Naturally Disordered

I entered the familiar doors to my childhood clinic feeling more nervous than I had anticipated. After I showed the receptionist my information, I sat in a chair in the lobby and waited. The sound of a cartoon movie for children softly played in the room– an attempt to bring comfort to the little ones who waited. My name was called out and I was guided by an unfamiliar woman into a small room with fluorescent lights. She told me to wait there for the doctor, so I sat on the chair trying to collect my thoughts. I went over how to coherently express my insanity to the lady in the scrubs who knew next to nothing about me. I sat there silently, staring off at the brochures which covered the bulletin board. I had a burning urge to leave and never look back. I felt weak. I also felt more alone than ever before.

She opened the door abruptly and walked in. “How can I help you today?” She asked. A simple question, yet I froze in my chair. I didn’t know where to start, what to say, how to tell her everything which I had kept in the dark abyss of my mind for the last 20 years.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, tucked my knees into my chest and took a deep breath. She could tell how uncomfortable I was, and yet, her sitting here with patient eyes, waiting for me to speak, did not bring me any comfort. I wanted to explain everything to her– but I was scared that once I began talking, like everyone else, she wouldn’t understand.

Opening up to people has always been hard for me. Not only because I don’t want pity, but because I don’t want people to assume the worst in me. I want to be in control of what others know. It’s a huge risk, opening up, being vulnerable, telling people I am sick, and not just a little sick, but really sick. Here I was, taking one step forward, blindly hoping I was fixable.

“Take your time.” She said, clearly growing impatient with me. So, I started to speak about the one thing I felt was the easiest to express:

The Sadness

Have you ever felt like you have an amazing life on paper? A family, money, a job, an education, a car, great opportunities, and you basically got anything you asked for? I know most people aren’t that lucky, but I am. Now I am going to ask one more question: have you ever known you had an amazing life on paper, and yet, for some unknown reason, felt intense and uncontrollable sadness and a sense of worthlessness?

These feelings have absolutely nothing to do with the life I lead. I used to think they did. To think that I did something wrong, and I was the problem. I now understand there is something wrong with how things work inside my brain. Something triggered this. Some external source I had no control over. I was very quiet about this. I didn’t like to speak about anything that went on inside my mind.

I wore a mask for my entire life. A mask no one had ever succeeded in seeing past. Or maybe, they just didn’t care enough to try. This mask was so effective I could almost convince myself I was the mask and not the girl cowering behind it.

It started in high school. At least, that was when I first started to notice it. Like any school, rumours would spread quickly. I hated these rumours. Whether they were true or not, I didn’t want the attention. This led to nights where the only sound to be heard from the darkness of my room was me struggling not to make a sound as I sobbed. I recall laying there, wondering what I had done to deserve this. These nights were hard, sure; but it was the nights when nothing went wrong, that showed me there was a real problem. I could have the best day of my life and yet I would still come home, lay awake and cry because I did not like the life I was living. It didn’t matter what happened, all I knew was when I looked in the mirror I did not like what I saw. I didn’t understand why, but I hated almost everything about myself.

I didn’t tell anyone about this until the end of high school. I went to an arts school and after four years together, my dance class still did not get along very well. One day our teacher sat us all in a circle and asked us to speak our minds so we could mend the damage before graduation. To this day, I still don’t know what caused me to speak. Perhaps it was listening to what my peers said, or maybe I was just exhausted from all the years of pretending to be who they wanted me to. Regardless of the reason, I chose to break down one of the many walls I had built.

“I don’t know how to tell you guys this…” I paused and glanced around the circle, eyes stopping at my best friend who sat next to me. I swallowed hard, afraid to continue. “I have been struggling with my mental health for years.” I paused again, trying to figure out where to go. I had everyone’s attention now and I couldn’t leave it at that.

