Life Sucks, RELAX, It's ONLY a title!

The title, "Life Sucks and then You Die," evokes a specific time frame in my young neurodivergent life, the beginning and middle of my adolescent years. As any who has lived through this process can attest, these years were difficult, fraught with a body and consciousness of the world that were ever changing, developing, and maturing. As someone with neurodivergence, these processes were coupled with added challenges that my neuronormative parents, teachers, and friends couldn't begin to understand.

The first signs of my ND occurred years before as I learned to read and write. My dyslexia was typical, with confusion of similar looking letters, but already in kindergarten I knew, while this wasn't "normal," I shouldn't tell anyone about when I'd see whole words backwards. It didn't happen often, but I carried the secret burden of knowing I was different even at this young age.

This was added to the knowledge that I had "lost" my biological parents, and was subsequently adopted. People I didn't know, at times even my friends at school would say "You're adopted, right," and each time it would shock me again, like 'oh, yeah. I'm adopted." Even then grieving the loss of my parents was looked upon through a lens of 'you were adopted into a nice family! You're so lucky!' I had survivor's guilt, another thing my young mind didn't have the words to name.

Finally, in the fifth and sixth grades, my behavior in the structured classroom settings of elementary school became an issue. I couldn't sit still for long periods of time, couldn't concentrate on tasks, and had long since become the "class clown" to mask any feelings of trauma from my younger years.

My parents brought me to my first therapist when I was in the sixth grade. I remember them calling him an Adolescent Therapist. I was diagnosed with ADD, mild dyslexia, and what he termed an Attachment Disorder. I distinctly remember both the therapist and my parents saying repeatedly, "But, you tested very high on the IQ test, you're very smart," which felt like a consolation prize. Later it was used as a way to dismiss my ND by claiming my intelligence should out weight any issues my neurodivergence caused.

Throughout this time, I would seek out and use hidden places to be alone, mainly to cry. Again this, I knew, wasn't how normal people, especially boys, should act and so I did it in secret, and often I didn't know why I was crying. I wouldn't even start crying until I nestled into the spare comforters in the hall closet and was safe from prying ears and eyes.

My first drug was Ritalin in the sixth grade. I had to go to the nurse's office after lunch to take my second dose, and I seemed like the only one going. It was hard to hide my daily disappearing act. When the medicine took effect, it was like my whole mind and body had hit a brick wall. It was like trying to think through molasses. I hated it and soon I was spitting it out or ‘cheeking’ it to avoid taking the drug. A litany of drugs came after, dexadrine, cylert, and later depakote. Each worse than the one before.

I barely graduated from high school and the terms, behaviors and consequences of these early years followed me into adulthood. My various therapist and mental institutions settled on Bipolar Disorder and tried medicating me for this for many years. Nothing worked.

In my thirties I began my own research and after studying my early diagnoses and mental health records, I was discussing this history with a friend, when I told them I always thought I'd die at twenty-three. I'd never told anyone this before, another shameful secret to hide, and ten minutes later I had the DSM-V open in my lap reading about Borderline Personality Disorder. It fit me to the letter. That is how I learned about BPD and this knowledge has changed the landscape of my mental health life.

The scary most traumatizing part? I had support during my adolescence, yes it was misguided and didn't offer much substantial help, but they tried.

Now, imagine the millions of adolescents and now adults, who don't and didn't have that support. Imagine a healthcare system not equipped to even begin to cope with the influx of patients it needs to in order to start a substantial change.

I know now, the words, terms, and writing skills to explain these things. Many of our youth and ND do not and I am a testament to how dark and lonely it can be for them. Imagine your son or daughter hiding in a closet to cry instead of getting the help they need, and if that doesn't scare you a little, I'm not sure what will. Have an honest conversation where you listen more than you talk, refrain from judgement, and, if you really want to help your child, your brother, your parent, be the support they need.

One of my favorite quotes is, "It’s not hard to find someone who’s willing to die for a cause; what’s hard is to find someone who’s willing to endure the pain of living for one." For too many people life does suck and then they die, but I'm a firm believer that it doesn't have to be this way if we're all willing to live a little more for this cause and a little less for ourselves.

(the quote above is attributable to Captain America in the Civil War comic series.)