The Darkness Behind the Mask

By MJ Renaud | IG: @kenzierenaud | TW: mentions of suicide, rape, self-harm

Bipolar, borderline, anxiety, manic, obsessive compulsive. At a certain point, it felt like there wasn’t an illness or disorder I didn’t have. But for as long as I can remember, through it all, I always had lacrosse. It was my outlet, and it was a place I could go where all my worries would fade away. I always say it’s called “The Medicine Game” for a reason. But then, when I found myself unable to escape the darkness, even with a stick in my hands, I had never felt so lost before in my life.

My mental health journey began around the 4th or 5th grade, where I was bullied so badly by the 6th grade, I had to move schools. I went through middle school, struggling with such immense anxiety I found most days too heavy to bear; yet I showed up and put on a smile, and I pretended. I pretended like my whole world didn’t feel like it was crashing down around me. I felt so deeply misunderstood and overlooked that I thought maybe I was just invisible. I was given lavender supplements and told to breathe through my anxiety attacks. I hated every social worker and therapist I met. Each professional I was sent to (who knew I was diagnosed with such severe anxiety and did nothing to help) haunted me, and still does to this day. It felt like they didn’t believe the pain I had to endure every single day. I had no faith left in the healthcare system, all I had was my family. But what many don’t understand is, when you are in so much pain mentally, you can’t see the love you are surrounded by. I contemplated suicide nearly each night but I was never brave enough to follow through. But now I realize it was not a case of not being “brave enough” to follow through with a suicide attempt, but rather, I was brave enough to stay.

Before I continue, I want to bring light to the fact that despite my struggles and the adversity I had to face, to attend a private athletics school is something I am so incredibly privileged and thankful for. To my parents and the staff who helped make my dreams come true, I wouldn’t be here today without you. Whether it was money, transportation, residency, extra academic or athletic support, somehow they made it work each and every time. My parents work themselves into the ground to support me and my brothers and I wish every single person could see how hard they work to provide for us. My dad works an average of 70-80 hours a week and overtime. My mom works up to 60 hours a week and both of my parents are on call at any moment. My school also gave me some of the most supportive and incredible relationships with my teachers, who by the end of my time there, felt like an extended part of my family. Ms. Tworzyanski, Mrs. Hawkey, Ms. Lumsden and Ms. Buck; if you ever get to hear this, you have no idea how big of a support you were for me. In fact I believe, in several ways and on several occasions, you saved my life.

High school came around, and so did my first suicide attempt. I wound up trapped in an abusive relationship; raped and manipulated by another student-athlete. Which in other words meant I had no power to speak out, nor get justice for what was done to me. I kept quiet, I stopped eating, and I shut the world out. Anorexia was soon added to the list of my illnesses, and it took months upon months to get back to a safe weight and find a positive mindset surrounding food. But by the time I reached the 12th grade, I was so terrified of having to endure what I had to two years prior with him, that I could only see one way out. I ended up in the hospital for two weeks in an inpatient program after a suicide attempt, leaving with a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder; a trauma disorder caused by the actions of my abusive ex-boyfriend I thought I had escaped, and the years of bullying I went through as a child. I felt like I was never going to be free from the feeling of his hands forcefully grabbing me. He now lived in my mind, sending me so far into a depressive state that I felt like suicide would be the only way I could find peace.

I watched as my high school would haphazardly throw together mental health “awareness” days; where the students, all sharing the same privileged athlete identity as the monster who took advantage of me, only participate because it meant a day out of uniform. I once tried to take matters into my own hands, running for student council president where I could make a real difference. But I quickly realized the hell I was about to walk through as a female athlete striving for a position of power. I spent countless hours working through the night knowing I needed to be up by 5am the next morning to drive the 2ish hours to school; creating a safe space for students using posters, infographics, interactive activities, and so much more highlighting the importance around breaking the stigma of mental health in athletics. I poured my heart and soul into these projects. But the day I put up my posters, by the end of the day they were torn from the walls. Ripped into pieces and walked all over on the floor, a physical representation of how I felt inside. All my work, gone in less than a day. I truly lost hope that day. I had been quietly suffering with my mental health for years, and in this moment, I felt like nobody would ever see the pain I hid every day. The whole situation was brushed off as “competitiveness” by my school's administration.

This is when I turned to self harm. It was the only thing I felt I had control over in my life. People would come and go, they could tear down my hard work, they could take advantage of me and then leave; but a blade was always a blade. My second suicide attempt soon followed. The guilt I feel to this day is indescribable. My little brother and my dad found me; and I know that the state they found me in, unconscious and surrounded by more blood than anyone should ever have to see, will be burned into their memory for the rest of their lives. My family carries part of my trauma too, and that is something I don't think many people recognize. My own little brothers, the ones I am supposed to protect as their big sister, search my room when I am away for blades or anything I could use to hurt myself. If I don’t answer my phone right away, immediately my family thinks of the worst, and I can never erase that trauma. When my best friend cannot get a hold of me, she will show up at my door. And if we are both away at school, she will immediately call my mom to check in.

