Owner

I’ve never been in charge of them, of those thoughts that plague me what seems like every waking moment. It wasn’t… they came on, after little comments from friends, one by one, just slowly, and I didn’t think anything of them, you know? Growing up, they’re expected, right? Teenage girls go through that phase of full-on doubt. Phases are phases, though. They end, not last for years. And this has lasted for years; it’s never dissipated, never gone away — just grown to the point where those thoughts are there all the time.

Going through this huge period of growth with a life run by mental illness is weird. People around me have these completely different experiences that I would never dream of. Leaving my dorm or my house is difficult enough for class, let alone a party I don’t have friends at or know anyone at. Drinking isn’t an option, because god knows I would latch on to anything that made me feel good. Dancing isn’t an option, because god knows I would be aware of every stare, real or not, and that I would end up worse than when I went in. Leaving my dorm for dining halls is even harder; I can’t go and pig out or hang around in them. I’m alone most of the time when I do go, and then I don’t stay long because I’m terrified — terrified of being watched, of getting sick, of maybe one day wanting to get sick.

This period of growth is still a period of growth, but more than that at the same time. Trying to find yourself when there’s this voice in your head that can’t possibly be yours is insane, because you can stare at a wall for hours on end thinking the opposite of what you want to think or what you went in thinking. The time you should be spending finding things you enjoy, you spend fighting with yourself on whether you’re good enough to find things to enjoy or sleeping or crying or staring at a wall. You spend that time, this important time of growth and discovery, hiding away because the world is too much.

There are days, though, where you want to be normal, want to deal with yourself, and where you try something new. What that new thing is can be anything. For me, it was writing — is writing. I’ve learned more in writing than anything else, including the most important thing I can tell anyone suffering and the most important thing for myself.

Write it down — anywhere. Write it, type it, or anything to get it out of your head, to stop the mantra. Write it on paper and burn it, save it, rip it up, or flush it down the toilet. Type it in a word document and delete it. Create an anonymous blog and make one post, an anonymous twitter, anything. Share it, if you'd like, with family or friends or anonymous people online, or with a doctor or with a therapist or with a teacher.

That’s what I’ve learned, in the last four years. It helps, sometimes — not always for long and not forever, but it’s freeing in a way like no other because for those moments, however long, those thoughts and feelings aren’t in charge of you; you’re in charge of them.