A Letter to the Little Girl I Used to Be
Some of my fondest memories as a little girl always had my daddy present. During the summer, we would spend Saturday mornings eating fresh donuts from the bakery and driving around to each yard sale around town. We'd never really buy anything. But it was quality time that I got to spend with him that eventually taught me how important laughter is in a child's life. We’d go for walks and bike rides through the valley floor of Yosemite National Park admiring the beauty and making new memories.
Mama's are best known for their cooking. Mine is well known around the neighborhood for her Christmas cookies. The day we spent all day in the kitchen a few weeks before Christmas was a day I looked forward to all year long. Country music from the 80's and 90's was always playing in the background while flour was flying through the air as we danced and sang along. Ironically, halfway through the day, I was ready to stop baking. A kid like me could only stay focused on something like that for so long before it got boring.
I had the greatest friends that kept me laughing constantly. We'd spend hours after school climbing trees, playing in the backyard in the mud after a rain storm, and talking about the stupid boys from school.
Summers were the best because they were always spent at Mema and Grandpa's house in the pool with my big brother. We'd have tuna sandwiches for lunch every day and bacon for breakfast every morning. Mama and Daddy would take us on many trips to Santa Cruz to spend a few days at the boardwalk. As a young girl, I was able to see Hawaii, Minnesota, and Mexico. There are plenty of memories from different parts of the world that I have to cherish.
I was happy. Good lord, I was the happiest kid on the planet. I was full of joy, full of light, and full of laughter. I could never laugh enough. Mama always used to tell me I had a smile that could light up the room. Daddy always used to tell me that I was the best baby girl in the whole wide world and that every little thing was gonna be alright – and yes, he would sing the song as he said it. Mema and Grandpa used to tell me that I was going places; that I was the most determined kid they'd ever seen and had no doubts that I would accomplish anything I wanted. My step-mom came into the picture when I was about 13. She used to tell me how proud she was of me, even if it was something small and pointless. She always encouraged me to never give up on my dreams, because someday I was going to make something of them.
So, then, what happened? Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this pain? What did I do wrong to cause mental illness to consume me?
Some days, the answers to those questions are nothing. I did nothing wrong. I did nothing to deserve the pain. I did nothing to cause mental illness to consume me. Other days, it's the opposite. I messed up. I caused too many problems as a kid that I thought caused my parents to hate me. I made the opposite of what I knew as the right decisions as a teenager/young adult to begin unhealthy relationships and friendships. I was the problem. I was the only one that brought all of this on myself. I was the only problem.
Don't get me wrong, some of that is true. I knew there were relationships and friendships that I should have never invested in. I knew there were things that I was doing to cause turmoil between my parents, which eventually led to me believing that they hated me for the longest time. However, none of that means that I brought mental illness upon myself.
I miss the little girl that I used to be. Everyone says they would love to be a kid again because being an adult sucks, things were much simpler, and there were no cares in the world. I love being an adult. I love paying my own bills, making my own decisions, and taking care of myself. Sure, things were much simpler back then, but they can still be simple now if you allow them to be. I had cares in the world as a child. I have no idea why, but I know I sure as heck cared about way too many things. The only thing I miss about being a child is that mental illness was nonexistent. I didn't even know the words mental illness existed. I didn't know what any of it meant. It had no place in my life.
All of a sudden, the light vanished. Everything went dark. There was a thick fog hanging over my life. I couldn't just drive through it in a car and find where it ended. It went with me wherever I went; it was present in whatever I was doing. Memories vanished. I don't remember a lot of my childhood memories. Most people remember their childhood very vividly. I cannot. Most of my life is a blur.
According to my psychiatrist, it's partially because of the trauma that has occurred in my life. Trauma causes you to block things out. It can cause memory loss as a way for your brain to cope with the traumatic experience. The lack of being able to remember the memories is also due to the fact that I am on a long-term treatment plan involving mental health medications. Long-term usage of mental health medications can interfere with the transfer of data from short-term memory to long-term memory. They can cause random episodes of memory loss as well as lack of concentration.
As a result of not being able to remember the majority of my childhood, I sometimes wonder if I have a made-up version inside of my head of the girl that I used to be. I know I was happy. But how happy? Was depression there all along and I just never knew it? Or maybe I did know it was there all along, but can’t think back clearly enough today to answer that question? My insomnia was always there. If it was always present, there's no reason depression might not have been, too, right?
See, mental illness does this really cool thing I like to call making everything in existence so unclear that I sometimes don’t know what reality is, and what is not. Sometimes I wonder if some of the memories that I’m able to remember, never actually occurred. I’m too scared to ask my family if any of it ever happened, because what if they tell me none of it ever did? I currently have more bad days than I have good days. I don’t have much to hold onto. There are not very many positive things for me to look for in life. One thing that I’ve always been able to hold onto is the childhood memories that I’m thankful to remember. If they actually occurred, it gives me hope that maybe someday I will be that happy and joyful once again. If my family tells me that it never happened, then I have nothing else to hold onto.
