Better by Lilliah Garron
Isn’ t it funny how you are to blame for your mental health? Even when your mind is so far out of your control that there is no way it could be your fault.
You aren’ t alone when you try to drown everything in music and tears and words that don’ t make sense to anyone but you.
Your therapist tells you to recite a serenity prayer when you’ re getting worked up, but when you mutter it people think you’ re talking badly about them.
And yet again, you have to remember that you are out of control of your mind. It is in a loop, it is stuck. And you do not know how to pull it out. You look to your parents. Your family. Your therapist. They’ re supportive. But they don’ t fully understand. They can’ t.
Your old therapist once said that your mind is complex and brilliant, and because it’ s so complex, these things take a while to work out. She said geniuses have their faults. You laughed when she called you a genius. As if, you thought.
When you switched therapists, you were nervous. Part of your issue was that you would shut down a lot. You were worried that you wouldn’ t be able to open your mouth without crying when you saw this new therapist. And how were you supposed to fix yourself if you couldn’ t even talk?
When you were eight, your mother told you that you used to have Sensory Processing Disorder. You asked her why she said used to. She said you didn’ t have it anymore. But the books she gave you said that you can’ t outgrow or cure SPD. You never told her that, though. Let her think I’ m fixed, you thought. It’ ll stop her from worrying.
Later, you wondered if she knew what you knew. You wondered if she was lying to protect you or herself.
When you were thinking of switching schools, your mom wanted you to switch. Your dad didn’ t. He didn’ t like change. You were stuck.“ It’ s up to you,” they cooed. They tried to recruit you to their sides.“ It’ ll be good for you,” They would whisper.
Somewhere during all that, someone told you that you had clinical anxiety. That meant panic attacks. That meant sweating and worrying your nights away, lying awake, staring at the ceiling. That meant ugly crying for hours, that meant sleeping for too long or too short. That meant therapists with strategies and doctorates in psychology.
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