Here we go. Day one, baby. Am I batshit crazy for deciding to do this? Probably. So remember when I said I reserved the right to change up
the rules? I’m already taking advantage of that. We’re just going to pretend
that “250 words” isn’t part of the deal. You never saw it, never read it, it
was never there. Deal? Great. So ever since I saw that this was Day Number 1, I
debated how honest I should be. Not just with you (the very, VERY select few
that read this), but with myself. Do I give the fluffy, picture perfect story
that everyone likes to portray? Or do I give the down and dirty, gory details? And
then I remembered why I started writing this blog. It’s for me. It’s to record
everything that’s important to me. And it’s those gory details that make me
exactly who I am. And I gotta tell ya, I’m loving the person I’m growing into.
And as much as I wouldn’t wish the things I went through on anyone, they have
made me a stronger, more loving person. So screw it, I’m giving the details.
Hi. I’m Liz and I have anxiety. WHEW. That was easier than I
thought it would be. Now that we got that out of the way, let’s rewind. I was
born April 1, 1993 in Aurora, IL to parents who have the kind of marriage that
I can only dream to have. 3 years later I was followed by my younger brother
who, after years and years of my annoying persistence, is now one of my best
friends. Growing up, I was a nervous kid. I never wanted to be away from my
parents for too long, I had trouble going to school, I was just anxious about
everything. I saw doctors here and there, but nothing seemed to do the trick.
Then when I was 14, things got a whole hell of a lot worse. I was suddenly
afraid to go to school. I was so afraid that I refused to; my mom would try to
drop me off and I would not get out of the car. Because of it, I spiraled into
a pretty deep depression. We jumped from doctor to doctor, and the only answer
they ever had was “DRUGS!” As a 14 year old little girl, I was being pumped
full of all sorts of different little pills with names I couldn’t remember, let
alone pronounce. They all had side effects and they all blended together.
Finally after months turned into years, somehow my parents stumbled upon
nothing short of a miracle: a kick ass cognitive behavioral therapy program. It
was a pretty intense program, but it was a game changer. Of course, it wasn’t
an instant fix; anxiety and depression are things I will struggle with for the
rest of my life. But the program allowed me to regain control; I got to restart
my life.
As I sit here in my cozy Chicago apartment, drinking my
coffee with William Fitzsimmons coming through my iHome, I realize that this is
the first time I’ve ever written this down. Of course, this is only the
Sparknotes version of the story. But I could never have imagined how different
my life would be now than it was then. I remember sitting up in the middle of
the night, scared to death that my life would be this dark forever. I wish I could
go back and hold that terrified little girl’s hand, and tell her that it gets
better. Because I honestly, genuinely believed that it wouldn’t.
So that’s that! Cheery, isn’t it? Now of course, that pain
is only a portion of my life so far. And I’m sure that the other, much less
depressing (no pun intended…) parts of my life will come out the more I write
on here. And I’m not sure why I decided this was the part you needed to know
about. But if we’re gonna be friends here now, ya gotta know the deets. And as
much as I absolutely HATE when people say this, the naïve part of me would like
to hope that reading this could help someone else going through something
similar to what I did. And I just want to say this: it really does get better.
I pinky promise.
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment