In my senior year of high school, I missed six weeks for a mental health hospitalization followed by outpatient programs. If you ask any of my friends now, they could tell you that I could talk about mental health for hours. But until last August, that was never the case.
In March 2024, I was at the peak of my academic career—attending conferences, winning international awards, even patenting inventions. A week later, I had a plan to end my life.
That’s what mental illness can look like.
I had a good relationship with my school counselor, and in the middle of that crisis, I went to her. What made her so unique—and what ultimately saved my life—was that she never used my achievements as proof that I was okay. She didn’t say, “But your grades are good, you’re going to Cornell!” She listened and saw past my smile and grades. And because of that, I told her the truth.
I was very good at hiding my mental health struggles. My parents didn’t know, my friends didn’t know, my teachers didn’t know. While I was struggling everyday to keep living, I hung out with friends, maintained grades, and was always studying.
I remember at the height of my mental health crisis, I was doing my physics homework on the ambulance ride from the school to an ER.
While I was hospitalized, I even asked staff to print out my AP Calc BC worksheets so I wouldn’t be behind.
My doctor at this hospital saw my smile, not my suffering. Even fellow patients said I seemed “too normal” to need help. That’s when I learned how invisible mental illness can be when it hides behind high achievement. And how almost no one, not even mental health professionals, believe you if you don’t look the part.
Moments before I planned to die, I was in my best friend’s favorite place. Images of her never being able to see it the same way if I passed flooded my mind. I didn’t want to ruin the place she loved most.
So I got help. After I was hospitalized, I found out that my best friends, within 24 hours, had rushed to my favorite teacher, who canceled her morning classes just to be with them. That moment became my proof that I mattered.
I went through inpatient and outpatient treatment that introduced me to almost every type of therapy, I learned about the importance of sharing lived experiences, and I tried so many different medications until one felt right.
I made it to graduation—something I’d never planned.
Halfway through the summer, I realized I had never fully recovered. Though I was scared, I chose to get help again.
At the emergency room, with my therapist by my side, the doctor looked at me and said: “It’s as if you came to the ER with no broken bones and asked for a cast. Inpatient is for sick people. And to me, you just look like a smart girl who’s stressed. You can go home.”
That was the worst moment of my life. I was asking for help, not avoiding it, and still, the way I presented myself, my biggest defense, prevented my care. I hated myself.
Though I wanted to give up, my loved ones convinced me to try again. I was thankfully admitted to McLean Hospital, a psychiatric hospital outside Boston, where these doctors believed that I was sick despite my smile.
I met a Nobel Prize winner, a Harvard professor, and a psychologist at the hospital who were also receiving care. They were accomplished individuals who still needed help.
I finally found proof and assurance that mental health has no look. It doesn’t always look like failing classes or crying in public or missing work. Sometimes, it looks like straight As, laughing with friends, and college acceptances. During my stay at McLean, I received a diagnosis that made everything click, and I was stable enough to move into my freshman dorm at Cornell one week after being discharged.
I am proud of myself and my progress. Don’t get me wrong. There are days I can’t get out of bed. And days I feel amazing. My courage was once measured by keeping secrets. Now courage means reaching out for help, using coping skills, and taking medication.
My counselor used to say that chaos creates change. 2024 was the most chaotic year of my life, but because of it I am better. Now I get to study what I love, support others through crisis work, and speak openly about mental health.
Every 40 seconds, someone takes their life. That’s over 720,000 people every year. Mental illness does not discriminate. So, please: check in with your loved ones, especially those who seem the happiest. I am grateful for my high school for caring about mental health, and most importantly, I am thankful for my teachers, counselors, and best friends.
Let me end with this, especially if you’re struggling. Suicide is preventable and is important to talk about. You may not want to exist right now, but someone is so happy that you have stayed for them. There are so many places to go, so many friends to love, and so much time to live.
It takes a lot of strength to do your best when you feel your worst. Ask for help if you need it. Ask for it until someone listens. Never stop asking, because if I gave up on trying a year ago, I wouldn’t have made it. Remember that mental illness has no look, and most importantly, that someone loves you.
—By Anonymous
Anonymous is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences majoring in neurobiology and cognitive science at Cornell University
If you or someone you know feels the need to speak with a mental health professional, you can call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 9-8-8, or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741-741.
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