(Un)Healthy

For all intents and purposes, I am physically a perfectly healthy 22 year old woman. When people look at me they see a living, breathing person, who could maybe use a little more sleep, but who seems to be just fine otherwise. But it's what they don't see, what they can't see, that is slowly, but truly, tearing me apart. Or at least it feels that way.

As some of you may know if you've been reading this blog at all for the last two years, I have anxiety. And I'm not just talking the kind of nerves you get before giving a presentation to a bunch of people. I'm talking serious, crippling anxiety that sometimes, or most of the time, prevents me from leaving my own house. The thought of leaving my house to go somewhere alone, like say a cafe or the movies, or even the park, puts me on edge. It makes my heart beat faster and it makes me sweat which in turn only makes the anxiety worse. The thought of talking to strangers alone makes me want to vomit. The thought of going to a public place filled with lots and lots of people makes me jumpy. Even going to a party with my friends where I will know most of the people there makes me fidget. And it's been this way for as long as I can remember. And it's exhausting.

And yet I'm sure if you asked most of the people I know what they thought the problem with me was, they would all have very similar answers.
-Oh, she's just shy.
-She has a little anxiety, but she'll get past it.
-She's an introvert. She doesn't like small talk.
-She just needs a push. She just needs to put herself out there.
-She needs to suck it up and get over it.

And maybe some of you reading this right now would agree with them, and I'm not saying that I don't either. But what I am saying is that it's just not that simple. And it's not their fault that they don't get this, because it's not as if I go around explaining things to them. Or even to myself. All I know is that whatever the hell is going on with me is not something that can be fixed by just "getting over it." And this, dear readers, is where the problem lies. Because despite how much it may feel like it at times, I am not alone in this. Millions of people all over the country, all over the world, are going through the same kind of battles with their minds. Whether their battle be with anxiety, or depression, or any one of the countless other mental disorders and diseases out there, we are all going through it. Or we know someone going through it. And yet no one is saying anything about it. And this needs to stop.

There are people we all know, people we love who we see every single day, who are suffering. And no one can see it. This is what happens when the world and society puts physical health above mental health on the scale of importance. This is what happens when we only pay attention to what we can see, instead of what we can't. This is what happens when no speaks up. So I guess you could say that this little post right here is me speaking up, in my own little way, about how I'm feeling and why something needs to change. And though of course I know that physical health is so incredibly important, I think that mental health deserves to be seen as just as important in order for a person to live a happy and healthy life. And though I am in no way an expert on this subject, it has affected my life, and the lives of those around me, in a way that I think makes it something I can talk about. And it needs to be talked about. So I'm doing that in the best way I know how, by writing it all down.

Now, if you've been paying attention to pop culture or the media recently you will have seen that things are slowly, but steadily getting better. There are movies and television shows that have portrayed mental health in a much better, more important light than we've seen in years. Films like About Alex and Silver Linings Playbook have really pushed for people to see and understand that mental health is just as important as physical health, and this is good. But it's still not enough. Because even with these pushes there is still a stigma tied to mental health that tends to paint people with mental disorders or diseases as being weak, or lazy, or selfish. But this is just simply not the case. And I'm not saying that I'm not all three of the things I listed above, but from what I've seen of other people suffering with mental illness, I know that they are some of the strongest, hardest working, and most giving people I know. Because for a lot of them, even just choosing to get out of bed in the morning is an incredible step, and sometimes a difficult one, but every time they do it's a victory.

For me, especially lately, it's been hard to force myself to do much of anything. For the past few months I've just been floating around listlessly, watching other people live their lives from inside the comfort and safety of my room. I've just been sitting around, waiting for myself to one day suddenly just wake up and realize exactly what it is I need to do to get myself out from under whatever cloud this is. And yet every day I wake up feeling exactly the same. And I know this is no excuse, and I know that I am my own worst enemy, but what I also know is this is more than just being too comfortable or too lazy to step outside my front door. It's me, waking up every day just to spend all my time doing battle with my own mind, and then watching as my mind wins almost every time.