I still find it a miracle to this day that I ended up an NCAA Division 1 athlete. Very few people knew that the showcase I was recruited from I was originally going to miss because of a hospitalization. But the head psychiatrist believed I could benefit from a break from the hospital by playing the sport I love, so he let me go. I have never been overly religious, but I think an angel was watching over me that day when I found my home at Canisius. I verbally committed three days later.

By the time I made it to university; my arms, thighs, stomach, chest, everything, was covered in scars. I felt a sense of not belonging. I had grown to tolerate the jokes and the staring from the kids at my high school, but the same behaviors from a whole new group of people who knew nothing about me absolutely terrified me. It was as if every waking moment I could feel eyes burning into my skin already littered with scars. I found any excuse possible to keep my skin hidden; a burn on my bandaged arm from over boiling a pot of water, a sore muscle wrapped for support, extra layers because I was cold. I used any excuse I could find. I couldn’t handle the fear and anxiety of the possible judgment, and I started falling into one of the darkest places my mind had ever found itself in. But I almost felt comforted by this familiar feeling. The darkness seemed to be the only thing reaching out to me with open arms, beckoning me to succumb to its grasp.

I left my final words, my letters, in the top drawer of my desk. My dad was coming to visit that night, planning to go home afterwards like usual. That would be when I was supposed to follow through. Nobody knew my plan, not a soul. And once again, I truly believe an angel was looking over me again that day. My dad sensed something was wrong, something horrifically and terrifyingly wrong. He asked me to roll up my sleeves and when he saw the fresh marks lining my skin I was immediately taken to the hospital. I spent nearly a month in an intensive inpatient program. I attended multiple groups and therapies daily, and saw a psychiatrist every other day. I was diagnosed as bipolar, alongside all my other diagnoses. It was decided that alongside my DBT Therapy I have been undergoing for years now, electroconvulsive therapy might be the thing that could help me break my resistance to medications.

I have been prescribed and taken nearly every single mental health medication approved in both Canada and the U.S. during my lifetime. And unfortunately no medication or dosage has been able to help relieve me of my symptoms. Electroconvulsive therapy is a treatment where, “At the time of treatment a patient is given general anesthesia and a muscle relaxant and electrodes are attached to the scalp at precise locations. The patient's brain is stimulated with a brief controlled series of electrical pulses. This causes a seizure within the brain that lasts for approximately a minute” (American Psychiatric Association). While it sounds very scary, for me the biggest side effect is my short term memory loss and headaches. The procedure itself is very calm and you are not awake for any of the actual shocks. I have been given 10 treatments at this point in time.

This is where my story begins to take a new direction. Although I know they have always been there, through intensive therapy, inner reflection, and thought challenging; I realize now that not only do I have my family who loves, cares for, and supports me, but my best friends, my coaches, and 30+ other girls who became a part of my family too when I committed to Canisius. I have always been surrounded by love and support since I arrived on campus, but mental health can distort your reality, leaving you feeling isolated and alone. With my bipolar disorder, some days I am happy and social and energetic. I think of this mental state as who people think I am when they think of me. But on other days, the bad days; I cannot move, I am so severely anxious, I am suicidal, I have intense self harm urges, I cannot eat, and I cannot even speak. This is the part of me I try to hide. But I realize now that with my family I have found here at Canisius, I do not need to hide anymore. While I was hospitalized, my coaches came and visited me. I cannot think of many other collegiate Division I coaches who would take the time out of their day to come visit a player in my situation, especially considering the strictness of the rules and regulations for visitors. During one of these visits, my coach handed me a notebook; inside, was a letter from every single player, coach, and manager on our team. I still to this day cannot get even a fifth of the way through the book without crying. I have never felt so much love and acceptance before in my life. I was so blinded by my mental health that I could not see past it to realize how supported I truly am.

There is room for mental health awareness, support, and acceptance in athletics; even at the highest collegiate level. I carry this principle with me as a coach for my U15, now U17 girls box lacrosse team. Where I try to ensure that my girls know that no matter what, whether it’s something big, small, exciting, sad, anything at all; I am always there for them. I care for them like my own family and I hope they can feel that love no matter what they are going through. There is no better feeling in the world than when I see my girls just out and about and once they notice me, they run over with huge smiles and I get ambushed by a giant group hug. In those moments, I am reminded that this is my purpose. I can use my experiences, both the positives and negatives, to help this next generation of athletes to know that they are supported and loved; and that it is okay to struggle. There is room for all of you in this life; the good, the bad, and the ugly. The world needs you in it. Reach out. Lean on your people. You are loved. Life is like a wave, it has ups and downs, and some days you just need to ride the wave until it passes, no matter how long that may be. Healing is never a linear process. But you deserve the same amount of love and support no matter where you fall on that line.