Is this a journal entry?

It's important to look at who you are through the things you've been through. This is a bit of my story, definitely not all of it, that I'd like to share with you.

I promised myself I would only write and publish here if I had genuinely thought-provoking things to say. The problem with this is that because I am so critical of what I share online, I don’t really think anything I have to say is interesting or of much importance at all. Because of this self-criticism, it’s been a month and I have been avoiding this newsletter with all my might. I’ve decided to reframe the way I approach writing, and I am here to share with you some greatly uninteresting thoughts.

I met a therapist a few weeks ago who I clicked with in a way I’ve never experienced before. Growing up I tried to find a counsellor who gelled with me and offered therapy in a palatable way, but I always came up short. I have only had two sessions with my current therapist, but through those sessions, we have begun to “build my story”. I’ve felt very inclined to write about our conversations, and so today I’d like to tell you a bit about where I’ve come from with regard to my mental health.

I was considered a “gifted child” in my years of early education (I am now diagnosed with ADHD). I got put on red sticker reading lists in grade 1 which basically meant I was more literate than the average 6-year-old. Apart from having to take a workshop on how to hold my pencil correctly, I was on track to be a very successful student. This changed as soon as I transferred to an all-girls catholic school, went through puberty, and unearthed some information that I’ve now been informed is trauma, and my so-called “intellect” disintegrated.

I don’t think I ever gave much thought to my presumed trajectory in school. My elementary years fade together and my most memorable moments are playing games of heads up seven up in after-school care. Sometimes I wish I had the ability to fish for better memories, but I always come up blank. The complete opposite can be said for my middle and high school years. Those years are outlined in black sharpie, constantly popping up when I wish they wouldn’t. I refer to those years by my high school bully’s name, power to them I guess.

During my this time, I experienced a dog pile of change that sent me spiralling. On my first day at this new school, I sat in my parents’ car experiencing my inaugural panic attack. I had arrived late and desperately wanted my dad to just drive me home, aching for the words “let’s try again tomorrow” to leave his mouth. Ultimately I was ejected from the passenger seat and left to cry through the empty halls, unsure of where my homeroom was located. After what felt like hours I was finally guided to the right room and upon my arrival, I had 30 sets of eyes staring at my red, puffy face. I sat down, and at the end of class, my teacher decided it would be a good idea to assign me a friend. I wish I was joking.

Throughout my three years at this school, I was rejected and bullied enough that I still carry it heavily to this day. My first best friend found me too dependent and clingy, so they asked for space. Then I met a group of girls I thought would be my friends forever (you already know where this is going). As my home life got rockier I was given a diagnosis of depression and anxiety. I confided in my new friends about what I was going through and was told over and over that I was just looking for attention, that my depression wasn’t real, and that I was faking.

When you are a 13-year-old kid experiencing scary thoughts and feelings for the first time, all you need is someone to notice, hold you close, and tell you it’ll be okay. Sadly for many of us, this isn’t the case and we are met with judgment, disgust, confusion and apathy. The way this dismissal settles in your heart can cause so much detriment long term, and in my case, it can lead you to avoid seeking out help.

This period of my life extended through my high school years even after I left catholic school. I transferred to 10th and 11th grade at a new school, and once more in 12th grade. The bullying stopped, and through these years I developed a new best friend and a serious long-term relationship with my first boyfriend, giving me someone to lean on. There is a lot to be said about being involved in a dependent relationship, but I genuinely believe it saved my life at the time, and I am so grateful for that. Apart from typical relationship turmoil and the occasional high school drama, my mental health improved and I was able to graduate high school, ending this chapter through accomplishment.

After I graduated I moved a few provinces away with my boyfriend at the time and settled into a new place with a new routine and a new job. From there I was able to begin building a community around me full of people who would actually listen and offer me the support that I never had previously experienced. I began hosting events, going out with friends and living life relatively unrestrained.

About a year and a half into my move, I ended my 5-year relationship. As a 20-year-old in a new city feeling a lot of uncertainty and confusion, I made a decision that I needed to make at the time, although I still harbour guilt around it. After this relationship ended I threw myself into the process of building a new community. I made many mistakes and spiralled off my path a bit, going out and drinking a lot (I really don’t like drinking) trying to fit in. I went on dates that were fairly unsafe and brought people into my life who ultimately caused a lot more harm than good.

Through this spiral, my mental and physical health plummeted again and I found myself breaking down often. I quit my job and managed to lose much of the security I had built up for myself. I am still working on making amends with myself for acting with such haste, but as much as these events in my life tore me down, hurt me, and got me sick to the point of chronic illness, I am quite grateful for them.

I am a firm believer that you end up where you are as a result of every decision you’ve ever made. The truth is, I turned 25 this year, and I am a full-time student in my third year of post-secondary, a place I never thought I could thrive in let alone survive long enough to experience. I have learnt through mistakes that I deserve to have my boundaries and ideas respected, I refuse to be pushed around. I know now how to advocate for myself and my mental health within the medical field as well as with my community. I have also learnt that sharing all of these experiences online strikes a chord with a huge community of people who have shared my experiences. Building a community online through a pandemic has felt like a superpower I didn’t know I had. I feel more connected and less alone than ever before. And none of this would have happened if my life didn’t play out the way that it did.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I share all of this with you today because my experience is so obviously not isolated. I think a lot of people are stuck at certain points in my story, and I want so badly for you to see that things do have a way of working out, even if you’re in the thick of it and can’t fathom feeling a moment of peace. I also share this with you because there are still people out there who will try and disregard your experiences. There are people who will take issue with how much you talk about your mental health. The way those people act is a reflection entirely of who they are, not you.

I don’t have all the answers when it comes to “healing” or working through mental illness. I still have severely horrific days and I think I will for the rest of my life. But somehow, the good continues to outweigh the bad, and I am so grateful I am still here to tell you that.

-b