Being a Child with OCD, Part 3: 29 Years Later

It’s now been 29 years since my OCD symptoms started, and 28 years since I got the diagnosis at the age of 8. In Part 1, I discuss my struggles in getting diagnosed, getting put on medication, and elementary school. In Part 2, I talk about how much trouble I had in middle school and high school, both with school itself and with teachers and friends. Twenty-nine years later, and I’ve learned so much. I’m not nearly as bad as I was when I was younger, and have learned how to cope with it much better.

Final Years of High School

Sometime during these late high school years (11th or 12th grade, I’d say), I started pulling my hair out. Trichotillomania is a hard diagnosis to explain, because people truly don’t understand how anyone could pull out their hair. I don’t know exactly how it began, but I know it was a real problem.

Trichotillomania (which is often shortened to TTM for short) is a disorder where someone has the compulsion to pull out one’s hair. It’s pretty common for it to go hand-in-hand with OCD. Some people pull out their eyebrows or other body hair, some people the hair on their head. My urge was to pull out the hair on top of my head.

I would pull out any piece that didn’t “feel right”, from darker pieces, to thicker pieces, to curly and less smooth pieces of hair. Then I started adding split ends into it, and I would both pull at the split ends and pull out other pieces of hair. I never did it in clumps, it has always been strand-by-strand.

There was a point that I did it so severely that when my hair started to regrow, it looked like my hair had been cut short. It was like a tuft of short hair on top of my head. I was around 18, and it looked really awkward. I got my hair cut once, and the girl who cut my hair asked about it. I was too embarrassed to tell the truth, so I lied and said that a friend did it while I was asleep. What a cringe-worthy excuse, I know, but I wasn’t as open about all of this when I was younger. I just knew people didn’t and wouldn’t understand.

It’s been over 20 years since I started the hair pulling, and I still do it (a lot) to this day. It’s the worst when I’m wearing my hair down, so when I’m home I’ll often put it up to try to avoid any temptation to pull it. It doesn’t completely help though, because that’s when I start pulling at pieces in the front, without even realizing I’m doing it. The straighter my hair is, the less I tend to do it because when my hair is more smoothed out, so it doesn’t bother me quite as much.

On a lot of the mornings that I said I couldn’t get in to school, I would be lying in my bed and my mom would pretend she was going to throw up on me, which would get me to jump out of my bed in terror. I always thought it was a cruel thing to do to someone who A- truly didn’t feel well, but no one believed, and B- had a deathly fear of puke. Looking back, I know she was just trying to deal with it the best way she knew how, and was at the end of her rope herself.

Another method she’d take was either putting a cold wash cloth on my face to force me up or splash a bathroom cup of cold water on my face, both while still in bed.

Even then, I was dealing with major fatigue that no doctor could explain. The depression started in middle school, so I was used to that feeling at that point. When I’d tell any of my doctors that I felt really tired all the time, more than any of my friends, they all blamed it on the fact that I was a teenager and my history of depression. No one ever looked into it further, and it took another 12 years or so before I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.

Doctors never knew how to handle the fact that I was not getting into school often enough. Instead of being actually helpful, the threat of being hospitalized would always be thrown at me like a punishment. If I didn’t get into school more, I would be put in a hospital. I didn’t understand at the time what kind of hospital that meant, but me and my fear of vomit would not do well in any hospital setting. The fear kept me going, too afraid in the back of my head that I’d be locked in a facility.

After Christmas break junior year, I couldn’t get myself back into school. The combination of daily 24-hour stomachaches, a growing fatigue I was experiencing (especially after some kind of activity), depression, and anxiety was just over the top for me. Starting January, I started getting homeschooled. It took a lot of convincing to finally be homeschooled, I’d wanted it for a while and was always told it wasn’t an option.

It was during these years that I found my solace in the internet. No matter what was going on in the outside world, I was more popular on the internet, and I had countless friends. I didn’t have to deal with the problems I had in the “real world”. I started a LiveJournal I believe during senior year, which was my first dip into social media. A couple years later would come MySpace, and then the rest was history. I felt like I could be myself more, and it was an outlet for me to express myself.

I was still being homeschooled through the school I attended, and junior prom was around the corner. I still wanted to go, all of my friends were going. I didn’t want to miss out on the experiences. At first, the school said I couldn’t go. My mom pushed though, and they finally allowed me to go.

