Personal Narrative: The Battle Of Disorder

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

It takes me a moment to gather my heart and fix my composure before I even notice the interior-every single wall is painted a bright color. Greens, reds, oranges, yellows, no wall is safe. I almost laugh, a major contrast from the cry I choked down at the doorway, and much like this place is from the chameleon job it has on the outside. The all-black desk stands out, the main piece of furniture in the rainbow-like room, as my mom makes her way to it to check in.

My first interaction with mental illness was in high school. One of my friends was having trouble in school and had a complicated family life. I did not know how bad it was until I received a message from her talking about suicide. I was taken aback by this because I did not understand how someone could feel this way. This lead me to take a class in psychology during my high school years. This class explained possible risk factors that can lead to mental illness, but I really wanted to understand how you could help. This motivated me to not only take a psychology course in college, but I also applied for the major. As I continued through the program, I was introduced to the different areas of psychology and found one that really peaked my interest.

High school is a hard experience on its own, but going through it with a mental illness makes it ten times as hard.

First, we got the phone call that my great aunt Janelle was sent to the hospital in an ambulance at two o’clock in the morning. We got the next phone call a couple hours later telling us the doctors didn't think she was going to make it through the night which she fought through the night. We went up to see her the next day in the hospital, she was sedated, intubated and had a pacemaker keeping her alive. Her kidneys had failed and she had to do dialysis throughout the week. We continued to love on and get closer to family and friends more than we normally do. Throughout the week she kept getting better one day she began to open her eyes acknowledging that we were there, we knew she was a fighter and she was going to fight through this. The

Further down the road, I kept looking out the window and seeing the green trees passing by while my mom was on the phone and my dad kept driving until we got to our destination. Meanwhile, the car was at a stop, we felt the car move that we actually crashed into the car in front of us and we got rear-ended that contained my head hit from seat to seat that gave me a black

I have depression, OCD and other physical health problems, and, to be honest, nothing much good has come from the relentless struggle of every day. But I do feel that the one good thing that can come from it, is that I can truly and deeply emphasise with people going through very difficult and dark times, because I’ve been there, and often are still there. There can be a perception with some Christians that Christians shouldn’t have mental illnesses. The sense of shame people are made to feel only compounds all of their problems. So I can let people know that you don’t need to feel guilt about something that isn’t your fault. Some people are healed straight away, some over time, and some struggle with it for the rest of their lives, just like

A decent portion of my younger life was spent chasing after the great unknown; perhaps if I could experience the things that were a complete mystery to me, I would encounter that one moment that would change everything. I would have some insane adventure and waltz out the other side a completely different person; a better person. I guess that it can be said that I did, in fact, encounter that situation. However, it was in no way great and it lasted a lot longer than I thought it would.

At the age of fourteen, my life was changed forever. Although going through my parents’ divorce was challenging, along the way I discovered what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Throughout the grueling process of the divorce, I realized my calling is helping others work through their problems, and that family therapy is the career path for me.

Freshman year of high school I thought my life was falling apart. Looking back, I may have been a tad dramatic, but it was how I felt nonetheless. No friends, no self regard, and I was nearly failing all of my classes. See, through the media and various ignorant peers, I had been taught that speaking about mental illness was practically forbidden. Dare I mention such a topic aloud, and it would be met with confused, yet slightly concerned glances, and undoubtedly, at least thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence. Being the shy, assuming person that I was, of course I immediately accepted this as fact, and refused to speak to anyone about my mental state. This, of was the root lapse of my inevitable downfall.

The sound of breaking glass startled my eight year-old self, lying on the edge of the bed. I opened my eyes and stared at my room. Hearing the door to the next room slam shut, I figured it was my mother, who had lately become a frequent customer to the guest room next door. After waiting for what seemed like eternity, I threw off my bed sheets and tiptoed towards the dining room. Instinctively, I bent down and carefully touched the floor. A small, rough piece of glass pricked my finger. Keeping my finger on the glass, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I could see several shards of glass scattered across the floor.

The game was already over and the only thing our team was shooting for now was personal stats. I knew this but personally I never wanted me or any of my teammates to lose hope. Although unlikely to comeback, anything is possible. We just kept playing, hoping to break something loose and steal the momentum from the other team. I have only touched the ball a handful of times, due to poor weather conditions, when Stanley finally calls my name from the pressbox. I was calm and ready to boost my stats and I felt as if I had nothing to lose. Already lost the game and we already missed our chance in the playoffs, so why not shoot for personal goals? This mindset was wrong, but it was the mindset many had at this point.

Towards the end of my sophomore year I realized that I wasn't as happy as I normally was. My head constantly felt like it was spinning. I went to the hospital to talk to a doctor after five months of telling my mom; I was too scared before to go to the hospital. I told him that I had been abused for a really long time. The police were called that night and I had to retell my story. The doctor informed me that I was suffering from PTSD, something that I thought only war veterans suffered from, as well as anxiety and major depression. Being that I had never known too much about mental illnesses, I was shocked from everything I had to go through in a single year.

From the end of seventh grade until the middle of senior year, I struggled with mental illness, as well as the stigma of it. I was scared to ever admit it to myself, and to other people, so I attempted to hide it for the first two years. By the middle of my freshman year of high school, I could not conceal it any longer, as it became apparent in every aspect of my life. Numerous things contributed to the seemingly endless battle inside my head, such as a numbing sense of loneliness, an abusive relationship with my boyfriend, and more.

I trudge into the room. It’s just another boring museum, isn’t it? But it’s not. Time slows.... the wall blocking me from the painting shifts with my steps. Suddenly, everything else is dull. My whole body is drawn to it and my feet urge me into it. My brain says no - It’s dangerous.