it starts slow. you’re in a coffee shop sipping your latte when you begin to think your life is going to be this way forever. you think you should have metamorphosed into something more fabulous by now. but why not break the illusion—shatter it into pieces that make more sense when broken? you were never meant stay one thing, to hibernate like the trees in the winter. you are always in bloom.
I have a vague notion that some of you may already know this about me, but perhaps not. Perhaps, like I do not know this about millions of others, you too are in the dark of a very large and very disruptive part of my life, simply because I choose to keep it relatively hidden. Well, not anymore.
And, no, I’m not writing this for attention. In fact, I did not want to write this post, or explain anything to anyone. But I feel a sort of strange pressure on my heart to share with you this part of my life I normally try to keep quiet about.
Anyway, I’m 23 (just), a senior at a kick-ass university, an English major, an amateur ballerina, and a lover of Yorkie puppies and the color pink. That’s me in a nutshell.
Well, sort of.
Whether or not you knew this statement was coming: I struggle with severe depression, anxiety, and trichotillomania (hair pulling disorder), to the point where it impacts everything about my daily life, my decisions about my future, and the way think about—or overthink about—my past. It’s all very frightening business to wake up one day and not have the energy to lift your little finger (I kid you not), but I am currently doing “okay” right now, if that is even a standard mode of being, or an appropriate term to describe myself when I’m not in the throws of a depressive episode or so anxious that I rip all of the hair out of my head in large chunks.
I tell you I’m okay so that you don’t worry about me, though I know some of you will worry anyway. Like millions of others, I take medication for my mental illness and precisely because of that, coupled with ongoing therapy and self-care, I am able to function at a relatively normal level, and even enjoy the life I have worked so hard to rebuild for myself over the past couple of years. With thyroid hormone, a hefty dose of antidepressants, stimulants, and anti-anxiety medication, I am a productive member of a society, doing well in both life and school and finally able to live up to my potential and go after the career I want in academia (despite the baldness; fuck you, trichotillomania).
Despite being in treatment for a while (medication + therapy), I still struggle from time to time, and I am nowhere near symptom free or in full “recovery.” Recovery for me is symptom management, despite how others tell me my goal should be full remission. Try as I might, I have not yet seen “full remission” in regard to my mental illness, but that’s not to say there’s no hope. There are days when I can’t seem to cope with anything, and I worry I’ve relapsed. There are days when I have panic attacks and migraines to the point where I can’t sleep. There are days when I can’t stop worrying about the smallest of things. There are days that I can’t remember and days that I can’t forget, and days I want more than anything in the world to sink into oblivion or a long pill-induced sleep. But those days are fewer and further than they ever have been in the past.
Academically, I’ve had the best past two semesters of my life, making all As my past two (hardest) semesters at my university. Not only that, but I’ve gotten admitted in my English department’s honors program, travelled abroad, earned a grant for my summer research, earned a spot as an undergraduate humanities fellow, and started writing my senior honors thesis, which I will finish and publish this spring. Socially, I’ve made more good friends that I ever thought possible, and had the confidence to embrace who I am and what I love. It would be wrong to say that I myself have had nothing to do with these positive outcomes that the year of 2015 has brought to me, because a lot of it was hard work on my behalf combined with constantly pushing myself to love deeper and to care more about everything and everyone around me. I would venture to say, however, that the biggest reason behind my recent onslaught of successes over the past year has little or nothing to do with circumstance and everything to do with the fact I’ve been appropriately and adequately medicated to control my mental illness.
What I want people to take away from all of this is that mental illness can be affected by environment and even be partially situational, but for me and many others, it’s not. My struggles with mental illness are somewhat more independent of the waxing and waning of life’s challenges, including my dad’s motor neuron disease, which leads to me further reiterate the importance of taking medication if you find you need it and talking about mental illness, spreading the word, and letting others know that it’s okay not to be okay, and that’s it’s okay to take medication for any medical problems you might have. I like to think of myself as medicated and mighty. Let’s cut the bullshit that shouldn’t “need” a pill to function everyday. Some people do and sometimes there isn’t a good reason.
In other news, I’m wearing colorful wigs until my hair grows back in. If I’m going to be bald, I figured I might as well have fun with it, no?
Nothing like colorful hair, confidence, and some good friends (thanks, guys!) to help #StoptheStigma against mental illness :).
(I feel the need to mention that this is not a post meant for medical advice on medication for mental illness–that is a conversation you need to have with your doctor. Thanks!)
Thank you guys for all of the notes! It makes me happy to know that people are interested in the conversation about mental illness. I do have a few updates since I first posted this piece last winter:
1.) I don’t talk about my eating disorder here, but that is one thing I’m still struggling with these days.
2.) I’ve been in many different forms of intensive treatment over the past few months -and I may be going back.
