Dear younger me... (2015 in review)

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Sorry guys, I know how much long posts are hated around the internet, but this needs to be said and is already the nutshell version. In my defence, I tried to make the story as interesting and experiencable as possible. If the negative beginning should distract you from reading, worry not, it will clear up gradually. Now without further ado…

I dedicate this journal to all of you, because I owe you this much, to my psychologist, to the teacher who made us write the letter, to those who believed in me, and especially to those who didn't… One-nil.

In the recent days, I recieved a letter from a special expeditor: my last-year self. For one of our high school teachers had encouraged us to address our older selves, to compose good advices or well-wishes for them, to discuss our concerns, and when the actual time comes, he would send all these to us, how fun and nostalgic it would be to look back at our younger years. So we started to jot down our thoughts, most of my classmates, I presume, about university, love, growing up, or whatever may concern your ordinary eightteen year-old. But I
had a different thing in mind: that everyone had already buried me.


Last december, when I was eightteen, my depression and anxiety both came to a head. I do not know the exact reason, however, mental illnesses are obviously not known for being predictable and logical. I just felt that it kept clinging on me, like a parasite, and started to strangle me with thoughts like I was talentless, my existence was in vain, I was wretched and weak and no matter how hard I tried, I would never be good enough, and who I was to think that my life is worth anything? And as in my immediate surroundings nobody wanted to prove different, slowly I had started to find these thoughts plausible. And after all, I had been suffering from it for seven years, and neither my doctors nor my medicines could help me. I felt that there was no hope left, I would not succeed anyway, and it would be better for everyone if I died. Sorry, ''I felt'' is an inappropriate phrase. I knew.


My physical health also started to kick the bucket. I got my very first panic attack on the way to my psychologist, and in spite of observing that I was feeling terrible, I could not breathe and I was completely desperate, she did not even bother telling what’s going on with me. Let alone to help me, even if I asked her to. And my psychiatrist just increased my dose in cold blood, and tried to sell me a vaccination therapy „which would make my panic attacks and suicidal thoughts cease” with a really fake argumentative (resembling telemarketing ones). But of course, what does a stupid patient in her final stage do? Definitely she clings on the faintest ray of hope. Until the third day it helped a tad, afterwards it started to kick in as the doctor expected: my thoughts became even more suicidal. Most probably that was the worst part, knowing all along the way that I am being betrayed and it is none of their interest to heal me, that the situation of my poor
condition is being used, though honestly, I did not care anymore, I just wanted to quit already.


I mostly spent my days sleeping, so that at least it would not hurt, and I was ground by pain and inertia. My parents responded to it as I am teenaging, and when I finally bared my soul with great difficulty about wanting to kill myself, my father laughed at me, and my mother scolded me for inventing issues to annoy her. I tried my best to interpret them that I am fighting a hard battle and how I needed a little space and time and respect, but tried as I might, they still never refrained from making me feel as worthless as possible. Through a panic attack, I would often (by that, I mean weekly) spend more than twelve hours fighting for air with migraines and fever-like symptoms, feeling between life and death (leaning towards the latter one), and by the next day I got so exhausted that I was unable to crawl out of bed. Yet, the deepest concern of my parents considering the attack was ''And how you will take your exams like this?''


And as for my friends… Some did not know at all what I was going through, but nobody knew the whole story. And it was not only because I wanted to shelter them, but I was also concerned that they have another friends who can express their love better than me, who are way more important, interesting and warm people than I am. Especially because in the communities where I dwelled daily I was the ugly, the good-for-nothing one, the plan B, who was only needed when there is nobody more suitable around (and cetrainly, everyone was more suitable). Who has to be humiliated to a breakdown, then she should be laughed at for being such a wretch. And if she would ever dare to speak up for herself, it should be engraved in her brain that she is disrespectful and selfish for that. I did not feel there would be anyone who would not see me as burdensome. And someone accepting and loving me seemed an utter nonsense, so that I spared my friends my "whining", except when bursting out.


These were the feelings I started to write the letter with. I did not find it feasible that I would be alive in 2015 to receive it, or that there could be something to make me list hopes or expectations. Not to hand in a blank paper, I jotted down the plans which I came up with in my better moments, and I concluded year 2014. I also included the sentence „I hope you’re happy.” I felt I couldn’t have asked for more of an absurdum.


On he 14th of January I reported my psychiatrist that the treatment had only worsened me, and then he decided to wash his hands and refer me to the local psychiatry. What does a stupid patient in her final stage do again? Definitely she goes, because she hopes to be healed there. Well, almost. I got a day to decide whether I want to stay for the treatments, and I learned soon enough that the staff is underprepared, the doctors are technically humiliating their patients, and the surroundings, well, I am not calling that building Chernobyl by chance. I have seen that my roommates are returning again and again, are completely exposed to and dependant on their circumstances, and then I have decided that my story is not going to end like this. On the 15th I was already home and have decided to get healthy and quit my medicines, no matter what the cost.


I thought that with the support that everyone had ensured me of when I got to Chernobyl, I could do it. One day later what my father did was voicing that „Well, this depression thing is something to be taken seriously…” Thank you, captain obvious, now I can die in peace! My mother has promised in vain to be humane, she restarted blaming everything on me and played the victim in front of my grandparents, who had just figured about my depression then. My grandmother answered that I should love my mother anyway, because she gave me my life (that’s exactly why I went to Chernobyl, because I was so grateful for being born), and my Grandfather listed all the not-even-half-true clichés about attitude.


Then I escaped to a group of friends, who I originally would’ve met an hour later. Some of us were there earlier, and we played a game of answering prepared questions. I got the following one: „Is there hope?” Well, that hit me like a truck. Previously I had believed in hope, I was promoting it too, I thought to myself. But now… I answered „Why not?” Because for someone, somewhere there must be… Just not for me.


I had decided back in Chernobyl to look for more professional help, so I reconnected a psychologist friend of mine. I visited her first on the 24th of January to admit that I have a problem, and she has done miracles to me since. She has always provided me her sympathy and support, and has always found the way to comfort me and lift me up whenever I had doubts, as well as pointing out a possible solution. Thanks to her, I got acquainted with more aspects on life, I started to see my life in cohesion, and could observe my possibilities. Thanks to our sessions, she has become a trusted friend and the number one advisor of mine, and has given me indescribably and unimaginably much. Without her, I surely would not be where I am now. And, as for the previous therapists, I dumped both. One of them asked me as a goodbye that „You still have not found a decent dermatologist?” and with a psychopathic grin he added „See you soon”. There is no more satisfying feeling than knowing with all of my heart that I am never going to depend on him again.


In February, I did not note when exactly, I started to decrease the dose of my depression medicine, and quit. Aside from some headaches, I scarcely felt anything, in contrary to that, the anxiety medicine cost me a lot more. I took the last one on the 31st of May, and being stronger than drugs, it attracted an amount of withdrawal symptoms. The first four weeks were quite hellish – with intensified suicidal thoughts, fatigue (sleeping 16 hours a day) and a completely numbed brain which can’t put together two clauses to make a sentence. Afterwards I have only had physical problems, which took a couple of doctors to repair, but it was totally worth it. Almost together with this, my panic attacks also passed. The very last one, which last twenty hours, happened on the 16th of May. Since then I have been grateful for every breath I take.


Talking about life-changing events and people… This summer I met my dearest Lucila and Candy ( LUCILALEYLA and candysamuels , I am uploading the photos), who gave me so incredibly much, including helping me to grow as a person. The trips were eventful with a lot of unforgettable adventures such as sightseeing, hiking, spending nights out in their towns, photographing of course, and a bunch more… And also a lot of chats and heart-to-heart talks. They introduced me to their family members and treated me as one, and after being there for me in my hardest times, they have proved again that I could count on them anytime. Both Candy and Lucila are just amazing, they truly are angels who I love and miss greatly.


Despite the worries of my parents, I got admitted to university. Though moving and starting a whole new life wore me out for the first two months, I have slowly begun to observe the magic of the city. At school I mostly am studying what I engage in and need, I have groupmates whose only aspiration is not putting me through hell, and professors who do not humiliate students as a hobby. Honestly, I am stunned and somewhat perplexed to be surrounded by human beings. But I adore it. And also, most of my classes are easier to me than high school ones, meaning that I do not sweat blood and die as much as predicted by my sweet-hearted, darling, optimistic teachers.


 And I think, int he end of November I witnessed a miracle… I checked a list containing the withdrawal symptoms of the anxiety medicine I quit… And I ended up reading for three hours about side effects which could have crippled me mentally or physically, or could have killed me. According to the description, I was supposed to get epileptic seizures and panic attacks, which did not happen disregarding that I have been epileptic for more than a decade, and panic disorder passed not too long after starting to decrease the dose. True, I indeed had some hardcore suicidal ideation at the beginning and the world was moving a bit more than it should have, but aside from that all I got were thinning hair, hormonal problems, and probably it triggered my bowels too, but compared to PTSD, depersonalization, catatonia, mania, sudden death, these are way too good. If I hadn’t believed in God earlier, probably I would have started at that point. And if he wants me alive, who am I to say no?


When I thought this year will not be able to be topped by anything anymore, I have received some good news. Based on a test my psychologist has evaluated, I no longer show pathological symptoms neither depression nor anxiety, which basically means that I am healthy. I am still tasting these words, as I have not been able to claim this sentence in the past eight years. On Monday, having an extremely foggy weather, I walked up to Chernobyl (the aforementioned psychiatry) to take a photoshoot as it has an excellent post-apocalyptic atmosphere, and I thought why not kill two birds with one stone, I walked up to the second floor and told the nurses that as they sent me away with a „See you soon” a year ago, I felt obliged to tell them that now I am cured from my illnesses and I love my life. They said they were glad and replied with another „See you soon”. My heart was kind of already pounding out my chest and I was afraid they would keep me in for being sarcastic, so I did not say „See you never again”, but I knew it wholeheartedly.


Certainly, there were some hard battles. I had times when I wanted to give up because the smallest nothings, when I felt unimportant and worthless, I have torna part a bucket list because I felt that my life was futile and I will not ever reach my goals, and I just kept on blaming God for allowing this. Later I realized that I was stronger than I thought, that an incredible amount of people had my back and provided me their love or support, and basically now I have family members all over the world (thank you, guys). Also, I looked at the paper slips and I have seen that I have completed more than half othat list, and God has given me something greater in return.


I don’t know that if I were to write a letter to my one year older self, what would I say. I most probably would not have any expectations, because man, my 2015 is impossible to be topped. However, I am positive that God will find out something cool. Also maybe I would write a review of my year, though I do not think I will forget any moment of it. To my younger self, I would not advise anything, as I know she is too stubborn to take it. Back in February, I stated about Chernobyl that "
I really hope that once I'll look back at these as something I started from, that are faraway struggles." So I'd tell to keep the hope, because it will be okay. It will hurt a lot, but it is going to be epic.


I ended my last-year letter with the following sentence: „You have no clue what is going to happen to you in the future. Maybe by the time you will read it, you will.” Yes, I do. I will keep my head up, heal from the remaining wounds caused by a list of abuses, wear my scars proudly, love my life, make it remarkable, and pay it forward. Because there is hope. For everyone.

 

Oh, and by the way… Yes, I am happy.



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CRG-Free's avatar
I am so happy for current you. :hug: