Lightning. An abrupt, discontinuous natural electric discharge in the atmosphere. A brilliant electric spark discharges in the atmosphere, occurring within or between clouds, or between a cloud and the ground. A beautiful but deadly natural phenomenon. Lightning is all of these things.
And so am I.
This blog post isn’t quite the right place for a long “history of Rachel”, but it would be helpful for you to know a little about my past. When I was in high school I dressed in a lot of black, listened to loud music, and preferred the company of books and computers to people. To add insult to injury, my mental illness started to rear its ugly head in 9th grade and involved severe mood swings, self-injury, and a suicide attempt by the time I graduated in the year 2000. Suffice it to say, the stigma of my fellow classmates was rampant.
Some gems that were said about me:
“She’s crazy.”
“I heard she cuts herself.”
“I heard she did that ‘cuz a boy made her mad.”
“Who does that to themselves?”
“Ask her if you can see the cuts.”
“So, um, can I see what they look like?”
“I heard she went to the hospital for taking too many pills.”
“Someone should put her out of her misery.”
“Why do they let her go to school here?”
“Why haven’t they locked her up yet?”
“Is it safe for her to ‘be out’?”
“She’s not important.”
“She’s so weird.”
“She’s too stupid to know what you’re talking about.”
A lot of people ask me why I never responded to those statements or struck back with one of those snarky remarks that my friends today know me for. The truth is, I wasn’t ready to fight. I didn’t know how to. Most days, I didn’t even care. I was completely consumed by the ravages of Bipolar Disorder. Only one thing mattered to me; getting through the school day just so I could go home and sleep.
Often I’m asked, what I would say to “high school Rachel” knowing what I know now. I don’t see a point in answering that question. Actually, to be truthful, my own therapist had to teach me this. I used to play out scenes from high school over and over again in my head and come up with alternate scenarios to change the outcome. Do you know what I learned from this exercise? No matter how much you want to, you can’t change the past. It’s just not possible.
It took me a long time to come to grips with this; a lot of nights spent wide awake, staring at the ceiling, willing my 16-year-old self to put down whatever it was that might hurt me. There were countless hours spent daydreaming about the one afternoon with that one person that didn’t end the way we planned it to, and hoping 15 years later he wouldn’t hate me anymore and would take back all those nasty things he said about me “being crazy”.
It turns out that I wasted a lot of energy and hours trying to change the moments that make me who I am today. I still have my scars, and that guy still hates me. And that’s OK.
The complete woman I am today is constantly evolving into someone more dynamic. Today, you’ll never find me backing away from a challenge or an insult about mental illness, especially my own. Every day I remember that there is no need to hide my true self anymore; that Bipolar Disorder doesn’t define me, but it makes me who I am. I remind myself that those awful moments from high school are long over and I don’t have to ability to change them. I learn from them and let them shape me into a better person. Even though the insults and comments still sting fiercely, they have also taught me to fight against stigma. I have turned my sadness and anger into teaching moments to pave the way for today’s teenagers (and adults) who may be going through similar experiences. I’m not saying it was an easy journey to turn all this negativity around, in fact, I still have quite a bit of negativity looming over my head on certain days. It took years of hard work and dedication to be at the point I am today, but it was totally worth it.
I’m not afraid to be open and honest about my mental illness. I talk about my diagnosis with anyone who will listen. I correct anyone who thinks that having a mental illness makes you less of a person. I’m quick-witted and have a deadly tongue. I make noise. I speak my mind. I’m loud. I have the need to be seen. I’m opinionated. I rarely care if you don’t agree with me. I have Bipolar Disorder. I’ve survived two suicide attempts. I’m a recovering self-injurer. Hell yes – I have scars. And no, I’m not ashamed.
So let sparks fly and excuse me while I light up the sky.