"You're safe here," it whispers to me. "No one can see you here. You can't embarrass yourself here. No one can judge you. No one can hurt you as long as you stay right here where it's safe, where everything is familiar and yours. Nothing will change as long as you keep a close watch over it."

And despite the fact that I know my mind is a dirty liar, and despite the fact that I know I don't really want to stay where I am, I do it anyway. I do it because it feels good. It feels bad too, but mostly it just feels good. It's like how I imagine some junkies must feel when they take the drug they're addicted to. They want it, but they know it's wrong, and they don't really want it, but they feel as if they need it. And then when they let themselves have it they feel bad, but they also feel very good, but the good begins to wear off quicker and quicker the more they take the drug, which in turn only makes them take more. This is what my anxiety has become to me; a drug that I never wanted to take, but one that I've grown addicted to, if only because it feels as if it's all I've ever known.

This past summer I was able to go around pretending that everything was okay. Almost everyone was free, everyone was home with me, and we went outside into the world almost every day. So I could tell myself, today you left the house, today you did something good. And even on the days I stayed home, that felt okay too because other people were home with me. But then August arrived and everyone left and I was alone. I didn't have a school to go to anymore and I was too anxious to find a job. Five days a week, at least eight hours a day, I was alone, and it was my own fault. And suddenly what I was doing didn't feel so okay anymore. My mind told me it was okay because most of the time it felt good, the solitude, but after awhile the silence of my every day began to mock me. And yet despite how much I began to hate the quiet, to hate the every day monotony of solitude, it still felt safer than stepping outside on my own. Because it was--because it is--comfortable, and I am a person who thrives off of comfortable. Even when I know it's bad for me, even when I want to get out and go, and explore, and discover, and make things happen, I fall back on comfortable. Because it's always there, because it's reliable, because it's safe. But I can't even explain to you, or to myself for that matter, how so very sick and tired I am of comfortable, and yet still I crave it. I am exhausted. I am exhausted with being comfortable and I am exhausted with wanting to get away from it. And most days this is my life.

And I'm sure at this point of this much too long post you must be thinking, who does this spoiled brat think she is? She sits here talking about how exhausted she is when she does nothing all day. When there are people out there working, living, and dying all over the world. And here I am complaining about how uncomfortable I am with being too comfortable. And for all of it I can only say that I am so very sorry. I wish I didn't feel this way. I know how incredibly lucky I am to be where I am and with the people that I'm with. And I know how selfish, or ungrateful, or over dramatic I must seem writing this now, but I promise that's not my intention. And I'm sorry if it seems that way to you. All I wish is that I could do what seems so simple for everyone else in the world and just live. Because honestly, what I do every day can't really be described as living. It's more so just existing. Taking up space that I feel I have no right to. And for this I am also sorry, and I am so tired of feeling so sorry all of the time. But trust me when I say that whatever horrible things you may be thinking of me right this very moment, the things I am thinking about myself are much worse. I don't mean this in a morbid, messed up sort of way. But in more of a low self-esteem, incredibly guilty sort of way. And again here lies the problem with the way society treats people with mental disorders, and in turn the way we who have mental disorders treat ourselves. Because despite how terrified I am every day of what people think of me, none of them could ever think of me as badly as I think of myself. And this is so incredibly sad to me, because even if no one else in the entire world loved me, I should be able to love myself. Every single one of us should be able to love ourselves. No matter what we look like or who we are, we should be able to look into the mirror every single day and tell ourselves, whether out loud or in our heads, I love you. Because when it really all comes down to it, we've only got ourselves in the end. And this is something that has always scared the crap out of me, but I wish it didn't. I wish I wasn't so afraid of being all alone with myself, but I am. And maybe this is a "being in your twenties" thing, or maybe an anxiety thing, or maybe it's just a me thing, but I don't want it to be. I want to get to know me, and I want to love me, even with all my flaws and insecurities, because that's what love is, I think. It's loving someone, not despite their flaws or problems, but because of them.

