Writing 101: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.
I just wrote a post about someone I’d lost when I wrote about the Room with a View, but for this post I thought I’d try a different route.
I suffer from depression, anxiety, and ADHD. For almost 10 years I was wrongly diagnosed with bipolar. When I was first diagnosed I’d just had my heartbroken and I was depressed. It wasn’t the first time, nor was it the last time, I had my heartbroken, but I’d already been through the ringer and that breakup just brought all my insecurities, self-doubts, and “issues,” to the surface. I didn’t realize how bad my depression had gotten until my daughter (who was around 9 or so at the time) told me “I want my Mommy back.” It hit me back then that I had to do something. I’d lost myself somewhere, or perhaps I’d just misplaced bits and pieces of myself. I needed to get back to me, back to good.
I went to the doctor, told her what was going on, and ended up diagnosed with bipolar. That really threw me for a loop because mental illness runs in my family. My paternal grandmother had manic depression, several of my aunts and uncles self-medicate(d) with alcohol and drugs. On my maternal side I have quite a few relatives who suffer from depression and/or anxiety, as well as bipolar. And several cousins on both sides have ADHD. My brother has ADHD and anxiety.
Being labeled with “bipolar” was the equivalent in my family of being labeled “just like everyone else,” but to others you might as well have said I was losing my shit, crazy, or that I had a screw loose. I really hate labels. Labels confine you, but they don’t define you. If you’re the slightest bit different, if you don’t fit the norm, then you’re automatically labeled. If you’re bisexual you’re labeled as promiscuous, of you’re homosexual you’re labeled as an abomination or a sinner or abnormal. If you prefer dark clothes, especially black, then you’re “Goth” or “Emo” or whatever new term is out there now. if you have depression or any other form of mental illness, you’re doomed to be labeled in one way or the other. Truth is, it doesn’t matter whether I have bipolar or depression, anxiety, and ADHD, I am not “normal.”
I lost a bit of myself that day I was wrongly diagnosed. I struggled for almost 10 years trying various cocktails of medication to fix the “problem.” I went to therapy. I ended up back in that relationship, and it was an unhealthy relationship. It was an on again off again relationship that I struggled to get out of and away from completely for years (almost 10 years). I lost so much of myself because of that relationship, in that relationship. I lost my self-respect, my self-esteem, self-confidence…
I left when I couldn’t take anymore, when I finally realized how bad things were, and because in defense of someone else I will alway do the right thing, do what needs to be done and stand up and defend others, but I won’t always defend myself or stand up for myself. I allowed myself to be treated badly, allowed the mental and emotional abuse. Allowed myself to be treated like shit, but when my daughter was thrown into it I rebelled. Momma Hulk came into the forefront of my brain and I packed my bags in the middle of the night and left. I checked us (me and my daughter) into a cheap hotel. Within a week we’d found a place to live and we were sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags until I could get our furniture–but we were happier camping out in our new place than we had been in the ex’s house.
The first few months I kept myself ostracized and became a recluse–I needed time to heal. I went to work, spent time with my daughter, son, and family. I didn’t go out and socialize at all. I went back to the doctor and was diagnosed correctly, but by then I was so tired of being on medication, especially the wrong kind of medication that I stopped taking medication all together. For three months I healed. I became a recluse. I went to work. I went home. I spent time with my daughter, my family. Until a good friend of mine stopped by my job and talked to me She told me I couldn’t continue to live as a hermit. I needed to get out and live life. She got me out of the house and among the living. (I’ll call her Tessa, not her real name.)
Tessa knew and was casual friends with my ex. Yet she was never one to choose sides, and unlike many, Tessa had seen the subtle hints and clues that many people missed, that let her know that I was hiding behind the quietness, the conservativeness, the closed off behavior. If I smiled at someone I was accused of flirting. If I dressed a little too nicely, especially if it was remotely “sexy,” then I was accused of cheating, or asked who I was trying to impress…None of that started right off. It’s a subtle thing. Just as losing bits and pieces of yourself doesn’t happen overnight.
When you’re mentally or emotionally abused you often don’t think of it as abuse because it’s not physical. And if you’ve got a low self-esteem then you might not even realize there is anything wrong with being yelled and screamed at, cussed out, accused of things you haven’t even thought of doing much less done, or of being controlled no matter how subtle it is. I had no idea of how bad things really were until I got into a healthy relationship. I had no idea that I had some of the issues I had until I got into a healthy relationship.
I enjoyed being single, hanging out with friends. I was happier than I’d been in a long while. Both of my children were grown, I was in my early 40’s and single and rebuilding my life and my “self.” I’d lost so much of myself along the way that I needed to get back to the basics. People often say that you have to be the person you seek, or you have to be happy alone before you can be happy with someone else, or you have to love yourself before you can expect anyone else to love you. All of those are true. At least I’ve found that they are true.
As of right now I am medication free. I have coping mechanisms that I use to help with the anxiety and depression, and I’ve dealt with ADHD since I was young. Most of the time the coping mechanisms work, the fact that I am no longer in a stressful, unhealthy relationship has helped tremendously, as well as the fact that a doctor paid attention to not just what I said but my body language, life events, and other factors that contributed to the symptoms I was having and diagnosed me correctly.
Not that there’s anything wrong with bipolar, i have several family members who have bipolar, but if you don’t have it and have something else or something else’s wrong with you and you’re given the wrong medication(s) it can make what is really wrong with you worse.
I met Mr. Rockstar almost 2 years after I left the ex. If you’re interested in Part 2 of the series called Lost and Found then stay tuned…
Burgess Taylor 