Coming to Terms

When I was younger, I thought there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t like the other kids. I wasn’t able to socialize with the same ease as them. They made talking look as easy as breathing. It came so naturally for them. They were natural born speakers. I wasn’t.

I found it difficult to approach people. Even when they were talking with me, I found it hard to truly connect. I’d either draw blanks or ask myself what I should say. I felt more like an observer than an actual person, an alien that was studying and observing the humans around her. I was on the outside, looking in, wishing more than anything that I could be one of the in-people. I wanted to fit in, to belong.

The difference between me and them drew a wedge between me and reality. I’d distance myself from everyone and immerse myself in the worlds that I found in books and anime. I’d distance myself from the person I was and live through the character I was reading or watching. I’d break away from myself and by breaking away from myself, I’d be rejecting myself. Over and over and over. For minutes. For hours. For days. For months. For years.

I hated myself for not being someone else. I hated myself for being myself. This self-hatred became ingrained in me, feeding the bully that had already taken shape in my mind. A voice that constantly put me down. A voice that made me want to escape even more.

My mom sought help for me. She saw my anxiety. She saw how withdrawn I was. So, she led me to a person and a place where I could air out everything. Let out all of the feelings that had been plaguing me, drawing me closer and closer to an eternal silence. A permenant escape.

I was diagnosed with depression and social anxiety disorder, or S.A.D. for short. A fitting acronym, given the circumstances. I was put on medication, but that wasn’t the end to it. I still succumbed to the bully’s cruel words. I still hurt myself, as punishment for being myself, as an escape from the tumultuous feelings that I had inside.

Even so, I fought. I spoke back to the bully, but she didn’t go away. She would never go away because she was a part of me. She was my insecurity. She was my weakness. She was my mental illness. As long as I live, she’ll still be here in my head, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t change. That doesn’t mean that she’ll be a bully for the rest of my life.

I learned that it’s no good to keep fighting her. It’s just another way of denying her existence. In order to live a better, much more fulfilling life, I have to take the steps necessary to make peace with her. I have to embrace her, hold her close and apologize. Apologize for pushing her away and denying her for so long. I have to tell her that it’s okay for her to be here and that we’ll handle whatever problem that comes our way together. Because when all is said and done, she’s a part of me. She’s my insecurity, my weakness, my mental illness.

She deserves attention. She deserves to be taken care of. She deserves better. I deserve better and I will do better to see to it that I take care of every part of myself.