The homeschooling ended up being great for me. It was a stressful school year (as I mentioned in Part 2: The Middle) with all the regents, the two extra classes I had to take, and the SATs. I was able to not only pass every class, but do better than I did while attending school in person.

I was determined to get back to school for my senior year though, and I was able to make it back.

During my senior year, I continued taking acting classes outside of school, which I loved. I met some new friends there (two of them, that I’m still friends with to this day), and it solidified my love for acting even more.

In an art class senior year (always my favorite classes by far), we were drawing self-portraits. The teacher took a picture of us, printed it out, and told us to make a grid over the picture. We made a larger grid on a black piece of paper, and little by little, followed each grid from the photograph and filled in the black piece of paper with a white colored pencil.

When I got to my nose, I drew it as I saw it. When my teacher was walking around the classroom to check how everyone’s work was coming out, she told me my nose was wrong. She said I had a much wider nose, and if I didn’t change it, she would fail me. Here began the Body Dysmorphia about my nose, specifically. I already had it about my body since I was in elementary school.

I erased the nose I originally drew and made it a little wider. She came over again and told me it’s still too small. She erased what I drew, and drew the nose as she said it was. The nose she drew was huge, not nearly as big as mine, and took up almost the entire face. She was taking the shadows in the original black and white photo she took, and drawing it in like it was the shape of the entire nose, without even getting into the shading yet. Was my nose really that big?! I couldn’t see anything else in my face, and I stopped giving full smiles. Smiling with teeth only made my nose wider, so I stopped that too. I became so self-conscious about my wide nose, I started to despise my face.

My luck with teachers really wasn’t good, and I wish I could say I had one teacher that went to bat for me, but I didn’t.

I’m thankful that considering everything I dealt with, I was able to graduate when I was supposed to. In 2003 I officially graduated high school at the age of 17. I was so proud of myself, because I struggled through every single day of school for years, and I got through it.

All these years later, I still have dreams and nightmares that involve high school. A lot are about not graduating, and having to take classes with younger people (often as young as they would be if I went back now). It’s a recurring dream that I get quite a bit. It’s crazy that after all these years, it still has a hold on me and haunts my dreams often.

After High School

After I graduated high school, I decided to change medications. The Prozac was no longer working as it should, and we were afraid to do it while I was in school for fear of going backwards (and I definitely couldn’t afford that). The weening off of Prozac to start another medication is what made me realize how absolutely necessary it is for me to be on medication. I know what I’m like off of it, and it’s not good. The anxiety and OCD was way too overwhelming, and I felt like I was 8 years old again, struggling to put on a simple shoe without crying. I’ve been on multiple medications since, so it’s hard to remember the exact medication I was on after Prozac, but I think it may have been Wellbutrin, and maybe another one with it, but I can’t remember for sure.

I weighed my options for college, and after careful consideration, decided to go to a community college first. I could have gone to a private college, but I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want to make my parents (or myself, with student loans) pay for something that I could do for less than a quarter of the price at a community college while I figured it all out. I happen to have a large community college close to home, so it worked out well, and I have no regrets about this decision.

The summer I graduated high school was a great one, and it was probably the time I felt the best in my life. A lot of the anxiety I was experiencing in high school lessened after graduation. It was like a vice grip that loosened around me. I got a job and worked in the summer, and had my own car, which gave me the feeling of freedom. 

I started the fall semester in 2003 as an Acting major. Midway through the first semester (or maybe after the first semester, but I somehow think I did it before the first semester ended), I decided to change my major to Liberal Arts. I decided that as much as I wanted to continue acting, I didn’t need an acting degree to do so, and wanted to make sure I had something to fall back on.

I took an interior design class that I loved, so I finally switched over to an interior design major. By then, I’d lost multiple credits from switching my major three times.

A new compulsion started sometime during these years, similar to the handwriting one where I had to go over my handwriting, but this time on the keyboard. If I didn’t “hit” the keys in the right way, and made an error in my typing, I had to go back and delete the whole word, sometimes the whole sentence, and start over. I’ve always been a fast typist, and put my fingers on the home keys, but errors are part of life. It’s still something that I do all the time– whenever I’m typing, I have to use the backspace button on the whole word when I make a typo. 

I started making jewelry, and it became my medium of choice to express my creativity. I loved it, and I started my own small business in early 2006. First called Unique and Chic (how boring), then Feed My Wallet (ha!), and eventually I settled on Chaos Into Art, which is still the name I used up until recently. I stopped making jewelry only recently, because my hands and fingers were hurting from creating the pieces. Another problem was my chronic illnesses were getting in the way, and I lost my creativity along the way. I do hope to get back into it, because I miss it so much. I love taking something else and making it into something new.

