I often say to my therapist, “I don’t want to make my life about healing.” And then I remember how women went hundreds — sorry, thousands — of years without appropriate medical or psychiatric attention. I think about how hysteria was the original cancer, brought to the Western world by good ol’ Freud himself, and how the term wasn’t dismissed from the DSM-III until 1980.
I think about how Hippocrates believed that women became sick due to misaligned uteruses, how the cure was either abstinence or repentance or some combination of the two.
I think about how many times I have pulled over to vomit out of sheer terror, how many times I have called my therapist in a panic, my entire body trembling, how many times the EMT’s have come to my house because I couldn’t feel my heart beating, or my chest was collapsing, or I couldn’t breathe. I think about how many mornings I have woken up drenched in sweat, and how many nights I have prayed for God — or whoever was out there — to relieve me of the pain, no matter how small the gesture. I think about how many times I have prayed for death; I think about how many months I spent simply keeping my body alive. I think about the phrase, “whatever, I’m used to it.”
I also think about the 43.8 million other people in this country living with mental and/or chronic illness, who may be unable to hold a job, or to stand on their own. I think about the women in my life who are brave enough to put themselves first, and to discover their own edges and boundaries.
I admire the creative folks who have etched a path for themselves, despite the Fear. I think about how fun and natural it can feel to be “extra,” how sometimes escaping can be healthy, and how that cliché saying that, “good things come to those who wait” may very well be true.
Frankly, healing is exhausting. Taking the time to nurture yourself in this fast-paced, largely unforgiving world is truly an act of bravery.
All that being said, I really don’t want to make my life about healing. I have DID, C-PTSD, and BPD, DP/DR (depersonalization/derealization) and used to have CFS. I am constantly struggling with being “real” (not only in the non-dissociated, being present, mindfulness sense) but also in the “down-to-earth,” “vulnerable,” “whole” Self. (Having at least three distinct selves doesn’t help the matter, either!)
But also, whatever. I am sick of the guilt, and I am sick of the fear. I am sick of being at a fucking crossroads. In the words of a man whom I once befriended on OK Cupid, “Being aloof is tiring. I want to live in the world again!”
And slowly, I am beginning to live again, not simply survive. I am working on my first feature-length FILM, I have a kick-ass mentor, and I am making shit happen, bit by bit, with the help of a few angels.
So hold tight, BB’s. Even if you are just breathing right now, and that is all you can do, that’s fine. If you have five dollars in your bank account because disability services rejected you and you spent all your money on milkshakes from McDonalds, that’s fine. (Half-joking.) If you are unable to have healthy romantic relationships right now, that’s fine. If you have crazy mood swings, and use them to make things that might help someone somewhere, that’s fine.
Frankly, I never, ever, thought I would get “better” from depersonalization/derealization. I thought I was stuck like this forever, and that all I could do was cope. It has taken me years for the veil to lift, and to feel present in my body. I am just one person, but it is possible.
If you are struggling with any of these disorders, please, dear God (or whatever) do not give up. We want you here.
*if you are struggling with any of the above disorders, and feel you need extra help, you can visit NAMI.org or, if you are suffering from DP/DR, one helpful resource is dpselfhelp.com. or, feel free to contact me at sdcowley95@gmail.com, and I will try my best to respond!
