Words

One of the most frustrating things about growing up with an undiagnosed mental illness, for me anyway, was not being able to explain my feelings. Not only did I have no clue what was making me feel and react the way I did, but I also couldn't describe it.

Why was I crying? Why was I so nervous? Why do I never want to stray from routines and freak out when plans change?

The answer to all of those questions was always the same: I didn't know.

It frustrated me that even when someone tried to talk through these things with me, it almost always sounded accusatory. I remember wanted to scream I don't know! At the top of my lungs whenever someone asked me why I was so upset over something that seemed to be, in their eyes, minor.

I also believe not knowing can make symptoms scarier. The first time I dealt with depersonalization was two years before my generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis, and I genuinely thought I was going crazy. The first time I had a panic attack was equally terrifying–losing control and knowing that something was wrong, but what was it?

At some point around the time my depersonalization and panic attack happened, I had seen people online talk about their mental health. For some reason my brain labeled these symptoms as anxiety, and even though that felt right, I didn't actually know if that's what I was experiencing.

Ah, the second guessing. Another sign to add to the list.

I wasn’t exposed to any mental health/wellness talk until I ventured onto the internet in middle school. I started seeing people like John Green being open about their mental health on Youtube and Twitter and it opened my eyes to a whole new world of expression. These people knew how to put words to their feelings, they knew how to say how they felt and make it make sense. It was mind blowing for me.

When I finally started therapy at sixteen, my life was changed. I had been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and things were beginning to fall into place. All of the thought patterns, the habits, and emotions—there was a reason for all of it. I finally had an answer to the question I had been asking myself for years: Is there something wrong with me?

The answer was no.

My therapist helped me break down the wall I had built between myself and my emotions for the previous sixteen years of my life. The wall came down slowly, but when it did the flood gates were finally opened. I starting feeling my feelings, and it was overwhelming. I often found myself wondering how I had managed to go so long without feeling these things when they were so strong. Had they always been this strong? How did I never notice?

I began journaling a while later, and using the tools and the language my therapist had taught me, I was finally able to write out a beginning, middle, and end to a feeling.

What happened to make me feel that way?

How did I react?

How does this relate to my anxiety? Is it a thought pattern?

What have I learned in therapy that I can apply to this?

I had to start out with almost this exact outline, a template, until I could finally just sit down and put words on a page.

I recently had a piece of my writing published on The Mighty, and whenever I think about that I think about the little girl who was so disconnected from herself that she couldn’t explain to anyone how she felt. I really like the idea of being the person you needed when you were younger, and I hope I’m becoming that for myself.

This was a lot of hard, consistent work, and I was lucky to have my therapist and my family supporting me through it all. I recognize that not everyone has that. If you are trying to get to a point where you can more openly talk about your feelings, I believe in you and I know you can get there. Keep going.

—Abbie