I started going to a new therapist, who didn’t last long. While seeing her, I mentioned how I hate the way I look, especially my nose. Instead of talking to me about Body Dysmorphic Disorder, which is what she should have done, she suggested I should get a nose job. For obvious reasons, that was the last time I saw her.

The change over from child psychologists to adult ones are so hard, and I’ve gone through so many bad doctors and therapists over the years. There’s not much guidance through this, you just have to try different ones until you find the right one. The problem is, trial and error with mental illness can be a dangerous thing, as some can do more harm than good.

After that doctor, I went to another, and another, and at this point I’ve been to so many. I still don’t have a psychologist or a psychiatrist who I like and trust. I had one a few years back, but she retired, and I haven’t been able to find a decent one since.

I was in school full-time and working either full-time or part-time, depending on the week and time of year. My job changed from a costume store to Babies ‘R Us, and eventually to a video game store, which was the best one yet.

In 2006, I was working full-time at the video game store, and was an interior design major in college. I took a class that changed my feelings about interior design, though.

I was 20, and took a class called History of Home Furnishings. It was a weekly class, and we spent about 7 hours a week going on field trips. The best part about living on Long Island is its proximity to the city. We went to the Cloisters, which has a large collection of Medieval works in the style of Gothic and Romanesque Architecture, around the settings of French monasteries and abbeys.

We also went to the Met Museum for months on end– 7 hours a day, weekly at the Met. At first, I loved it. Then we started staring at chairs of one of the King Henrys. Standing and staring at a chair for hours was becoming a bit much for me, and made me start to hate it. I simply didn’t care about the difference between the chairs Henry II and Henry III sat in. I was 20 years old, and not mature enough to care enough to keep it as my major.

That class became the end of it for me. I dropped out of college, and decided I just wanted to work full-time, until I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. It was a confusing time for me, because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I even went to a career counselor, thinking he might be able to help, but he didn’t.

I was going to more concerts than ever, as concerts were always my happy place. In middle school and high school, I didn’t get to see Hanson much. I saw them twice in middle school, and then once in high school. My friends in high school hated and made fun of them (and me, for liking them), so I had no one to see their concerts with. When I graduated, my new friends turned into Hanson fans, and I met more. I was finally free to go to as many concerts as I wanted, and I started to travel to see my favorite band. These have been my favorite memories, traveling for my favorite band with my friends.

During these years, I started to come into myself. I finally found myself, and was becoming comfortable with myself. As comfortable as someone with severe OCD, anxiety, depression, and Body Dysmorphia could be, at least!

My 20s

I started trying to audition for acting jobs, and began to model as well to try to help grow my acting portfolio and resume. I wasn’t interested in high fashion modeling, and knew I couldn’t try even if I wanted to. I’m only 5’5″, and I’m curvy, and back then that was unheard of for high fashion and runway. I was trying to get into commercial print modeling though, and even met with a legitimate agency who had an interest in me. It was 2007, and so it was a much different time. She told me they were interested in signing me, but before I got signed I needed to lose four inches from my hips in two weeks.

I was at my smallest at the time (but I still had that stomach that I got from Prozac 15 years earlier that would never go away), but it was still too big. I wasn’t plus size and I wasn’t sample size, and there was no such thing as a midsize model. I was a size 6/7 at the time, and that was too large to model in ads and catalogs in 2007.

I had the idea that I wanted to show girls they could do it while staying curvy, but it never worked out.  I did some more modeling, but it was just too early for any kind of change in the industry.

 

My full-time job was at the video game store, and I made some of my best friends to this day there. I was basically assistant manager there, without the pay. They offered me the assistant manager position, but because my manager at the time wasn’t doing his job, I didn’t want to be blamed for everything he wasn’t doing, so I turned it down. I had a lot of responsibilities, and it helped me grow a lot.

After two years there, I got a second job as a waitress to try to make more money. I had two jobs, and was working a lot. Eventually, I quit the job at the video game store and I started waitressing full-time, knowing I could make more money there.

