Dear Me: You Are Undoubtedly Valuable.
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of waiting by the door for the person I looked up to the most to come over. I would spend all week looking forward to Friday afternoon. I was four years old and counting down, “One more day.” On Friday mornings, I would smile from ear to ear because she was finally coming over. But like clockwork, most Fridays my mom would get the call saying she wasn’t coming anymore. My mom would have to look into my eyes, back when they used to glisten with hope and tell me “She can’t come over anymore, but she’ll come next week.” The night would end with me crying in my parents’ arms wondering why I was not enough. “Why doesn’t she love me?” was the question that would break my heart week after week.
Over time, the glimmer of hope in my eyes gradually dimmed into a deep sadness. People often tell me that my eyes look so sad—If only they knew the years of heartache that removed the light. When people tell me that they can see the sadness when they look into my eyes, it makes me grieve the loss of who I could have been if the light in my eyes never burnt out all over again.
I guess I learned at a very young age that when you rely so much on someone else showing up, you’re only going to be disappointed.
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In the middle of the night, I sometimes find myself curled up in the quiet corners of my bedroom. As the tears stream down my face, they trace the invisible scars of tears past. As the tears rewrite the stories of those early memories, I wish people understood the intricacy of my mind. It’s always convincing me that I am the problem, and the only answer is to inflict more pain upon myself. I guess the easiest way to explain it is my brain is a villain that craves and preys on its own pain. A true masochist.
I have been keeping to myself more and more lately. I think just preemptively putting up these walls around my heart to protect it from feeling any more dejection. The good moments feel so unbelievably good, but the bad moments drag me down so low. And it’s in those bad moments that I’m usually physically alone in the dark of the night trapped in the darkness of my brain. I wish there were words to describe just how paralyzing it all feels as you’re just trying to gain enough strength to only catch your breath. Meanwhile, I have this peculiar feeling throughout my body alerting me that I’ll only survive this episode if I can catch my breath before it disappears forever.
Lately, I have noticed this trend where I am so happy, but I’m finding that joy in being with others. The only issue is that those who hold the key to your joy can snatch it away in the blink of an eye with no warning. People will go from responding to ignoring, from checking in to ghosting, from prioritizing to forgetting you.
I wish I had a healthy brain that could handle those pivots, but sometimes it feels like my brain’s only goal is to crush me. It's haunting to know the enemy working overtime to defeat me is a part of me that I cannot separate from. I cannot just leave my brain behind. I have this dream that one day my brain will just decide to be friends with me rather than endlessly fighting with me.
Growing up, I had a Tinkerbell Tapestry over my bed. Tinkerbell was full of light when she was around people who gave her attention and believed in her. But, once that attention was gone, her light went out. I related to that a lot. Once the attention is gone, once I am alone, the light leaves me too.
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Have you ever called someone and begged them to show up for you in the middle of a depressive episode? I have. While the people you call tell you how inconvenient and selfish your struggle is? I have. When you are hyperventilating and scavenging your room for anything to make it end? I have.
I started to hate myself for living in this fairytale mindset where someone was going to show up and rescue me. After all, there were only so many nights where my body could handle these 3 am panic attacks where I would wake up crying because I was still breathing, and I did not have anything to make it stop.
[side note: I am very grateful for the strong forces within my support system that have gone above and beyond to help me feel not alone. To those who have been there through the darkest nights or who have offered me space to be vulnerable, I appreciate you so much. A good support system helps make the dark times a little less dark.]
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These depressive episodes eventually end, and as I come out of it, there’s so much reflecting. “How did I let it happen again?” is usually the loudest voice, blaming myself even though I know I did everything I was supposed to. I took the medication as prescribed; I moved my body; I ate healthily; I did my self-care practices; I employed my coping skills; I reached out for support. I put everything into trying to control my brain so it would not lose control, yet it happened again.
Within this last reflection, I realized how much sorrow came from feeling like I had no one to call. I realized how much of my happiness was tied to everyone else. And, I realized how few people would reach out if I did not initiate it. I noticed how much feeling alone made me want to hurt myself and how skewed my brain is.
The number on the scale goes down, and my energy gets lower, yet I am convinced that if I just eat a little less then people will love me. Or I am in so much emotional pain that I deserve to feel physical pain; it’s all my fault after all.
I guess somewhere in the midst of it all, I forgot the earliest lesson I learned: when you rely on someone else to make you happy, you are the one who is going to feel hurt.
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Tonight, I started writing this with tears in my eyes as I realized how tired I am of feeling like I am just not enough. Trying to be enough so that other people want to talk to you or spend time with you is exhausting. Waiting for someone else to care for and rescue you is futile. Measuring your worth and value based on someone else prioritizing your texts, calls, or plans is only going to leave you feeling worthless.
So, as my brain is unraveling all its intricate layers, I’m pondering a final series of questions: How can I show up for myself tomorrow? What can I do with me, for me? How can I rebuild my value within myself? And what can I do to cultivate more happiness within myself that no one else can take away?
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Before I go to bed, here’s one final note to self:
Dear me, you are undoubtedly valuable with or without anyone else—
