Stigmas and Stilettos

When I began to think about how I would put 15 years into writing I became a little overwhelmed. Instead of outlining, graphing, charting, and perfecting the perfect way to go about this, I decided to just write and let the story flow. So, where to start? I feel the best place to start is when the real changes in my mind and body began, and that was at the age of twelve. But first...
I had a beautiful childhood. I could not ask for better parents, who provided for my brothers and I everything we needed and more. My dad was a pastor of children and families, and my mom, for many years stayed at home, and then went back to teaching when I was in early elementary school. We grew up in a stable environment, in an environment that praised the Lord, prayed as a family around the dinner table each night, and went to sleep with all of us under the same roof. I played with many friends, loved to pretend I was "mommy" with my dolls, loved Barbies and dress-up.
Once I entered school I realized I was tall for my age. In early elementary school this was no big deal because as a child I was extremely self-assured, strong-willed, outgoing, spunky, and confident as can be. By the time second grade came around we realized I was also athletic. I became involved in many sports. I was the type of kid who wanted to try everything, so I never stuck with one sport for more than a couple seasons, because before you knew it, another sport seemed "really cool" and I had to try it. I also sung in the church children's choir and plays.
By the time fifth grade came around I had become very socially aware, to the point that I would most likely understand every joke in the American Pie movies. I had also become interested in boys. I remember my parents telling me I was too young to have a "puppy-love boyfriend" and I cried and cried in my room. I wrote my crushes name on my hand with a heart around it, and my dad quickly stopped that. I was also friends with a group that had birthday parties that included slow dancing, and this is when I quickly went from the confident, self-assured child, to a depressed child with very low self-esteem, craving acceptance from others. This resulted from a predisposition, and the insecurity I felt from being so much taller than everyone else in my grade, and the boys not asking me to dance because they did not want to dance with the "Hey, what's the weather up there?" girl.  For some reason I was involved with a group of friends who were very into "couples", "hugging", "hand holding", "slow dancing" and "going out" in elementary school. I definitely felt the pressure to compete. Then add the fact that no boys wanted the "Jolly Green Giant" and the fact that my parents did not allow me to participate in any of that (rightfully so), I slowly began my mental rebellion against myself, which would inevitably overflow into other relationships. To this day I still have terrible dreams reliving the awful things said to me at that young age by my friends, that would continue through middle school. I still see their faces, and their laughs, and their whispers in each other's ears as they said their witty remarks about me. I still feel that pain. It's still part of my struggle to this day.

At the age of twelve something inside me went completely awry. It is truly hard to explain, but it is almost as if, looking back, I can remember the day, that my mind went the wrong direction. As I began to grow into a girl who would get modeling offers, get asked out by high school seniors at the age of thirteen, and make heads turn with her tall, runway model body, dark brown hair, and green eyes; I was living in pit of depression, self-hatred, anxiety, paranoia, and barely eating. I began to live in a constant state of anger as a result. My loving parents and siblings, who were my pillars of stability, became my worst enemies, and I would make up any lie in my head, to make them out to be villains. My mother got the worst lashings from me. She was always a confident, self-assured, well-spoken, successful woman. She was the complete opposite of how I felt about myself. At the time, and because of how my mind was terribly changing, and the lies my feelings were telling me, I hated my mother for being everything I wanted to be, but could not manage to be, and I verbally beat her up for it. She was able to eloquently speak about her life, and talk about how things were going for her, and I was living behind a mask, a fake smile, a fake laugh, and felt like no one in the world could possibly understand the depths of my true and real misery. I was twelve and wanted nothing more than to die.
The only thing I felt I could control was my food, and my weight, so I barely ate. It was also a way for me to feel small, when for so long I felt like the "Jolly Green Giant". I figured, if I can't be short, I might as well be as skinny. My weight was 116 pounds at a height of 5 feet 9 inches, typically. Due to the fact that I was tall for my age, I did hide my weight better than others.
Three things happened that scared me into eating again. The first was my parents getting a call from the guidance counselor at my school saying someone anonymously reported that I never ate my lunch, and that I always threw it out. The second was my dear brother announcing at our dinner table one night "If she doesn't eat I'M going to check her into to UCLA medical center".The third was one of my best friends at the time saying out of mere exhaustion and frustration, "If you don't f**** eat, I'm done! I cannot watch you die". This changed me because it made me realize I wasn't just hurting myself (I did not care if I was hurting myself), but I was hurting others, and throughout this whole journey, no matter what state I am in, once I realize that my actions are hurting other people, I do everything I can to change that. I never want to hurt anyone. It may take some time for me to come to a place to make those changes, but once I do, all I want is to repair the broken relationship, and bring healing and peace.

For the next four years, as I left middle school, and began my journey through high school, many things would happen that would effect me for years to come. I began to experience highs and lows once my high school years began. These highs and lows were frequent, but not necessarily rapid. One thing that was definitely noticeable about me is that I felt things on a much deeper level than most people. If a friend hurt me, it would wound me, and send me into self-loathing, and I would automatically throw them out of my life (I still have this tendency). If I had a crush on someone, I would automatically feel like I was deeply in love, and not be able to move on for months or years. This feeling of love would lead to destructive relationships that I would hold onto because I was addicted to the person, or had deep fears of leaving them. These characteristics had some consequences. Due to the fact that I was deeply hurt when friends hurt me, I was always paranoid that I was making others mad, that I was hurting people, that people were gossiping about me, or that others would abandon me (I still struggle with this). As a result, I was a very loyal friend. I never lost a friend because I wasn't loyal or true, I lost friends because my fears, my self-esteem, and because my anxieties became bigger than what I knew to be true, and because sometimes you are not friends with good people. As far as "feeling in love"this resulted in me always being a loving, devoted, and loyal girlfriend. This ended up being my downfall because up until I sought counseling in later years, I did not know how to set standards for men and relationships, and I ended up with men who were toxic, and my loving, caring, and loyal nature fueled toxicity. Now that I am out of that world, and I have healthy eyes, I see this happen far too often.
In early high school I had my first real " guy friend". We grew to be fairly close, and we talked often, but on the phone, or on AIM (I am showing my age). He would rarely talk to me in front of his friends. The most he would do is a quick eyebrow raise, only if I said hello. This caused extreme self-esteem issues for me. I truly believed he was embarrassed of me, afraid to be seen with me, thought I was hideous, thought I was annoying, you name it. I hated myself even more because of this. I was in that awkward stage in high school where you have braces, and you're still learning what looks good on your newly developing body, and what doesn't. During this time my highs and lows were AWFUL. I was either feeling euphoric, hyper sexual, "hot-as-hell", stay up all night, laugh until it hurts, let's party; or crying on my bed, with all the lights off, too chicken to kill myself, but hoping I would die somehow. It was rare that I just felt mellow. Imagine living this roller coaster of euphoria one week and suicidal thoughts the next week, over and over, non-stop, for years; and the only time you get a release from it is when you're talking to this one person because for some reason you have made this person your medicine. This is what a mind unleashed, unhealthy, out-of-control, unbalanced, in desperate need of help does...it will attach you to what your weakest for. For me that was booze, benzos, and boys.
This particular boy would be the trigger that would lead me to the biggest breakdown of my life, and down the most destructive path I could not have imagined, with so many twists, turns, black holes, highs, lows, times of terror, but through it all I would manage to survive.
I waited so many years for my first kiss, like many girls. When I met this boy I could not think about anything else. My mind became obsessed with it. The obsession had nothing to do with the boy, but rather the mania I was experiencing that was going untreated. In my manic states I would become hyper-sexual, so I just dreamed about the day I could kiss this boy. This boy, like myself, was no one to be obsessed about. He too was depressed, hated himself, hated his life, enjoyed the escape of drugs and alcohol, and definitely lived in his own shadow as well. I always wanted to "fix his life" because it took the attention off fixing mine. I guess I was not so much obsessed with him, but obsessed with making him happy, because I was a failure at making myself happy, and I related with a lot of things I saw in him.
He ended up going away to school for a while, and he came back to visit. During his visit he picked me up in his truck, and we hung out, solely to make out. This was, by far, not his first kiss, but it was mine. We drove up this back rode, parked the car, and made out for about 40 minutes (I totally looked at the clock). Unlike the typical first kiss, I ended up completely topless, with a wet face, and touched all over. Talk about going from zero to sixty. At the time I was ecstatic, thought it was the best kiss ever, he was "so good", and I was literally high from the experience. Looking back it was truly the worst kiss of my life. Due to the fact that I felt things so deeply, I was ready to marry this guy! He on the other hand, asked me for my friends number not too long after. I was completely broken. I felt like I took a bullet. This guy who I spent about two years talking to, for hours on end at a time, who I became emotionally dependent on (so unhealthy), who I thought wanted me (when I thought no one wanted me, even me), who I just had that intense first kiss with, wants someone else, and the girl he wants really is an idiot (all girls who weren't my friends were idiots). When I hung up the phone I got in the car.