I got to the point where my OCD was becoming much more manageable, or so I thought. My compulsions weren’t as severe, but the obsessions were taking over. My mind would race 24/7, never giving me a break. I’d try things like meditation classes (I’ve always been very interested in all things spiritual and more new age), but they’d never work. My mind just wouldn’t shut off, no matter how many classes I took or how hard I tried. The harder I tried, the worse it was. It’s never quiet in this mind.

I continued trying to get into acting, and did for a couple more years. Some jobs I wasn’t able to take because I couldn’t get coverage at work (a lot of times you wouldn’t find out got a job until the night before, which made it very difficult when you work).

Some things gave me too much anxiety though, and it made it hard. There were jobs I could have taken in the city or out east on Long Island for acting (Royal Pains, Gossip Girl, and more), but I began to get imposter syndrome.

Imposter syndrome isn’t a real diagnosis, it’s just a phenomenon people may experience. I was feeling like a fraud, wondering who was I to try to attempt these things? I was no one. I wasn’t pretty enough, I wasn’t talented enough, I had no business trying to act.

The imposter syndrome ultimately took over, and I stopped auditioning and taking jobs in late 2010, early 2011. I did do some cool things though, including music videos, commercials, horror films, promotional ads, and more. Still though, my brain took over, and I listened to it. That’s one regret I still have today, that I didn’t push through the negativity in my brain more, and try to work through it. No therapist ever helped me with this, though, and I don’t think it was ever even brought up, I had to discover this on my own.

I found therapy to be unhelpful, for the most part. Every one I went to was just asking how my week was, and not trying to get into the root of my problems. There was no talking through things, there was no evaluating things, or learning. I’ve been to over a dozen therapists over the years, and I’ve never had one (at least in my adulthood) that has been truly helpful for me in sorting through everything. I’ve had a couple very nice ones, and I did like and appreciate them, but talking about your week should be something you do only once your traumas and deep rooted issues have been sorted through, in my opinion.

That doesn’t mean I’m anti-therapy in any way. I’m absolutely pro-therapy, and I know I need it. I just haven’t found the right fit, but it doesn’t mean I’ll give up and never try one again. I’m just frustrated with the therapy I’ve had.

In 2009, I decided I was ready to go back to college. I was still working as a waitress, and I obviously knew I couldn’t do that forever. I was never interested in getting an office job during these years because I found them stifling, and I was still in my early-to-mid 20s. I didn’t want to feel locked down, and I liked being able to take off when I wanted to travel.

I applied to a local state college, wanting to go for graphic design. The major was called Visual Communications, and I had to put together an art portfolio. It had been years since I’d done any kind of art, so I had to scramble together what I had from college and high school. I also took a class on the side to finish more pieces, to put together a proper portfolio. I included any graphic design I’d done over the years, which I had taught myself. 

In order to get accepted, I had to take an art test where I had to draw and shade a still-life in person. I passed, and they approved of my art portfolio, so I was accepted into the school.

In the fall of 2009, I began my first semester. Some credits from my previous years of college transferred, a lot did not. 

I was working while going to school, and let me tell you, going to art school while working is not easy. All of my spare time was spent doing homework, art projects, and working. I was trying to also keep my jewelry business afloat, but I wasn’t focusing on it, so I wasn’t doing many sales at this time.

In early November of 2010, my grandma fell down the stairs. She tripped over a dry cleaner bag as she was bringing the winter coats down from upstairs (which she knew she shouldn’t do, but she wanted to be independent and do it without having to ask my mom). The fall put her in really bad shape, and she ended up needing a tracheostomy. She never spoke after that, as she was unable to because of the trach. After a couple of months in the hospital, she went to a rehab facility, where she declined fast.

Before the fall, she was having the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s (a lot of forgetting words), but the fall just progressed it. Between the fall, and possibly brain damage, by January she was forgetting who everyone was. Shortly after, she didn’t remember who my mom (who visited her every single day) was, and didn’t know who my grandpa was either.

It was really hard for me to see her like that, because I was always really close to my grandparents. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents as I was growing up, and their eventual death was one of the things that would trigger my OCD. I would often have to do a compulsion because if I didn’t, my brain would tell me that my grandparents would die. Even though I knew deep down my thoughts couldn’t provoke a death, I was afraid I’d blame myself when they did pass away, thinking it was because I didn’t do certain compulsions. It’s just easier to do the compulsions and lessen your anxiety about it.

It got to the point where she was basically a zombie, and seeing her in the rehab facility was extremely difficult for me. I went, but not as often as I would have liked to. She didn’t know who I was, she didn’t know who she was, and she was asking for her parents. 

The stress of everything started to overwhelm me. I was working a lot, especially Wednesdays through Sundays, since I was a server at a popular chain restaurant. The weekends were the only real chance I had to do my homework, and I didn’t have the energy for all of it. I was trying to keep up with all of my classes, art homework and projects, working, and the stress of it all on top of what was going on at home became too much. I dropped out of college again, and felt absolutely defeated. 

I knew I couldn’t work full-time and go to school full-time anymore, and I couldn’t quit my job because I needed to work in order to pay for my health insurance. I’d been paying out of pocket for my own health insurance since I was 21-years old, and it was very expensive. My jobs always offered horrible health insurance, so I always had to do it separately.

Shortly after I dropped out of college, in April of 2011, my grandma passed away. It was a little over six months since her fall and at that point, as hard as it was (and it was hard), we were relieved that she was finally at peace.

I kept working. I always worked since I graduated high school, with very few breaks, and I worked hard. By January 2012, I was ready for a change, though. I’d been serving at the restaurant for 4 years, and I knew I needed to grow my skills elsewhere. I applied for office jobs and got one. I quit in January 2012, and started at a decorative hardware company full-time. They didn’t offer insurance, so I still had to pay privately. Remember, a lot of this was pre-Obamacare, so there were no lower rates– I was paying about $550 per month for a single adult.

While at this company, I developed Strep throat. We were in close quarters at the office, and I know for a fact the airducts were filled with dead rodents (I saw it with my own eyes when they fixing the ceiling and they all fell out). I got Strep from someone else at work, and was put on antibiotics. I got better, and as soon as I got better, I developed it again. And then, within a month and a half, I had it for a third time. My boss was angry with me, saying I was the one who was spreading it around the office, meanwhile, I got it from her family friend who worked there that gave it to me. It just kept going around and around.

It was shortly after this that my first symptoms of POTS showed itself. I was going to a personal trainer at the time, and I was unable to do any of the aerobic exercises. I would attempt it, and I would instantly feel like I was going to pass out. I’d turn white, get nauseous, clammy, and extremely dizzy. I was unable to do any aerobic or cardio exercise without feeling that way. I was shocked, because I was in shape a few months before, being a waitress going up and down stairs with plates of food and trays of drinks.

The combination of no health insurance offered and a gross office made me decide to leave the job and find a new job. It took a few months to find one, but I finally got a job I’d been applying to for years. It was a wholesale travel company, and I knew I’d be good at it with my passion for travel. I started in October, and we had 3 months of training before we ended up on the floor. I was doing great at my job, far exceeding all sales goals, and I really loved the industry. I felt like I finally found my niche when it all came crumbling down when I started getting dizzy all-day everyday and daily migraines. I go into more depth about this time and the following years in my post about living with chronic illness.

When I had this new job that I loved, the girls (and women) were horrible to me. I was finally doing great in something, and got 100s in every test we were given. I wasn’t doing well because I was a goody two-shoes. I think if you read the other two parts of my story, you’d realize that at this point. I was doing well because this was finally something I was passionate about, and I was actually good at it. I’d found my niche, finally, after struggling my entire life. I loved travel, and I felt like I actually found my calling.

The girls would laugh whenever I said anything in class. You’d think these girls were all teenagers, or in their early twenties, but nope, only one of them was. One of the meanest ones was a woman in her 40s, who had a sick husband at home and a teenage son. There was no logical reason for her to be treating me like this. The girls would giggle about me, talking about be behind my back, and getting quiet when I was within earshot. They even pretended to be my friend, which was the worst part.

When I started getting sick and having to miss days because of it, my sales were still more than double what theirs were, even with my missed days. That definitely bothered them.

One day, I called out of work because I had a migraine. That weekend, I had a concert, which I attended. I found out later (through the one friend I worked with that had my back), that one of the girls in her early 20s, who was pretending to be my friend, showed my Instagram post to my boss, telling her I was at a concert, and was trying to get me fired. At first I didn’t believe it, because who would do such a thing? What does being sick one day have to do with going out another? Then my boss confronted me about it, telling me that this girl showed it to her, but that she told her there was nothing to do about it, especially since it was not the same day.

I had FMLA at the time that I was using intermittently, as needed, when I had a migraine or was too sick to get into work. I wasn’t getting paid for these days. The fact that someone was trying to get me fired over it enraged me, and I immediately deleted and blocked everyone I worked with (besides the one friend who told me about it).

