Untitled Sam Santavicca Project

I have a reminder set on my phone that goes off at 7 p.m. every evening. It has been

going off every day without fail since February of this year. 7 p.m. is the time that I take my anti-

anxiety medication, Zoloft. I’ve been told that taking my 25-milligram pill at the same time

every day is the best way to take it, so I joked that Zoloft is both my mood control and my birth

control. Both my family and I have noticed a general uptick in my mood. I was unsure about how

I felt taking an SSRI, but overall, I am very glad that I saw a therapist. I only wish that I had not

waited until my first year of college to do so.

My freshman year of college, I attended Virginia Tech. I was so excited to go to school

as far away from home as possible and get to start all over. My first weekend there, I went out 3

nights in a row, and attended a block party tailgate for the football game. As most college

students do, I drank way too much alcohol. I drank in high school, but never like this before. I

didn’t do it because I liked the taste, I just did it to fit in with my new friends. I had a decently

sized group of friends that I had made over the summer at the freshman mixer/camp. Some lived

on the floor of my building, while others lived in the dorm across the quad from mine. My

roommate, however, was a junior, and he was never around. That was how I liked it. Play video

games and sit in my room all week, party with my friends on the weekends. Unfortunately, that

setup proved to be a lonely and pitiful way to go through college.

I have always been a quiet kid. I don’t make a lot of eye contact, I don’t speak up, and I

stare at my feet a lot. In class, I like to just sit back and listen. In high school, I tended to be

dragged along as a bit of an afterthought with my friends. However, that changed junior year

when I started running Junior Varsity cross country. I had dropped about 6 minutes from my
freshman year, and I was now one of the top 14 runners on a very competitive team. I earned the

respect and friendships of many of the boys my age, the seniors, and most importantly, the girls’

cross-country team. All this is to say that I didn’t have much of a social problem until college. I

had known these runners for years, and it had taken just as long to build those friendships. In

college however, I had just a few weeks to make friends before everyone closed off their friend

groups. Being someone who is not very social, I was not able to accomplish that. It also did not

help that my girlfriend attended Pitt, which was 6 hours away, and I did not have a car. I was

also a physics major, so the people in my classes were much too studious to make friends. I

ended up rushing a fraternity and joining a group of amazing men, who’s friendships I still

treasure. However, I still felt very lonely. I didn’t have people that I could hang out or study with

during the week. I only had people that I saw when I went binge drinking on the weekends.

Around this time a year ago, I watched all of BoJack Horseman on Netflix. I related to

one of the main characters, Diane, who ended up being diagnosed with depression. Worried that

I was experiencing some of the symptoms that she did, I took Virginia Tech’s online mental

health survey. I scored an 86% for social anxiety disorder, 79% for generalized anxiety disorder,

and a 51% for depression. I told my girlfriend about this, and along with the survey, she

recommended that I see one of the school therapists. My first visit with my therapist was fairly

standard. She asked me questions to evaluate how I was doing and how I felt. After my second

session, she signed me up for a month of group therapy. While in group, I didn’t feel like I

belonged. Everyone there seemed much more visibility agitated than I was. One girl hugged a

pillow and rocked back and forth each session. The group leaders walked us through breathing

exercises and lifestyle changes that could improve our situations. I already ate a much more

diverse selection of food than most college students. I didn’t each junk food, drink soda, or
smoke weed. I may have been consuming too much alcohol, but I didn’t think that had much of

an impact. I even made sure to run at least 6 miles every day. After group, I had one final session

with my therapist. I told her I did feel a little better, but that group hadn’t seemed to make much

of a difference. I think I was so nervous about telling a stranger my feelings that I chose to

invalidate myself rather than be vulnerable. After that, I was fine until February.

I don’t remember the exact circumstances that led to it, but early February of 2019 was

the first time I had a panic attack and knew it. I think I was doing homework, and everything felt

never ending. I had no idea how I was going to go to law school, get a job, or be successful. It

felt like I had no chance of succeeding and that I would never be able to find a job or be happy.

Each negative thought led to another thought, and the spiral continued. I laid down in my bed

and just cried. After I composed myself, I called my mom and told her everything. She had no

idea I had been feeling this way, or that I had gone to therapy. I felt paralyzed by the fear that I

would not be able to complete anything, so she made me an appointment with a local psychiatrist

for later that week. That appointment changed my life. I remember taking the bus, which felt like

hours, but was really more like 15 minutes. I was so nervous that I sweat through my t-shirt in

the waiting room. After filling out a couple of forms, the doctor prescribed me 12.5 mg of Zoloft

daily. Over the summer, I had it upped to 25 mg.

The whole process was life changing for me. I wish I had asked for help sooner. My

friends and family have all noticed an uptick in my mood. I feel happier, my grades are better, I

drink less, and I feel more productive. Throughout this process, I realized how much of my own

beliefs about mental health stood in my way. I originally thought that I should just “man up” and

wait for my problems to go away on their own. Mental health in men is so stigmatized that I felt
like less of a man for asking for help. Why did I feel that way? Why is the culture of mental

health so stigmatized around men? Why is it hard for men to ask for help?