“I-I uh, I don’t know how to explain it, but I pretend to be okay so no one will think I care about anything. I always make fun of myself so no one else gets the opportunity to do it. I hide how I really feel behind jokes.” I started to tear up, seeing the expressions on my classmates' faces. “I don’t know why I am like this...” By this time, I could barely talk because I was crying and choking on my own words.

“There’s just this heaviness weighing down on me all the time. This feeling I will never be enough for anyone or anything.” Multiple people were crying at this point, so I chose to stop. I couldn’t keep going and I didn’t know how to. It was the first time I ever let anyone see under my mask, and for it to be to twenty people at once, I was shaking.

They were very kind about it, and to a certain extent, it felt nice to finally express how I had been feeling for years. The other part of me regretted opening my mouth at all. Listening to my best friend beat himself up for not knowing, killed me. No one knew, I made sure of that. I perfected the mask to ensure no one ever would. I isolated myself and pretended to be the girl everyone thought I should be - the mirror reflecting the person others wanted me to be.

“Sounds like you may be depressed.” She didn’t look up from the computer as she spoke. Tempted to provide a sarcastic retort to her observation, I sighed.

Depression, in my opinion, is one of the most misused words in the English language. My cat died, my boyfriend broke up with me, I lost my job... and now I have depression. While those events will trigger an extreme amount of sadness, having depression is not that simple. It is not just experiencing depression. It is not just feeling sad about a traumatic event. Having clinical depression is not temporary sadness. It doesn’t simply go away with time. It is a chronic mood disorder. It is having persistent, uncontrollable feelings of sadness, uselessness, hopelessness etc. regardless of your quality of life or events surrounding.

“It’s more than that though…” I cut off my train of thought and began to explain the next part.

The Numbness

Sadness is something you could feel, an emotion. I craved this at times, because I knew the alternative was much worse. Feeling nothing physically, or emotionally, is something I would not wish on anyone. It makes you wish you were sad. It makes you wish you were in pain. It makes you wish you could just remember what it was like to feel again.

This was very hard for me to explain. I had thought about telling someone before, but I was afraid no one would understand. I finally found someone I trusted and tried to explain it to her.

“It feels like a light switch I have no control over. I don’t get to turn it on or off and I have no power over how long it stays on. I could be having the best day of my life and one small, relevant, or not, thing will cause the switch to flip and all of a sudden, total numbness.”

That’s the word I use for it anyway, maybe it isn’t the right word, maybe there is a fancier, more scientific word for this kind of thing, but for now, it works.

The easiest way for me to check if I am numb, is through music. Sounds weird I know, but I love music. It has always meant a lot to me, and I listen to it all the time. Not when I am numb though. I can’t enjoy any type of music when I am like this. Anything that plays takes a backseat to my thoughts which run rapidly through my mind. I can’t feel these thoughts, I can’t even describe them; but I can hear them, and they continue to get louder, almost deafening, until eventually everything just blurs away. All my senses are dull, and I barely feel alive.

“How did you cope with this?” She asked, attentively taking notes as I spoke. “Did you ever want to hurt yourself?” She continued and I bit the inside of my cheeks and looked down to the floor, debating on the best way to answer. I chose not to answer that question directly but instead explained why I understood why people chose that route.

The Dreaming

Dreaming is what I called how I felt when I felt how I felt. If that just confused you, good. Nothing makes sense to me when I feel like this. I never truly know how to put it all into words but here goes nothing.

It’s like I am here, existing, moving, feeling; but more than anything, it is like I’m floating. Somewhere between reality and my mind. Like there are a million thoughts within my brain, but for some reason, I can’t focus on any of them. I am swimming, no that is not the right word… I am drowning in my flooded thoughts and emotions, yet I cannot seem to feel any of them.

I have attempted to talk to friends about this before, but I try not to because I know they won’t understand, and I would just get frustrated with myself for being like this. Those who want to understand ask if it’s like when I am numb, but I know what being numb feels like and it’s simply not that.

