Guest Posts · Personal Development

Guest Post: She’s got it all

"Entrance into darkness" © Dragan, 2015. CC 2.0.
Entrance into darkness” © Dragan, 2015. CC BY 2.0.
I have a friend who is gorgeous, tall, svelte, and talented. She’s always fashionably dressed, has great hair, is good at her work, and fun to be around. Basically she’s perfect.

As we became closer I began to notice that she didn’t feel perfect. She felt shunned by a few co-workers, pressured by her managers, and wasn’t enjoying our work environment. Everyone has these experiences so it made her more human to me. Yet she still looked pretty perfect and I loved being around her and her light.

Recently we went out for  lunch. It was one of those catch-up ones where you try to condense four months of living into one hour. Near the end she asked, “How do you do it? You’re always upbeat and you’ve got your stuff together.”

I laughed and said to her, “It’s the drugs.”

My laughing remark became serious as I saw the effect it had on her. Then I had to confess. I told her it’s a lot of therapy and occasionally a pill I’ve been prescribed to help me let go of the anxiety and focus on the lessons learnt in therapy. I told her I adore the psychologist I work with. That her goal on day one was to see less of me and give me the tools to fight my anxiety on my own. I told her I went from multiple sessions a week to visiting my psychologist a few times a year when my tools need sharpening. I offered to send my friend her contact information.

Then it was her turn. She told me she’s been suffering with body dysmorphic disorder since her early teens. Everyone compliments her body, her style, her life, but she feels that she’s barely hanging on. She’s in a committed relationship but confessed , “He didn’t fall in love with me. He fell in love with the girl I pretended to be, not some sick woman.”

Listening to her I knew how she felt. The gift of mental illness is that we can wear a mask so beautiful that it fools the world. So people look at us and think,”She has it all!”

To be honest, I usually don’t mind people thinking that. Today I’m clear so I can see that I have a lot. Can I improve? Yes! What’s the point of life if you can’t improve and learn and grow. Does this room for growth mean that I’m rather incompetent and only making it through by faking it? Not at all.

On days when I’m less clear it comes crashing down. Every mistake is an emergency failure. I’m not really successful I’m just some talented fraud who will be found out at any moment.

I know I’m not alone and unfortunately my friend was honestly hoping for a secret that could help her. Some trick I’ve got to great mental health. My only trick, which has come from therapy, is to attempt to recognize when I’m engaging in distorted thinking and immerse myself in the truth.

The mask I mentioned, well it’s interesting. As we’re busy fooling the world, we’re also fooling ourselves. We really are the strong, fashionable, smart women we’re pretending to be, but the masks are on firmly. When when we take them off we don’t recognize that the faces in the mirror are even more beautiful. The faces behind the masks are everything in the masks, but so much more. The  face have seen darkness, survived, and continue to battle. We are warriors.

–––––

youmeanme is the pen name of a millennial blogger who is blogging her journey out of debt on Saving without Scrimping. She has been battling anxiety and depression for the last twenty years and is learning to cherish each day as a victory.

Would you like to have your work featured on this blog? Send an email to rubyabrowne[at]gmail.com.

Autobiography · Relationships

Finding Out

The Doors Project” © Mykhailo Liapin, 2014. CC BY-NC 2.0.

I was standing at the door of my apartment. Backpack on my back and another bag hanging from the crook of my left arm, keys in my right hand. While I was unlocking the door, Richard came down the stairs leading into the hall behind me. I turned and called out to him.

“Hey, dude! How you been? I haven’t seen you around here very much lately.”

Richard stopped in his tracks and stared at me. He looked like a little kid who just found out his parents wouldn’t be living together anymore. A rush of adrenaline surged through my body. I didn’t know what was happening, but I could feel it was monumental. I knew that people don’t put on faces like that for the everyday tragedies. That face is for the heartbreak moments. The ones that tear us in two.