Reality isn’t really a concept that I can apply to my life while mental illness is present. For a very long time, it was frustrating. I can’t explain to you how or why. I just knew that I didn’t know what reality was, and what wasn’t. I couldn’t identify which emotions I was feeling at any given time. I would walk through my days feeling as if the majority of what occurred was unreal. I’m not a believer in labels. Labels can become your identity if you let them. Whether or not I have trouble not identifying with my mental illness is caused from the labels, I have no idea. I can, however, at least say that I’m thankful for them. Without them, I would not be able to understand why I am the way that I am today. My psychiatrist threw a new one at me one day. Depersonalization disorder is commonly known as a disassociation disorder. I won’t bore you with some long definition and scientific explanation. But it’s basically a detachment from actions, feelings, thoughts, and sensations as if you’re watching a movie of you or your own life. Things in the world seem unreal. I thankfully do not have a severe case of this disorder, but it is enough to interfere with my daily life and alter reality.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I type out all of this. I have my days in which I can say I don’t miss the little girl I used to be. Those are the days that are filled with a little bit more light than normal. They are usually the days in which I don’t feel as much fatigue and sadness. There isn’t usually any kind of trigger on those kinds of days. C`Est la Vie. The past is the past, so don’t look back on it. Don’t allow your past to harm your future. The past cannot be altered, so don’t worry about what has already occurred. Blah blah blah. That’s what I can always try to tell myself on my good days. However, since I have more bad days than good days, I’m almost always missing the little girl I used to be. I’m always looking back on the past, whether they be good or bad memories. On a day like today, those sayings mean nothing, and the past means everything. If those sayings were a living thing, I’d probably punch them out of frustration. Telling someone with mental illness not to worry about the past is like asking a penguin to fly.
I have always loved to laugh. But my mental illness has caused it to no longer feel genuine or real. I don’t laugh like I used to. I am not happy. I am not joyful. I am however, still determined. With that determination, I will push through this mess in hopes that one day, I will come out on the other side. I don’t know what that other side will look like. But I like to think it’s full of life, full of light, and full of genuine laughter.
To the little Laura;
If I could tell you one major thing, it would be only to warn you of mental illness. I wouldn’t change the fact that you were eventually diagnosed with any of your illnesses. So many good things will come out of them. But if I could change one thing for you, it would be to give you a warning so that maybe it wouldn’t hit you like a ton of bricks coming at you at 100 miles an hour.
But, on a day like today, little Laura, I wish I could tell you these things;
I wish I could have warned you of it all. I wish I could have told you not to do those dumb things that are going to cause more turmoil for your parents. I wish I could have told you not to date those two boys as a young adult that are going to contribute to your PTSD. I wish I could have told you not to join that one church in high school that will end up ruining the entire concept of church itself due to that particular situation that is somehow still ongoing to this day. I wish I could have told you not to make friends with certain people during your 4 years of high school. I wish I could have told you what your panic attacks are going to be like. I wish I could have told you what kinds of things you are going to have anxiety over, and what kinds of things are going to trigger your anxiety attacks. I wish I could have told you that you never should have seen that first psychiatrist, or that first counselor. I wish I could have told you that you never should have seen that medical doctor and begin taking your first antidepressant that is only going to make things much worse. I wish I could have told you that at 14, you are going to begin cutting yourself on a daily basis, multiple times a day. I wish I could have told you that it will eventually become an addiction. I wish I could have told you that beating that addiction is going to be, by far, the hardest thing you will ever do in your entire life. I wish I could have told you not to make that attempt at taking your own life. I wish I could have told you that making that attempt is going to wind you up in the emergency room. I wish I could have told you on that day, that there is so much more to look forward to in life and you deserve to see it and experience it instead of trying to die. I wish I could have told you not to listen to that behavioral health woman who is going to tell you that you’re making it all up; instead to listen to that kind 25 year old man that is there to draw your blood and tell you that your life is precious, and that he wishes you could see it. You’ll thank that man someday. You’ll thank him for helping you to realize that you, and only you, can live your life. You’ll thank him for helping you realize that without you in this world, the world itself would not be the same. I wish I could have told you that everything is going to be okay. That on the nights you wake up from a nightmare, on the nights that you have a panic attack lying in bed alone; you are going to be okay and it isn’t going to last forever. I wish I could have told you that God is going to give you the 3 greatest best friends, and countless other amazing close friends, that you could ever ask for. That those friends will help save your life countless times without even realizing they’ve done so. I wish I could have told you to love your body instead of destroying it with your eating disorder that is going to act more like your inner demon. I wish I could have told you that you are going to be able to see parts of the world that others will only dream of seeing. I wish I could have told you that getting to see the world is going to change your life. I wish I could have told you that your step-dad will help you realize that you will only see yourself as a caterpillar, but everyone else around you will see you as a beautiful butterfly. I wish I could have told you that he is right, and that you should have believed him a long time ago. I wish I could have told you that when daddy tells you that every little thing is gonna be alright, he's going to be right. I wish I could have told you that life is beautiful and messy, both simultaneously. I wish I could have told you that someday, you're going to be well. I wish I could have told you that your determination and strong will to live and experience life, is going to get you to the next day, and the next, and then the next.
You, little Laura, will turn out to be just fine as an adult. Your illnesses and past experiences are not going to define who you are as a person. You are going to encourage people with your story. You are going to do everything you dreamed of doing. You are going to someday enjoy life, but I need you to live to see that day.
If you or someone you know needs support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or text START to 741-741
Image credit: Unsplash
