I recently watched a video of Emma Watson speaking in front of the U.N. about the importance of feminism. Against nervousness and doubt, she told herself: “If not me, who? If not now, when?” Although she was addressing the world’s most important leaders, it felt like she was speaking directly to me. I have held onto a secret for years, always wanting to speak up about it, but never having the confidence, or knowing the right time to do so. But if not me, who? If not now, when? After years of self-doubt, the striking simplicity of Emma’s words convinced me to write this.

I tried to commit suicide when I was seventeen. No one walked in and tried to stop me. No one took me to the hospital. No one even knew what had happened. For the next two years of my life I had to look in the mirror every day and face a dark shadow of myself. It stole any bit of positivity I tried to hold on to and fed me guilt and lies until I could no longer conceive a single thought about myself that wasn’t full of hatred. After intense therapy and support from a few special individuals, I’m finally stable enough to talk openly about this, but I used to be part of the silent majority of people who live with the demon of depression.

I’m shaking right now as I type this because posting this publicly isn’t easy. It feels like reaching for attention. It feels like a private matter that I should just deal with on my own and move on from. Most of all, it’s scary to post something knowing I can never take it back. But a few weeks ago, another student at Middlebury posted about her story with depression and reading it was incredibly comforting. It was so reassuring to hear that other people on campus are fighting similar battles and that I’m not alone. So, at the risk of embarrassment or judgment, if even one person reads this and feels a little bit of comfort, it’s worth the risk.

I’m tired of being a part of an invisible community of people who struggle with mental health issues, who are scared of the stigma and judgment that comes with speaking out. After opening up to my parents, they told me that 7+ people in my family have tried or committed suicide and I never even knew. I’m tired of living in a world where depression is a misunderstood, misused term. Depression isn’t someone dressed in all black with no friends, crying in the corner; depression is your roommate, your sister, your Dad, your lab partner, and the captain of your team. Depression is hidden behind a mask of normalcy that is necessary in a world that doesn’t accept anything less than perfection. My lips are tired of smiling every day and my eyes are tired of holding back tears. I’m tired.

But what energizes me is the idea that I can hopefully turn years of pain, struggle, and guilt into something positive by encouraging people to voice their own struggles with mental health and help create a community around a silenced issue that affects our campus. I wish I had all of the answers for how to do this. “Community,” “stigma,” “speak up,” are all catchy buzzwords, but how do they translate into real, tangible changes? Unfortunately, the countless sleepless nights thinking about this have not led me any closer to a conclusion. But I’m only one person. I refuse to believe that an entire campus of bright, caring individuals can’t figure out how to make Middlebury a more inclusive, open, aware campus. If you have an idea, a personal experience, or even just an interest in mental health, I’m all ears. If you’re considering reaching out, but are hesitant, ask yourself: If not me, who? If not now, when? All I’m looking to do by posting this is to shed some light on a topic that doesn’t receive the attention it deserves, and to meet other people on campus who care as deeply about this as I do, in order to move toward some sort of solution. At the very least, it was indescribably freeing to write this, and for anyone who’s still reading, thank you for listening. I look forward to hearing from you.

Love, Hannah

hquinn@middlebury.edu