I dropped my bags and walked toward him as fast as I could, barely catching him as his legs gave out and he crumbled to the floor. His body shook as he pulled his knees up to his chest, fumbling for words. He tried several times to start a sentence, but he didn’t have it in him. After another set of shakes and a big breath in he managed to speak. “The doctors,” he said through shutters. “The doctors say he’s not going to make it through the week.”

“Wait, what? Who? Calvin?”

He turned his face toward me and took another rattling breath, “Yes. Calvin.” Then he dissolved into my chest. Sobbing.

I held him on the floor in the hallway. Crying quietly into his hair. It’s not that I knew Calvin well, it was that I loved Richard fiercely. And sometimes that’s all it takes to mourn an impending death. I could see the slowly opening gash in my friend that Calvin used to fill.

We try to fill those voids. We try with drugs or booze or other people. We try with hobbies and new jobs and cross-country moves. But when someone we love leaves us, there is always going to be that gap. A cave that collapsed in on itself, but never closed. But I guess it’s just like Leonard Cohen said, “That’s how the light gets in.”

When Richard stopped crying I helped him to his feet and walked him to his door. I didn’t ask him what was wrong with Calvin. It didn’t matter anyway. He was either going to pull through or he wasn’t. My job wasn’t to know the details, my job was to make sure that Richard was safe.

At his door I asked, “What can I do for you right now, man?”

“Just be around this week. Like, if I come knock on your door at 11 PM, will you answer?”

“Of course. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” he said more to the ground than to me. He closed the door and I could hear his shoulder blades hit it and his body slide down the length. I held up my hand to knock again, but I knew he just needed to be heartbroken right now. And that was okay.

I put my bags into my apartment and ran up the stairs to Allen’s, banging hard on the door. When he answered I didn’t bother with any greetings, just asked, “Dude! What the fuck happened?”

“Calvin has bacterial meningitis. He’s been in the ICU for about a day and a half now and they… You know, they just don’t have any good news.”

“Damnit.”

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s rough. I don’t even know what to say to Richard. He’s just barely holding it together, of course. I mean, I would be a total wreck, too. He’s just usually such a jubilant guy, you know. It’s so hard to see him… Shit. What am I doing? Complaining about how hard it is for me to watch him hurt like that. What must be happening in his head right now? His whole world is falling apart. You know he’s not even on the lease to their apartment?”

Allen’s words started fading out. He wasn’t talking to me anymore, he wasn’t talking to anybody. He was just trying to fill the space with something that wasn’t our brains stuck on a spin cycle. Repeating over and over that our friend was lying in a hospital bed, ten minutes away, and there wasn’t anything we could do about it.

These events happened in the summer of 2010. This piece is an excerpt from my current NaNoWriMo novel.

Mental Health

Rev

window” © Patrick Marioné, 2013. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
It’s hopeless. Empty. You turn the key over again and again, but the car still doesn’t start.

You’ve tried everything. The things that used to work don’t work anymore. Frayed rope wrapped around your knuckles. Hang on to it.

At the end of the day I stand in the kitchen and stare at a counter full of dirty dishes. Knees weaken, my throat catches. It’s just too much. Like everything. Paralysis. And I catch myself wondering if any of it matters anyway.

The medication, the therapy, the long walks around the lake. The exercise, the diet. The writing, the communication, the skill-building. The revised work schedule, the closed windows. Firing on all cylinders, but still feeling nothing.

I put my hands on Mason’s shoulders and look up at him. “I can do this, right? Tell me things will be different.” He does. Pulls me tight into him again. Kisses the top of my head and rocks me softly.

Alyssa texts me reminders of the things I love. Tells me about the passionate and beautiful parts of myself that are just tired and quiet, not gone forever. Promises this isn’t my new permanent.

So I take a deep breath. I pick up a dirty spoon, a fork, a knife. I take the plates and put them in the dishwasher. The glasses, too. I wipe the counter and spray out the sink. Everything is monumental and I’m just not big enough. But one piece at a time, I do it anyway.