I just finished folding my laundry. As I folded my PJ’s and
hung up my hoodies it hit me. It hit me right in the face, just one more thing
that makes me abnormal. Strings. As I put away my favorite sweats and pajamas,
I realized that none of them had stings. Not a single item I folded had strings.
Normal people’s sweats and hoodies have strings in them, but not mine. Mine have
been to places that the average individual hasn’t. Mine have traveled alongside
of me for years now, and slowly but surely they all had the misfortune of
having their stings removed.
You see, when you go to a psychiatric hospital they take all
your strings. You have two options: you don’t get to keep the item, or you can
give the staff permission to remove the stings. I always give them permission.
I like my sweats, pajamas and hoodies and as I sat in that chair the first go
around, I realized that I wanted the items more than I cared whether or not they
had stings. So I always sit there and watch them pull the string out, or cut
them out if they are sewn in.
This last go around the nurse that was checking my items in
kept commenting about the lack or strings. I looked at her and told her that
most of the strings have been already removed through the years of having to go
into the hospital.
Some of you might be thinking about your shoes. What do you
do about your sneakers? The answer is that they take those two. If you can’t
get someone to bring you shoes without laces, then they can give you some
plastic ties to put on them, to keep them on your feet.
But tonight as I folded my laundry, I experienced another
moment that repeated the ever-playing song in my head: “you’re not normal, and
you never will be.”
So tonight I write to you from a sad place. A place where
sometimes my heart aches. A place that remind me that I’m 25 and not
self-sufficient. A place that hurts not only me, but my family. Because they
want me to be a self-sufficient adult. They want me to be able to take care of
myself in the way that some other 25 year old would be able to.
I miss the days before October of 2009. I miss those days of
carefreeness. I didn’t know that those days would come to an end. I didn’t know
that as I entered into my 20’s my life was about to change radically. Because
it sneaks up on you, mental illness that is. For me it was a down day, followed by
another down day and then another and another until it turned into January of
2010. Then all of a sudden it was a great day, a day of magical thinking...where
the thoughts never quit coming, the energy was endless, the laughter ran deep.
I thought that maybe the down days were over. And so did everyone else. My friends had been concerned, but then I was so happy and so
energetic…I slept little and excelled at all my endeavors. And after about 4
days…4 beautiful days, the sadness was back, and with a vengeance.
Then there was suicidal ideation, followed by a terrifying
first experience with a psychiatric hospital, followed by the end of my days as
a student at Emmanuel College. And so began a life of mental illness. Fast
forward about 4 years and I’m still not use to it. I long for those days where
I didn’t have to constantly analyze myself. There is no “it’s such a great day
and I feel so wonderful,” what is there is “Am I too happy? Am I too sad? Am I sleeping too much? Too little? Did I remember my meds?" There are side
effects and drugs to counter side effects and there are drug reactions that
have to be monitored and blood levels that have to be checked and I am reminded
every morning and night as I swallow that handful of pills that I’m not normal.
But would I trade the strength and knowledge I have gained
for a normal life? The answer will always be a solid “No!” Because I have
entered a community of people who are hurting so very much. And I know that I
can understand their pain in ways that no one else can…because I’ve been there…because
sometimes I’m still there. My dreams have been altered...but I still dream…I
haven’t lost the ability to dream. And I have hope for my future, but I know it’s
not the future I once dreamed of and that is hard to accept sometimes. It’s
really hard when I know I’m letting people down. When I know that my family
hurts too because of what I’m going through. When I realize that I can’t be the
person they so want me to be…it burns me alive. But I won’t quit trying.
Today I picked out knew glasses. I paid a doctor’s bill. I
went to my psychiatrist. I dropped off some prescriptions. I got accepted in
graduate school at Montreat College and offered a six month federal contract
position doing more telephone interviewing. So it was a good day. I talked with
my doctor about the fact that my hands are shaking from a side effect so bad that
I am now struggling with making involuntary jerks with my hands and I’m
sleeping too much. So we altered some things, and I go back in a week to see if
there is any improvement.
So I folded my laundry tonight and mourned the life I might
have had if it weren’t for mental illness. But I wouldn’t trade it. I know to
some of you that this sounds insane but I honestly think that something really
beautiful will come from this pain. I’m just waiting for it…waiting and folding
laundry.
Love, Randi
