So itโs kinda weird to have 20 full minutes to talk about my experience, my strength, and my hope. I mean, I talk about myself and what makes me ME quite a lot; Iโm lucky enough to have friends and family and a therapist who listen and understand and make me feel heard. But this feels different, and Iโm honored to be sharing with all of you.
Iโm gonna read something I wrote a long time ago that I reworked yesterday in order to make it better for this narrative exercise.
But before I do that, I just want to give a quick summary, through those five words Emily had us pick yesterday. Mine are: more, anorexia, personality, sexuality, and bipolar. They go in chronological order for the most part. And they help me understand chunks of my life and categorize them into…I guess into lessons Iโve learned.
โMoreโ because I learned at a young age that my reactions to things were bigger, more emotional, and more dramatic
โAnorexiaโ because I spent the majority of high school locked in the lonely hell of starving away my problems, and because those years and the first few months of precious, innocent recovery shaped me tremendously
โPersonalityโ because Iโm proud of who I am and what Iโm like and how I behave, even though I can be a lot to deal with, and I very much enjoyed the process of becoming me
โSexualityโ because my identity played an important role in my development and without my journey with it, I wouldnโt understand who I am and I wouldnโt be with my boyfriend who I love
And finally, โbipolarโ because it explains things, it helps me make sense of things, itโs put me through a ton of shit but Iโm still here standing next to it
…
When I was ten, it tugged at me.
At the time, I was merely confused. Maybe a little curious.
It felt weird more than anything else.
A vague and unfamiliar sensation that wouldnโt seem to go away.
I felt more, in every regard. Was that possible?
Somethingโฆwasnโt right.
I didnโt know what, but it didnโt really matter.
I distracted myself by learning to crochet and going about my regular fifth-grade business.
.
When I was thirteen, it pulled at me.
At the time, I was already agitated, as every new teenager is. I grew annoyed with it.
It was confusing, but no longer curious to me.
A troubling nuisance, forever in the back of my consciousness, on top of everything else.
Something was wrong.
I didnโt know what, and I didnโt have time to figure it out.
I distracted myself with writing and all the normal preoccupations of an eighth-grader.
.
When I was fourteen, it yanked at me.
At the time, I was stressed and upset and annoyed.
No longer confused, just pissed off with it.
A stupid, scary presenceโฆa lingering sense of discomfort, and it was spreading.
My stomach soured in the presence of food,
Waves of sickness rippled through me at the mere thought.
I wasnโt good enough, could never be good enough, oh god, was it too late to try to be good enough?
Something was wrong. Very, definitely, completely wrong. Was it all related?
I didnโt know, didnโt care either. Still had no time to figure it out, nor the willpower to try.
I was too distracted to distract myself. Fucking ninth grade.
.
When I was sixteen, it ripped into me.
I was depressed.
It was empty. Hollow sadness that radiated into every aspect of my being.
Anxiety that pervaded every thought and action.
A dark cloud looming over me, terrible fears caving in on me.
Everything wrong. Nothing okay.
How did it get that way? How could it have gotten that way?!
I wondered how, and why, but had no energy to figure it out.
I distracted myself by starving my body into oblivion and cutting open my own skin.
Thinnest of blades drug over scars, one on top of another.
Ruined innocence, soiled purity, was it worth it to take one goddamn breath?
Fuck.
.
The darkness was first punctured when I was seventeen.
Light washed over everything.
It was like moving through a familiar world by means that were infinitely more fun.
Less painful and chaotic.
I was happy that the weight had been lifted (figuratively, at least).
It felt weird, but it was a relief more than anything else.
An oddly satisfying sensation that grew more comfortable every day.
It was finally okay.
I had the goddamn pizza AND the goddamn cookie.
I was proud of myself, and it felt good.
I celebrated by smiling at the beauty of the world around me.
.
I was eighteen when I fell again.
It was like tasting freedom only to realize it was all some sick joke.
Suffocating sadness juxtaposed next to pure happiness…
A throwback to three years wasted, a body wasted.
Something. Wasnโt. Right.
AGAIN!
Why, for the love of God, WHY?!
Exhausted, I cried to the universe for an answer.
And instead, I went crazy.
.
A respite came when I was nineteen.
A diagnosis.
โAre you on cocaine?โ he asked.
โNo.โ
โThen youโre bipolar.โ
It was confusing more than anything else.
But when I finally caught my breath, it started to go away.
A short punctuation, a precarious pauseโฆ
And then insanity.
Something was wrong, or right, or something, and what was I talking about?
I didnโt know.
I distracted myself with self-mutilation.
.
I was twenty when it came and went.
Repeatedly.
A roller coaster of twists and turns.
One flash flood after another.
I was twenty-one, I was twenty-two, I was twenty-three.
.
I was twenty-four, and you know the story by now.
Exhausted.
Clawing my way back up, climbing and scaling and reachingโฆ
And falling.
The ground ripped from underneath me.
Again.
Get back up. Again.
Pushed back down. Again.
Sick frustration. Twisted, gnawing lack of energy.
Double fuck.
.
Fifteen years later.
Perspective and knowledge and maturity behind me.
Up and down.
I knew enough to center myself and ignore it.
UP and DOWN.
I was hanging in, struggling, but holding on.
Up down up down
It threw me off balance, but I had muscle memory from years of it, so I remained standing.
Up. Down.
Somethingโs right, somethingโs wrong.
As it always is.
I didnโt know why, but didnโt have to.
I pushed back,
Distracted myself by living my fucking life.
Easier said than done.
.
I was twenty-eight when I said enough was enough.
(When I begged the universe to see that enough was enough).
I wandered into the depths again,
Trudged through the muck again,
Fell too far again, I couldnโt get out again.
I threw myself deeper and farther and couldnโt bring myself to stop it, but
Life came to a grinding halt
(the way Iโd been begging it to for so, so very long).
Blue paper scrubs.
Cups full of meds.
Visiting hours.
Coloring pages.
Hospital unit.
Groups and groups and groups.
Pacing the halls, laughing out loud, crying and shouting and breathing and…
.
I am twenty-nine.
And itโs been eight months.
Iโve been stable for eight months.
Almost three times as long as Iโve gone without spiraling into chaos
In more than half my life.
You know when youโve been running for ages and it hurts so bad and you canโt catch your breath and finally you stop and rest and thereโs a glorious influx of air into your lungs?
That feeling when youโve lost youโre footing and youโre sure youโre gonna fall and you clench your body in preparation but you regain balance?
You know that feeling when you finally get that thing youโve been wanting?
Itโs called happiness.
It feels lovely.
.
Iโm sitting here with my right hand on my ribcage, where the words that were tattooed upon them ten years ago remain, the reminder of a lesson I had learned and would continue to learn and shall most likely continue learning stillโฆ
It takes rain to make a rainbow.
Look, Iโm not under the impression Iโm going to be running through rainbows for the rest of forever. Iโm not gonna sit here and be unrealistic. Life is full of ups and downs, and though Iโve certainly had my fill of them, that doesnโt make me exempt from future fluctuations.
The difference between ten year old me, sixteen year old me, twenty-four year old me…the difference between my past and my present is simply the fact that Iโm living here now, doing what I can with what I have, and Iโm ready to take on the next portion of my adventure.
It takes rain to make a rainbow. Take from those words what you will, but I for one am glad to have some perspective.
.
Experience = the full life Iโve lead for 29 years
Strength = communication, resilience, compassion, understanding
Hope = that little fire in my core that tells me to reach out when Iโm struggling, to keep fighting when I donโt think I can, to love bigger and stronger and louder; the thing Iโm struggling to find the words for, because right now, things are (dare I say) STABLE