly advocated that we continue. Eventually, I convinced our daily leaders of the merits of continuing.
One person never made it to the campsite I pushed us toward.
He fell off a cliff and shattered my 18-year-old psyche on the jagged granite edge of guilt.
I cried to the point of stomach cramps a few times. Then I tried to move on. For the longest time after Tom Plotkin plummeted, I thought I was okay. You know those pesky colds where you don’t realize you are sick until you feel better? Well, my guilt and Tom’s fall birthed that virus inside me. I grew so accustomed to this mental state that I didn’t even remember I ever had been a better, happier person. It wasn’t until this summer, nearly two years later, that I knew I had been sick — and more importantly, that I had been cured.
Our societal prescription for mental healing is that “it just takes time.” And to an extent, it is true. As the neural connections that formed your memory of the event fade, the pain should dull slightly. This is good news because in the brain, as in the body, the healing process starts automatically. But I learned that time cannot do all the work.
The more serious the mental trauma, the more hardwired that negative representation is in your brain. In my generation, there is a huge stigma against seeing a mental health therapist. I used to be one of the millions in my generation who was too proud to see a psychiatrist. I viewed it as: “I don’t need some weird old person to tell me what I am feeling or thinking. They can’t know me. I am not that weak.”
But then I actually saw a therapist. And over several months of incredibly frank and honest conversations, she helped return me to my regular state of happiness. It was an incredible relief to tell someone all the petty thoughts and weaknesses I had bottled inside myself and hear her say I was not a monster but a completely normal person. Luckily, my mental infrastructure was not as bad as Providence’s roads and bridges.
The first lesson I learned through my sessions was that I am an insecure person. The second was that I assume too much responsibility for things outside of my control. The third was that literally everyone suffers from both of these symptoms, but almost everyone is afraid to admit it.
To be accepted to Brown, you have to structure yourself so that your losses and shortcomings fade under the glare of all the little gems in your character. You shine the light just right, and you are in the Ivy League. A lot of our lives are structured in this way, because in order to succeed, you need people to trust you. And for people to trust you, they need to see the right side of you.
The only problem is that I became so used to this representation that I began to ignore much of the 99 percent that does not glisten in the sun of other people’s adoration, especially those parts that brought back painful memories.
I suspect many of us exercise this type of avoidance. Most of the time it is not that harmful, but if there is a jarring event like the death of a friend, the coping levees we build are not strong enough for the impact. In the worst cases, it manifests itself in heavy drinking and drug use. In the best, it worsens relationships with the people around us. If there weren’t such a stigma behind admitting that we need help figuring ourselves out, this wouldn’t be such a big issue.
If you are struggling, don’t be afraid to use Brown’s Psychological Services or outside services. Don’t be afraid to ask your friends for help. Heck — don’t be afraid to have a good cry as you watch “The Pursuit of Happyness.” Don’t be afraid of people’s judgment — we are all struggling to some extent. We are incredibly lucky to go to a school that offers the resources and support we need to deal with our shortcomings. We shouldn’t be afraid to use them.
Nico Enriquez ’16 dedicates this story to T-Plot and all he continues to teach. Keep smiling brother. Thank you. nenriquez3@gmail.com.
ADVERTISEMENT
