As mentioned in my post yesterday, I'm going to start talking a little bit about my struggles from the past and most especially how Christ has helped me overcome them. I'm not sure yet how I'm going to work the "My Story" segments, but I figured it would be good to start out chronological and talk about the the struggles in my early childhood.
Looking back, it's easier to see that I had some struggles during my childhood years that most other children didn't. My mother labeled me as having a "soft heart," which is her way of describing how easily I got upset at the smallest things. This difficulty with emotion, with help of different counselors, therapists, clinicians, etc. are easier to recognize as early signs of struggles with anxiety and depression.
For example, when I was in Kindergarten I wanted to keep some popsicle sticks from popsicles we had had a moment before so that I could use them for crafts or - with a rubber band at home - a ninja throwing star. The teacher noticed I had kept them instead of throwing them away and asked me to throw them in the trash. I went to the trash, crying as I did so. My teacher, with undoubtedly some guidance from the Spirit, allowed me to keep them if I did not play with them.
For me, it was not the loss of my toy (or eventual toy) that caused such distress, but the fact that the teacher may have been upset with me. This was something I couldn't bear, that I had made a mistake and that perhaps this teacher would be forever upset at me.
This was the beginning of my battle with anxiety, though I didn't know it at the time. This need to please others, brought on by a fear of what would happen otherwise, persisted through my childhood and is still a part of my personality even today, though understanding what's going on has helped me keep better track of what I'm feeling, why, and how to overcome those emotions when the cost of making someone else happy is at the expense of my own welfare.
The first real understanding of this fear has, interestingly, only come recently. It seems that I worked my way from the most immediate struggles backwards to find the root cause of it all. In most of my struggles later on, with Obsessive Compulsive Tendencies, with Self-Mutilation, and with Anorexia and Bulimia, the root cause has been this struggle with Anxiety.
The anxiety started out in Kindergarten (and maybe earlier) and continued to grow year by year until it reached the beginning of its worst upswing in 6th grade. Having done some reading on anxiety, this seems to be the case for those who struggle with a hereditary form of the disorder, and it would make sense: the teenage years and puberty are some of the most strenuous and emotionally difficult for most everyone and the most stressful. Stress is quite a trigger for anxiety, and it was also around this same time that I began to feel the stress of my parents' going through a divorce.
From all of these stressors, I began to feel a desire to end my life. With a few only half-hearted attempts I began to develop self-mutilation patterns. What I didn't understand at the time was that cutting myself was a way of coping with my stress by punishing myself for misdeeds and in my mind making myself "acceptable" to others ("I did something bad, but I punished myself, so it's all right" is kind of the subconscious reasoning behind this). It was also a self-medicating stress-reliever. When someone gets cut, after the initial pain the body releases endorphins to lessen the pain and make it easier to bear. Because of this, cutting became an addictive way of relieving some of the stress that I felt. It eventually got to the point where I would begin to feel anxious, uncomfortable, or other unpleasant emotions (embarrassment, fear, anger, loneliness, etc.) and I would almost automatically cut myself.
While at the time, I only understood that I felt better after hurting myself, what I didn't understand was the mental and emotional scarring that began to take place from this negative coping skill. It helped relieve stress, yes, but it didn't help me resolve the causes of the stress and created more stress itself. It left me feeling terrible about who I was, and it became as real an addiction as any drug.
(Continued in "My Story: Part 2, soon to come)
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