It makes you realize that there are people who would knock you down and step on you, just to get ahead. I’ve always trusted too easily, and this taught me a lesson for sure.

Learning Experiences

It’s been a long ride so far, and I’ve had to climb uphill the entire way. Every time I feel like I’m about to hit the peak, I fall down and end up going backwards. Each time I dust myself off and climb back up, the climb is steeper and harder.

My mental health is still shaky. My OCD is not gone, my depression is still as strong as ever (probably stronger on my worst days), and my anxiety is just as prevalent. The only thing that has changed is my experience, and my ability to deal with it.

Some days, I don’t have that ability. I wouldn’t wish mental health issues on anyone. They’re extremely isolating, and very hard to wade through. Some days are like trying to run in quick sand, some days are like drowning in quick sand.

When I discuss my current OCD, I usually say that my compulsions are better. While that’s true, they’re still very existent and very prevalent. I’m just better at handling them, overall. The obsessions though, are very loud.

I mentioned this above, but my mind will not shut off, no matter how hard I try. Because of this, I’m in a constant state of anxiety, and I’m often restless and never relaxed. My body simply doesn’t know how to relax. Yes, I’m in bed or on the couch a lot due to my chronic illnesses, but that doesn’t mean I’m actually relaxed.

My body is in constant tension, my muscles in spasm at every moment. My jaw is never relaxed and always clenched (not to mention I grind my teeth nightly), my body is never relaxed. I simply don’t know how. Some of that may be due to my Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder/Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, but some is definitely due to the high level of anxiety and OCD I live with. On top of that, my body is in fight-or-flight a lot because of my dysautonomia, and that definitely does not help matters.

At night, the racing thoughts are at its worst. I’ve come up with tricks over the years to try to shut them out a little, in order to try to get myself to fall asleep a little easier. Instead of just letting my brain run at rapid speed, I try to play little games in my head while I try to fall asleep. Sometimes it’s hard, because with my ADHD, it’s hard to focus and stay in the game and not let the rapid thoughts come through, and sometimes they do, but I still try.

I will list things A-Z in my head (and the memory loss I have from my dysautonomia helps because I often forget the things I’ve done previously and can use the same categories over and over, haha!) For example, I’ll list multiple movies A-Z. 10 movies that start with the letter A, 10 movies that start with B, and so on. One category can take a couple days, sometimes a couple weeks. On my worst nights, one night. But it’s something to occupy my brain and try to avoid the negativity that’s flowing through it.

When you’re almost 30-years in to living with OCD and anxiety, you learn to use avoidance a lot. I try to avoid whatever I can that causes me more stress and anxiety. It’s the only way I know how to cope. Perhaps it’s not the healthiest way to go about it, but it’s the best way I’ve figured out how to live.

I push myself every day, and challenge my compulsions constantly, but there are some things I just can’t do. It’s just easier to go with the compulsion (especially if it’s an easy thing, like deleting a sentence you typed and re-doing it, as I’m doing many times over as I’m writing this blog post) than live with the anxiety that will occur from not doing it. If you know, you know.

Although I’m far from in remission, I am so proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve pushed through so many hurdles, and although I didn’t picture my life being like this, I am an absolute fighter and warrior. I’ve fought for everything I have, and I think I’ve turned out pretty good all things considered! I’m content with the person I’ve become.

One of the biggest lessons, that I think should be shared far and wide, is that whatever you think will be important when you get older when you’re a child or teenager, is not important when you’re an adult. You think every friendship will come with you for the rest of your life, when there’s a very good chance that they won’t. You think that the bullying will never end, and that you’ll never be free from these people. While bullying can occur anywhere (just look at the mean girls I worked with at my last job), high school is high school, and it’s left there. The trauma of it may travel with you, but the worst of it will stay there. You will be free from these people as soon as you leave school, and you likely will never see them ever again.

When you leave school, your reputation is left behind. You start over.

In high school, I was like a caterpillar. I was always struggling, and could never flourish. As soon as I graduated, I turned into a butterfly. You might think that’s a cliché metaphor, but I assure you it’s the absolute truth. I was able to finally spread my wings and be myself. Yes, I still struggled with chronic and mental illness, and I always will, but I was a whole new person, and I was the best version of myself. Having a chronic or mental illness does not mean you can’t be a butterfly. Embrace who you are, and be proud of it. There’s only one unique you.