I drove. I don't remember the drive. I just remember pointing the steering wheel towards a wall right by Goddard Middle School, closing my eyes, and pressing on the accelerator, and waiting to open my eyes in Heaven, but instead when I opened my eyes I was looking at my good friend, standing on her doorstep, with her mom running towards me. I honestly do not know how I got there. I don't know what time it was, I just know her whole family was in bed, and it was very dark outside. They said later I was making noises they have never heard before. Extreme grief. I cried out all the highs, all the lows, all the suicidal thoughts, all the anxieties, all the humiliation, all the anger, all the hatred, all the sins, all rage...you name it I cried. Her mom just held me as I convulsed. I literally shook, wailed, cried, and convulsed. She said "Kayla, if you don't tell your parents, I will."
I don't remember how I got home. I don't remember how I ended up in my parents' bedroom with them staring at me with horror on their faces. I could barely talk. I think I said something like, "I'm depressed. I don't want to live anymore. I need help". I cannot imagine the grief they felt, I remember my father immediately going into a bit of denial saying "You can't be depressed, we would know, we would be able to tell, you wouldn't be able to hide it".  Remember how I wrote that I was living in a mask? I mastered the art of wearing a mask.
The next morning I ended up in a therapist's office. I barely spoke. I think I just said, "I'm 17, and I want to die, but I'm too afraid to do it. My head won't stop.  It's like a channel changer." She immediately diagnosed me as clinically depressed, and told my dad that I immediately needed to see a psychiatrist. I could see that my dad felt so confused at her diagnosis, and so upset. He said to her, "How did we not see this, how could we not know?" Every parents worst nightmare, other than their child's death. I was living a death.
The day after that I was in the psychiatrist's office taking a million tests. I believe we were in there for a couple hours. I was seventeen, and still considered a minor, so my parents were in there with me. I truly believed there was not a label or answer to anything I was feeling. I felt like a zombie, or whatever is lower than a zombie, but still walking this Earth. After reviewing all the test data she said she believed I was Bipolar II. I knew nothing about Bipolar disorder at this point so I did not freak out when she told me this. I actually felt relieved there was a label to what I was going through, because if she could label it, there must be a way to get me out of this pit. I was also so low, so depressed, so out of it, so exhausted, so drained I do not even remember my parents' reactions. I was put on medication that day. You may think I should have gotten a second opinion before going on medication, but when you are ready to die, and have been living in mental warfare for years, you take the damn meds, or at least I did because it was the only alternative to killing myself at the time, and I was still too chicken to do that (thank the Lord).

What I would learn in my almost ten years of being on medication is that there are meds that make you better, and there are meds that make you worse. There are doctors that will dope you up, and there are doctors that will work towards true health, and that fish oil does not do, excuse my language, "shit" for my mood swings. Lastly, no matter what medicine you go on, no matter how high or low you are; never listen to your feelings...my feelings led me to abusing alcohol, a violently abusive relationship, one sexual relationship after another, which led to my collapse on my apartment floor that forever changed my life.

More to come.