But what's worse than this, worse than watching my lack of self-love affect me, is watching as it begins to affect the people I love the most. And being terrified that my anxiety or whatever this strange depression is, is beginning to rub off on the people closest to me. And as terrifying as it is to watch a seemingly invisible disease take over your own mind, it's a whole other thing entirely to see bits and pieces of it creep into the mind of someone you love and fear that it's all because of you. That maybe she feels a certain way about herself because you feel a certain way about yourself. That maybe you've called yourself ugly or fat or unworthy one too many times in front of her, and now when she looks in the mirror she thinks the same things, even though they could never be true. And no matter how many times you tell her that she has no reasons to feel this way, that she doesn't even understand her own greatness, you worry that she hears these words far less loudly than the ones you spit at yourself on a bad day. And as bad as it feels to watch yourself falling and feel unable to catch yourself before you hit the ground, it is so much worse to watch her tripping over the same bumps you did, and worry that no matter how far you reached out your arms to catch her, she'd wish for the ground instead. All because you showed her how. So you try to make a conscious effort to be better, not only for yourself, but for all of them. And you hope that these new efforts won't go wasted, and that you'll both be able to discover that the ground isn't a place you have to stay, but a place to push off from. A place where the only way to go is up, and all that's left to do is fly. Off to a place where looking in the mirror doesn't put you in a bad mood, and you're able to finally see the value in treating yourself with the same respect you try to give to everyone else.

Now, if you've made it this far, I salute you. I'm not even sure how I've made it this far into this post without turning back and erasing the whole thing, but here it is. And I'm sure it will freak a lot of people out, sorry family, and maybe even make some people angry, but that's okay. Because if even one person reads this and sees something of themselves in these words I've written, and it forces them to see that the path they've been going down is not the path they want to be on, and it pushes them to change course for something better, or it helps them keep going, then it will all be worth it. Because really I think that's why I started writing in the first place, to keep myself going. To push myself into choosing a different path than the one I've been allowing my mind to pull me down. To put all my jumbled thoughts onto virtual paper and take stock of exactly what it is I've been feeling these past few months, and years. But also I wrote all this down to help people who may not understand mental disorders, or who know someone who is suffering, to see that it's more complicated than you might think. And simply telling someone to "suck it up" only makes things worse. Because sometimes, no matter how much we may want to suck it up, or how badly we might want to get out of bed, our minds trick us into believing we can't. So we shrink into ourselves and we pull the covers over our heads and we stay in bed because it feels good and comfortable and safe. And that's why we need people who care, who understand how difficult seemingly simple things can be sometimes, and who are willing to be there, even when we tell you to go away. Because sometimes all it takes is a hand reaching out, or a gentle push, or a even a text message, to give us the strength we need to keep going.

Hopefully, within the next few years if not sooner, society will begin to treat mental health and well-being with the same seriousness and importance that it treats physical health. And hopefully the world will begin to understand that sometimes things are not quite as simple and black and white as they may seem. Because in reality, most of the world is made up of gray areas, and it's up to all of us to see the truth of them. And just because a person says they're okay, doesn't mean that they are. And just because someone might seem weak or lazy, it doesn't mean that they are. Because inside they may be fighting one of the most difficult battles with themselves, and you would never even know about it just by looking at them. So we have to start paying attention, all of us, myself included, to the people around us. We have to start holding ourselves accountable for our own mental health, and we have to start holding others accountable for theirs as well. We have to stop treating mental illness as some kind of taboo that should only be talked about within the confines of a psychiatrist's office. Just because something might be going on within our minds, that doesn't make it any less real than everything else in the world. And just because our pain might seem quieter or less important than other pain, that doesn't mean it is, and that doesn't mean it isn't real. We should be treating all types of pain, whether they are mental or physical, with the same respect and importance, because even if we can see one and not always see the other, that doesn't mean it isn't there. And it doesn't mean that it doesn't matter. All pain matters, whether we can see it or not, and as my favorite author once wrote, "pain demands to be felt." So we've got to feel it, all of us together, in order to find our way out of it and into something better. This is how we move forward, this is how we keep going. And so tomorrow I will get out of bed, and I will keep getting out of bed every day after, until I find my something better that makes getting out of bed seem easy. And I hope so much that you will too.

Love & Chaos,
Sam