Life of A Beautiful Disaster
“You’re too pretty to be depressed.” “How can you possibly have any troubles? You’re too beautiful for that.” “You have your looks going for you what else could be wrong?”
Well for starters, let’s talk about this word “beautiful” I hear all the time. I’m a regular human being just like everyone else no matter what I look like. My looks don’t define me, but my character does. Besides, I would love to know what my looks have anything to do with how I feel. Yes, my outside seems perfect, but my insides are falling apart. Literally and figuratively.
Something was wrong, and it needed to be fixed…
I was diagnosed with bi polar disorder, ADHD, anxiety disorder, and PTSD when I was in high school. My family thought it was just a teenage phase, that included constant mood swings that were from one extreme to the next, and I would eventually grow out of it. Well, time passed, and then some more time passed and it was clear that it wasn’t just a phase anymore. Something was wrong, and it needed to be fixed, or I should say my mother thought so. That was the day I was made into a science experiment. All the doctors wanted to do was put me on a ton of medications that made me dysfunctional and incoherent. The therapist drilled me to talk about my “problems” and always asked questions that I was not trying to hear at the time, or should I say, that I wasn’t coherent enough to even understand. My appointments were on a mandatory status because I was a minor and had no choice in the matter. This made me angry and resentful towards my mom for a long time. I was upset that she was cosigning me trying all these different medications to find the right fit. I had gone through more than a dozen medications before I found some that actually worked and that took years to do.
Fast forward a year. I was still resentful of my situation, the medication, and with my mother for making me participate in this “experiment” so I decided to try one of my own. I started self-medicating and self-harming to feel better about my life. I was so sick of not being able to function like those around me. I just wanted to be “normal,” whatever that means, but I knew I didn’t want to live like I had previously when it came to the fog the medication put me in. So I found companionship in substances and razor blades. Between the self-medicating and self-harm I was on a path to destruction and I didn’t even realize it. My life ended up spiraling out of control and my life was completely unmanageable. Out of my anger and resentment I felt towards anyone that was involved in my “crisis” I ended up damaging myself. I didn’t think I could do any more damage to myself than the damage that had already occurred earlier in my life, but I was wrong. I then became ashamed of my substance abuse problem and the cutting so I never asked for help. Hiding it just seemed like a better idea to me, so that’s what I did.
I wanted to actually find out the true meaning of living instead of just existing.
Time to hit the fast-forward button again only this time going eight years forward. I couldn’t let my disorder keep me trapped any longer. I broke away from the substance abuse and cutting with the help of my mother and aunt. They just couldn’t watch me destroy myself anymore and rescued me from the situation I put myself in because I just didn’t feel worthy of a good life. I didn’t know how to ask for help, but thank God they know me well enough to know when something just isn’t right. I ended up starting medication management and therapy on my own terms because I couldn’t handle just existing. I wanted to live. I wanted to actually find out the true meaning of living instead of just existing. Managing my symptoms still proves to be difficult at times, but it gets better as time goes on. The medication helps, but it’s also destroying my body. I am developing Tardive dyskinesia, short-term memory loss, tremors, and some days I’m really weak. Even though all that is happening as a side effect I know things will get better. Between my body falling apart and therapy sessions not going in the direction that I would like, you would think I would be depressed, but I’m not. I’m frustrated, but not depressed. I have faith that things will get better. They have to, right? I already hit rock bottom and it can’t get worse that it already has been. I will just continue to fight through this and I will get through it. In the meantime, I will keep taking my medicine because I finally found a combination that works for me and work on my coping skills. I just must be patient as anything worth having takes hard work to get it.
Mental illness doesn’t have a face. Just because someone’s life looks perfect doesn’t mean it is. Remember, everything isn’t always what it seems. My body is going through a lot of changes, but I choose to put a smile on and persevere through the bad times. My faith is what brought me this far, and it is what will continue to carry me on. I just wish people would stop comparing someone’s outside appearance to their inside feelings, when the majority of the time they are not related. Mental illness is a lifelong battle and it’s sometimes a silent one as well. Erase the stigma. Although my outside looks just fine my insides are falling apart. Everyone is fighting a battle, just remember some battles are a lot harder than others.