I am off. Those are the words I usually choose to use with others when I feel like this. Some people will ask in what way do I feel off, and again, it is so hard to explain that you have no idea. Those who care want to help, but the truth is, I don’t think they can. I always get lost in my fear of being annoying, being different, being me and that is when my thoughts turn dark again.

I can’t feel these dark thoughts though, not as if they are my own. It feels more like a weight constantly pressing down on my mind, pulling me further from reality. As if I were existing outside of my body looking in. Observing my life as if it were a movie.

Then when I try to pull myself back into reality, something overwhelms my mind. Drowning in these feelings, no that is the wrong word again… drowning in this existence. I hear, I see, I feel, but I can’t focus on anything. When I look into the mirror, I don’t feel the person looking back at me, it’s like looking at a stranger. My speech is impaired. I talk, but I don’t hear what I’m saying. I can’t think clearly enough to know why I started talking in the first place. It feels like I get lost within my head, and I never know when it will all be okay again. I know deep down, I will get there, but that feeling of not knowing, terrifies me.

“Does it feel like you're floating outside of your body?” She asked, sounding curious for the first time since we started talking. She was attentive while typing notes into her computer. I nodded. “It sounds like you are experiencing depersonalization or derealization.”

Depersonalization and derealization. A form of dissociative disorders which essentially means I go through periods of time where I do not feel like a person. I don’t feel or think like a human, let alone like myself. I cannot control this in any way shape or form. I have no control over anything because I can’t feel reality.

“You’ve mentioned you look in the mirror and don’t feel like yourself, and don’t like what you see, can you elaborate?” She asked.

The Body Dissatisfaction

I never talked about it before this moment. I never gave it the attention it so desperately craved. This was because anytime I made the smallest negative comment about my appearance, I was constantly bombarded with all the reasons I was wrong.

“You’re so skinny,” “you’re so fit,” “I wish I had your body.” I was told all the time. The thing is, it didn’t matter who said it or how many times I was told these things, I would go through phases where I was disgusted with how I looked.

“Have you seen me? I’m so fat.” “You just want attention,” “you’re fishing for compliments.” “You’re so selfish.”

Just to give a few examples of things I have heard from people. What they don’t realize is, they cannot change how I see myself. I know I’m not fat and no, I don’t think I am overweight by any means, but that does not mean I look down and like the body I am in.

The fact that I couldn’t talk about it to anyone else didn’t help. I would count calories, memorize the amounts in all the foods I ate, measure out everything perfectly, weigh myself multiple times a day. I would eat celery or drink black coffee as meals. I studied nutrition so I knew how dangerous eating disorders could be, but I was obsessed with losing weight, and I was scared. I knew the risks, so I stopped, and I know I may never be happy with the body I have, but I have learned to accept myself for who I am, or at least I constantly fight to.

“Okay, I am going to get you to fill out a questionnaire for a couple things and I will be back shortly.” She handed me a few pages of paper and a pen and left the room. I filled them out as honestly as I could, then once she came back in, I handed them to her. She looked over the answers. I waited there, unsure of how to feel. Still curled into the smallest position possible on the chair, hood up, head down, I took a deep breath...

“Looks like you are showing signs for Major Depression, Severe Anxiety, Panic Disorder, ADHD, Bi-Polar Disorder and PTSD.” I didn’t respond, so she continued. “I cannot help you much with this besides prescribing medication and offering you a list of psychotherapy to look into. I will also refer you to a psychiatrist for further testing.”

I walked into this office thinking I would just have issues with depression. I didn’t know how to feel anymore. I had never thought of myself as an anxious person, until after that day.

“I’ll give you a moment to process, I need to grab the prescription.” She spoke, but I wasn’t sure I could hear her words. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her echoed through my mind along with her words.

“Bi-polar.” I shook my head trying to clear my mind. “ADHD.” My focus was non-existent at this point. “Anxiety.” I fumbled to untuck my knees from my chest and push my body up to standing. “PTSD.” The few steps it took to get to the door felt never ending. “Depression.” The rest was a blur. “Panic.” The only thing left to be felt.