The Feeling
Trigger warnings; sensitive topics include: self harm, depression, death ( guess I should’ve been doing that one the entire time I’m sorry)
I’ve been trying to think of a comparison to what it must be like to lose someone unexpectedly. To hear the words “He is dead.” Maybe it’s the same when it is expected, I don’t know. But, to lose someone with no warning at all, is a feeling I can’t even put into words. I can’t describe the feeling that rattles through your bones and burns your face. Or the chills that go down your spine and make your legs go numb. Guilt is bullshit, in my opinion. There are no ways to grieve, no steps to take, nothing you can do. You cannot become better, or feel better, until you feel the worst possible way. After my dad died, in the midst of puberty and the center of middle school, I believe my “grieving” lasted around 1 month. When 7th grade started back up the following month, I was fine. I was done grieving in my mind. I went to some therapy, I cried, I was sad, and then, I was ok. I spent 7th grade extremely happy, probably too happy, dangerously happy. And then something happened, I got sad, too sad, dangerously sad. In 8th grade I stopped talking to people, I didn’t like hanging out with anyone, I didn’t like getting up in the morning, I didn’t like having to live through each day. Thoughts like these are (sadly) not uncommon for teens, but the only thought that I would allow myself to think was
WHY HIM?
It was a true and valid question, why my dad and not anyone else?
I started to only see the world from a lens that was blurry, clouded, and dark. I don’t remember seeing much light in 8th grade, I hid in the dark in my bathroom most of the time. I was diagnosed with depression after self harming at the beginning of ninth grade. Mental health is a roller coaster and is an extremely sensitive topic. So to just throw a big fuck you at stigmas and pre-established stereotypes (that for some reason say we shouldn’t talk about these things) I’m going to talk about death AND mental illness at the same time. I told almost no one about what I was dealing with (my mom was forced to find out after one of my violent outbursts, more collateral from suppressing my sadness)
I don't usually like to share a lot on public social media about my body and mental illness and struggle, but I think it’s extremely important to open the conversation. About a year ago I was diagnosed with anxiety, and was put on medication. Things that I used to enjoy, or were like second nature to me ( flying, taking tests, getting on subways, being in crowds, walking through the city, parties, etc.) suddenly became extremely claustrophobic and I experienced fear like never before. My academics, mental health, and personal relationships also suffered, as well as my body. This year I was diagnosed with Excoriation disorder (OCD occurrences like skin picking, hair pulling) and began to damage my body. I used to tell people they were bug bites, and they were, but eventually the scars began to show up over my entire body.
Even around friends I would only wear pants and shirts and socks, to cover up any marks. I could never hide them from my hands, so I always told people they were cigarette burns. For the last 4 months, I've been in CBT (Cognitive Behavorial Therapy) and on an anti-anxiety med and I'm really happy with my self-improvement. I'm still struggling to deal with everything, but for the past four years I have been so ashamed of this. Now, I feel like I’m finally moving forward. I'm not done with my treatment, and as a hereditary disorder I'm not sure if I ever will be completely done. But for now, I'm proud of myself, and the work I’ve done to get better. Recently, though, I‘ve realized that talking about my dad dying also gives me a platform to become more confident in talking about my past in general. Being in college with a group of people who didn’t know me at all before last year is strange. It gave me a chance to start over, but also the opportunity to cover the past, which I didn’t need to do, but felt I did. It can be detrimental to our confidence and self esteem and even just me typing it makes it seem arbitrary because Every single person on this earth is struggling with some shit or another, and I think it’s really degrading that it’s seen as “embarrassing” “weird” “ not acceptable” to talk about our issues in a safe and open way. Since I’m dealing with this while simultaneously juggling a absurd amount of things, and while I’m trying to navigate through this grieving process, Going to school in New York it’s inevitable to have your ups and downs. Sometimes it’s hard for me to get up in the morning, a lot of effort for me to hangout with people, and just go about my day to day routines. I’m not telling you all of this for attention or validation, frankly, I’m doing the opposite. I’m doing this so if any one reads this and can resonate in any way, you are not alone. This world makes it very easy to feel that way, especially when you’ve lost something so close to you.
That’s all this blog is for, not just for me to rant, it’s for you (and him.)
