Mental illness is too much of a taboo topic. Don’t talk about it. It’ll go away. Those with mental illness are scary. Mental illness only happens to criminals, murderers, and crazy people. These thoughts leave those attempting to accept and deal with their health feeling alone and unwanted. The worst part about it is that we already feel alone and unwanted. We already feel unwanted. We believe we must have been bad to be this way. None of this is true. We need compassion and understanding.
Recently, I discovered something about myself. I can't stick to walls like Spiderman. I can't fly like Superman. I don't even live in a cave like Batman. I have a huge weakness. It is my Kryptonite. I don't think that any other man has this quality. It is not a super strength. It is a super weakness.
When I was younger I would always be nervous. Nervous to talk to new people, nervous to ask questions to my teachers, and even too nervous to talk to my own friends. There was always that thought in the back of my mind telling me that if I talk they won’t like me or they will leave me. I had a good childhood. I got good grades, I was becoming healthy after dealing with asthma attacks every night and being in the hospital for months at a time, and I was making friends. When I reached 4th grade I started becoming sad. Sad for no apparent reason. As a 9 year old I didn’t know what was happening. I started becoming distant with everyone and that’s when I met my best friend to this day. She had this energy to her that I looked up to. She was smart, beautiful, and kind. I wanted to be that, to have that. We became close friends and did everything together until 5th grade. In fifth grade I started becoming more timid about my body. I was always small and underweight yet I saw myself as being too big. I started eating less at the ripe age of 10. No one noticed. No one. I started becoming smaller and smaller and when people told me that I’ve lost weight and that I looked good my mind feasted on those comments. I loved them. People telling me I was becoming skinny. To begin I was short and underweight but I just kept losing weight. I started becoming depressed as problems started occurring with my sister. She started getting in trouble with the law and I didn’t see her often. My parents would always be mad or just tense. I started cutting. I at age 10 started hurting myself. It was a way to feel something. I was numb. I just wanted some type of emotion and wether that be happiness or pain I needed something. I was hurting and no one noticed. Summer shorts and tees became pants and long sleeves in a matter of days. It took people 4 years to notice anything was actually wrong. No one noticed not even my parents. The people that raised me and I spend most of my time with didn’t even notice. When my parents found out I got taken to the hospital because I started fainting constantly from hunger. They had me hospitalized, I was dehydrated, my heart was off, my kidneys were releasing to much protein, and All my electrolytes were off. I was .4 off from having a heart attack. All because I would not eat. I saw myself as fat. I was 42 pounds and I was 5’2. I was supposed to be at 115 pounds at least. I refused to eat so they decided to put a tube through my nose to feed me. I refused it and ripped it out. I stayed in the hospital for 2 weeks and then got sent to a residential facility. I was supposed to stay in the facility for 5 months. I stayed for 3 weeks. I got kicked out because my blood sugar got too low. I started eating but after 3 weeks I gave up. I stopped eating and they sent me to the hospital. I was there for 3 more weeks. I got tubed twice in that time. I got sent to Californian. I was sent to a facility where they could take me with a tube because every facility in the east and north refused to accept me because of how bad it was. Then after a few months I came back home. I was finally reunited with my family. I was doing online school but decided to go back to public school to be with my friends. I was exited. I met this guy. He was the sweetest person. After half a year of knowing him we began to date. He treated me like a princess. He didn’t know about my past. A friend of mine decided to tell him against my day. He started becoming more aware and that didn’t change how he felt. He wanted to help me get better. Which I’ve been. I am not close to 80 pounds and happier than I have been. I learned not to give up. Things will get better. One day things will get better. It might not be now, in a day, or even in a month but things will get better. Since I was in 5th grade I’ve wanted to give up and I tried but I always had hope. That hope led me to a better and happier life.
The problem with living a nomadic (or semi-nomadic) life is of course, money. The root of all evil. I’ve long believed that the trick to happiness is to alleviate the need for this dirty entity. I don’t think I can think of a single problem that doesn’t have its origin in money, in some small way or other.