3.) I’ve changed medications since this post, but all the same stuff still applies.
4.) I HAVE MY REAL HAIR NOW! YAY!
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Love you all and thank you again for supporting each other and the important topic of mental illness. Hope all is well.
As wonderful as this past year has been to me, my world has taken many dark turns over 2015–things that I have not really shared with anyone outside of family and a few close friends.
In April of 2015 my dad was diagnosed with ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis). ALS is a motor neuron disease that causes a person’s motor neurons to over-fire to the point where the motor neurons damage themselves and eventually scar and disintegrate, leaving the person with ALS unable to move all of their voluntary muscles.
It starts slowly, usually on one side of the body, but gradually and suddenly gathers speed as it progresses. It affects every voluntary muscle in the body—no exceptions—including a person’s ability to breathe. Because of the respiratory failure that is inevitably precipitated by the loss of motor neuron function, ALS is always fatal in a matter of time. Prognosis is 2 to 5 years, although some people, like Stephen Hawking for example, can live much longer, though functionality is limited and such cases are rare.
I tell you about this horrible disease my family and I are facing down not to scare you or ask for pity, though any and all support is greatly appreciated. I tell you simply because I want you to know what’s going on right now. Not talking about, not saying anything, and leaving the majority of my friends in the dark as to what is happening in my family felt like right thing to do at first. As time progressed, however, my dad’s ALS has also pressed on my heart and encouraged me to share, despite the full reasoning behind my sharing being less than clear.
Needless to say, what I thought was significant before my dad’s diagnosis is not. What I thought would end my world a few years ago is nothing compared to losing what I have now realized is my world—my family, my loved ones, my dad. The fact that I was able to enjoy one of the happiest and most successful years of my life to date during this tumultuous news of my dad’s terminal illness is not due to my resilient spirit. I wish I could say that it was, but that would be a lie. If I am honest, it’s due to finally opening up enough to find true, supportive friends, finding out more about what I love to do, and being medicated for my mental illness, and I’m not ashamed of that. I actually feel as though I’m able to be the person I want to be, as though I have a say in how I feel and how I behave, and most importantly, that I have the ability to be and remain strong in a time where everyone in my family is struggling so hard to keep their heads above water, at a time where my dad needs helps to eat, use the restroom, and wiggle his toes.
What I want people to know from reading this post is that it is absolutely okay to be vulnerable. The people who love you, and yes, there are many people out there who love you more than you can imagine, are not burdened by your needs. In care-taking for my dad, I have realized what a joy it can be to care for someone who you love more than anything. It’s painful, yes, but more than painful, it feels like I’m helping do what I can—because I cannot give my dad back his motor neuron function. I can, however, help him eat his dinner. Likewise, my family is not burdened by me any health needs that I have (and believe me, I do have them, though my health concerns are nothing compared to ALS).
It’s okay to be sad if your dad has ALS or some other horrific illness, or even if you don’t think you have a reason. And it’s okay to ask for help, even when you think you don’t need it or deserve it. Whatever it is, it’s all okay, and you will be okay. I do admit that I’m still working on changing my mindset to allow myself to believe that I will be okay no matter what, as I feel like my foundation is slipping out from underneath me. More than that, I’m losing my dad, and that really hurts. Processing my dad’s ALS has helped me a lot with managing my constant fear of doom, as I can’t really imagine anything worse happening, even to myself.
I don’t know about you, but I’m quite pleased to be alive in an age where there are clinical trials for new ways of treating ALS, (one of which my dad is a part of!), and where the internet exists and a wide range of people can have access to one other’s thoughts, experiences, ideas, creativity, and more. Thus, I’m happy to share all of this with you in hope of connecting with you through sharing the parts of my life that I greedily keep to myself, in the dark, where they grow bigger and bigger by the minute and threaten the comfort of my being. More importantly, I hope this helps someone who may also be struggling with these issues, or different issues of a similar nature.
Many people think that we suffer to know the good in the world, or that we suffer because of sin or a broken world. I’m not here to suggest why we suffer, but only to remark at humanity’s ability to create webs of empathy from our suffering so that we are able to experience more love through something as horrific as ALS than we would have experienced without it. Though I’d rather ALS be damned most of the time, it is eye-opening to see how truly wonderful people can be when they open their hearts to others during difficult times.
Whether or not you are currently struggling with anything in your life, you have my love and confidence that you will not only live to see more of those magical moments you thought were gone, but that you will find that in allowing yourself to feel your struggles, share them, and grow from them, that you will indeed have a richer life than you would have had things gone the way you had planned. Maybe it is a broken world out there. I don’t know why human beings have such a rough go of it, but sometimes we do and it’s good to be open about such struggles instead of keeping them all to ourselves.
My dad may have ALS, but he’s still fighting and we’re all fighting with him.
