Sometimes, we at the Band know that part of owning who you are is admitting it to the world.
It’s one reason why we at The Band work tirelessly to break down stigmas and find the ties that connect us all, the ties that remind us that we are none of us alone. Please join us in standing tall and proud as we tell the world who we are.
What are you, The Band, The Face Of?
I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
Most people look forward to their birthdays.
Not me.
Although I’m turning twenty-two in a few days; this is supposed to be a happy time, my birthdays over the past few years have been uneventful or just upsetting.
When I was younger, I loved my birthdays. I had parties with friends. Like all children, I looked forward to each birthday party. But my last real birthday “party” was my Sweet Sixteen.
Ever since, my birthdays haven’t been happy or eventful.
I attended three different high schools growing up. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. I actually enjoyed my first high school - for a few months, I had the quintessential high school experience.
However, things took a dark turn at the end of my freshman year. I was diagnosed with teenage depression. I never believed the diagnosis and didn’t like my therapist - he was very passive-aggressive. I told my parents I couldn’t deal with him, so they said it was okay to stop seeing him. I attended counseling sessions with a psychologist while we looked for another therapist.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
This is a follow up to the post “Hoping this Year Will Be Better than the Last.”
I wanted to give an update two weeks after I began school, but I waited in case things changed or anything significant happened.
I’m surviving for now.
My first day was awkward, yet some things did surprise me. If you recall my last post, I was afraid that people would question why I was there or why I didn’t graduate last year. Everyone always questions the new girl - that’s understandable.
However, the response I got from my class was unexpected. While I was scared and anxious about their questions, that didn’t happen. In fact, they don’t question me about anything. Or talk to me. Or try to befriend me.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
Tomorrow I am going back to school. I’m really scared, apprehensive, and worried because I will not know anyone.
You see, last year I was supposed to graduate with my friends from college. But I have bipolar 1 disorder, and I had an episode. And my parents insisted (forced?) me to go to a short-stay treatment program at the hospital’s psych unit. It mostly consisted of me getting therapy and back on medication. I resented them for it. I kept crying and blaming them, saying, “If you had never put me here I would’ve been able to finish school!” I was only a few months of finishing my semester at the time.
Now a year has passed, and I look back at what had happened. I guess I really did need help. I was imagining things that weren’t happening - people waiting for me outside that weren’t there, thinking my friends were mad at me when they weren’t, spending money/shopping recklessly. Though at the time I didn’t realize it, I was indeed a little manic. I hate calling it that, though; I hate having a diagnosed mental illness.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
I don’t know where to start.
It seems my life is arranged in the wrong order. I’d like to go back in time and mix it up so that it all makes more sense. The worst part, my life’s not even that shitty. So many other Band members have been through so much worse. I just feel I can’t cope.
It boils down to being scared… and I don’t mean in a cutesy way. It’s not like when my sister screams and runs out of a room because there’s a spider in it. I mean, I’m so fucking scared that I freeze on the spot and forget how to move, how to speak. Sometimes, I forget how to breathe. It’s supposed to be Fight or Flight, that’s the biological stress response that gets us out of deep shit.
Except for me, it’s not fight or flight. It’s freeze. I shake. I look like an idiot. Because I know it’s an irrational fear, and I know I should be able to cope, but that doesn’t mean that I can. I tell myself over and over that I can do it. But I can’t. I know it’s fucking pessimistic, but I can’t.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
I’ve been THINKING. All day. It hasn’t been pleasant.
I can’t write about it on my blog, because my middle school friends read my blog. I’ve been open about my personal life, but not this. I know it would destroy our tenuous friendship and my self-esteem, because they wouldn’t believe me.
So I’m telling you, The Band.
It’s spring. A school day, perhaps, maybe a Friday. I’m in study hall and for once everybody is ignoring me, thanks to the chaos. Our school is built on a floodplain, so every time it rains, the school evacuates, just in case we all drown. The kids who ride the buses leave first - called out of the school according to bus number. The students who are picked up by their parents leave last. This day is no different - the minute it starts to drizzle, Evacuation 101 begins.
Once the buses are gone, the other kids are allowed to leave. I sit in the second-to-last row all the way on the right side of the room. I usually spend study hall reading a book, because that is what I do to avoid the bullies’ wrath. (I am a nerd that doesn’t fit in; everyone picks on me religiously.) When it’s announced that the remaining students can leave, I start to pack up my things.
Source: bandbacktogether.com
