Coming of Age: The Hard Truth

Brittany Pyatt
Jul 23 · 5 min read

In the summer of 2017, I had a massive depressive episode causing me to blame the medication that my doctor prescribed to me and throw it all away thinking that it was the solution…to get rid of all the pills and to try and go natural, thinking I was mentally strong enough to take care of myself because I was an adult and clearly everything that I did was in the right…for an idiot 21 year old girl new to living on her own working 40+ hours a week.

The summer of 2017 was the beginning of the end…until now.

I thought I had it all planned out. I was going to stop taking the ADHD medication, throw away the anti-anxiety pills and toss the birth control because clearly that was made me fat and moody and not the fact that I consumed about a bottle of wine a night. For a while, I thought it was the best idea I have ever had without even thinking about what caused me to have a massive depressive episode causing me to think that the medication was the problem.
Summer 2017 was the summer I gave my dog to a family that would love him as much as I did but actually have the time for him. Boom. One week later, I’m in bed, crying, thinking that this is the end. I will never feel happiness again and there they were. Those stupid blue bottles. They were supposed to make me feel better, not worse. So the solution? Bye bye blue bottles.

I felt like nothing. I believed that I was nothing but I knew that the pain was just temporary, I had no more drugs in my system so I should have been fine. That summer, I met a guy. Not just any guy. A guy that would change my views on how I looked at myself for the next two years. That summer was the first time I found myself in an extremely abusive relationship. Everything was my fault. It started with drinking, pushing me to drink with him. Then it was a love tap, then it was a push. Next thing you know, I’m being choked but, it was my fault. That’s how it felt. That it was always my fault. That summer, I started drinking more than just drinks with friends. I found myself in my apartment, black out wasted because it was better than being sober and living with my reality that I allowed myself to get into. That summer I got as drunk as possible and was sexually assaulted at a party. To that boy I dated, I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk. Then maybe, I could have stopped myself from letting it happen. Again, it was my fault.

Flash forward to summer 2018. No more abusive relationship. I was in love. With whatever drug I could get my hand on. The drinking got out of control. But, I was fine. I’m 22. I’m supposed to be acting like this in my early twenties. Missing rent was a part of growing up. Staying out until 10am is supposed to be normal for girls like me. I was always told that you have to go out and try new things and let loose when you are young. Apparently that’s not the cause when you suffer from a mild overdose one August morning because you and ‘the boys’ went harder than normal one night because, why not? It was the long weekend.
That was the day I stopped doing drugs altogether.
Problem solved, right? No more drugs, no more problem.

That fall I told the boy I thought I was in love with and got turned down. I felt rejected, like I didn’t deserve it because I thought what we had was real, right? Like the last two months weren’t us being drunk until the late hours and barely being around each other sober.

The winter of 2018 going into early 2019 were some of my darkest times, I mean sure, one of my ex-boyfriend’s hit me but at least the physical abuse was more pinpointed then the emotional. I stopped doing stand up…I stopped performing altogether, something that I thought I was born to do. I had no job, no money, my drinking problem was still on the surface and I didn’t realize that in 2 months, I would be losing my apartment because I couldn’t afford to live on my own anymore.
I had a boyfriend who loved me, truly and actually loved me. At least, loved me to the point that that is what I thought love was. He took care of me. That’s what I wanted. That’s what I needed. I thought I finally found someone that I could actually be with, be myself with even though I wasn’t even being honest with myself about the mental illnesses that fought everyday in my head trying to come out more. I still had it all under control. That is, until he took his bad days out on me. Everything I did again, was my fault. When I found the courage to stand up for myself, I was belittled into thinking that I was crazy or in his words: “damaged”.
That isn’t love. That couldn’t have been it. Love shouldn’t be crying yourself to sleep thinking you did another thing wrong because they were upset and you couldn’t do anything to make them happy.

Upon breaking up with him and having a friend take me in, I broke down. For the first time in 2 full years, I broke down. I shouldn’t be doing this to myself. I shouldn’t be feeling this way…worthless, unworthy of love or genuine human affection. I shouldn’t be having an emotional breakdown every week screaming about how I don’t want to be on this planet anymore and that no one will actually miss me when I am gone because at that point, who would, right? I was a mess. A burden. A pain in everyone’s ass. I felt as though all their problems were caused by me and it would be easier if I just left the picture, completely.
No one should ever think that way and then there I was, looking up at my doctor who has been there since I was born, after telling him exactly what has happened over the last two years, I saw his face. That’s when I realized, I was in his office, bawling my eyes out because I was done feeling broken. Like all hope was lost.

I’ve been back on my medication for a month now. Just one month. I have a full time job that I’m good at. My drinking has been cut down by more than half and my self worth is at an all time. I am worthy of love. I am loved. I am not alone. Not anymore. My cloudy days are becoming sunny. I can breathe again. I haven’t done drugs in 7 months.

It wasn’t the medication that caused my suffering. It was me not allowing them to help me. I thought I was strong enough and now I have learned. It is not weakness to scream that you need help. It is not weakness for getting out of a bad relationship even if it means being alone for a bit.

My medication saved me. I finally understand what it is like to truly love yourself.

Brittany Pyatt

Written by

Kitchener based. Comedian. Writer. Actor. Model. Musician.

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