Reflections on childhood, chaos, and resilience
I’ve been at war with my body since day one, and at war with my mind for as long as I can remember. Born with a hole in my heart the size of a Q-tip and another minor birth defect, a helicopter rushed me to a specialty hospital as soon as I was born. Even on the day I was born, I was already in fight for my life mode.
I’ve racked up a lot of diagnoses over the years, and I feel like they are constantly at odds with each other. The only thing they work together on is trying to make my life difficult. It’s kind of funny, though, looking back; I’m incredibly stubborn and have made few allowances in my life. Not just towards my mental health, but also my general health. And while it’s all intertwined, it’s like my world shattered, and some pieces are still missing.
As a child, I had severe allergies. I received three allergy shots, two to three times a week, for most of my childhood. Grass, trees, pollen, cats, dogs, horses… Everything I loved, I was allergic to. The problem is, I’m a gigantic animal and an outdoor lover. I’d learned to love the creatures before my allergies fully took hold. The constant sniffing and sneezing have become my new normal. My mom bred and showed dogs, and I helped take care of the 20 we had at home. I rode horses, even at such a young age; they already had a hold of me, and there was no way they were letting go. I’m not sure what made my mom bring me in for testing, but it wasn’t without its own drama. They had to give me Benadryl and wipe off all the testing pricks after only 5–10 minutes because I had such a severe reaction. I had scars on my back for weeks.
But I didn’t quit the thing I loved just because of a sniffly nose (even the nicknames were not enough to make me realize maybe it was a problem). I didn’t care; horses were my escape from a young age. They were the only creatures I understood, because humans… Those were (and are) a complete mystery to me. They say one thing and mean another, or say one thing and mean that thing… or not say something and mean something… Too much confusion. But not with horses. Constant sneezing and hives couldn’t stop me. The allergy medication never worked. I tried everything before it was over the counter. If anything, I feel like the amount of antihistamines I took as a child probably made my narcolepsy worse, or caused it, who knows… I was once told that allergy meds make narcolepsy worse, something to do with the histamine receptors… An interesting segue, but not the topic of the day.
I had terrible anxiety even as a child. I’m not sure if it was the neurodivergence rearing its head (didn’t get diagnosed until middle school), or if I’ve just always been nervous… But I put my parents through hell. My favorite story is how I would start screaming anytime someone got in line behind us at the grocery store… I don’t remember that, but I don’t imagine it was an impressive look for my mom.
The first time I actually remember, though, is being at the McDonald’s playground. I climbed up into the tower and got scared because it was too high. (I don’t do heights even now.) So, I panicked and started screaming. My mom was 8 months pregnant with my brother, so I was 7? Too old to be screaming on a playground, anyway. Once my mom realized it was me causing the commotion, she found someone to help.
I remember thinking that not only did my mom not love me enough to come get me (really, brain?), but she was sending a stranger up to help me and take me away. I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers; strangers were bad. And then the fear took over, and neither gravity nor my fear of heights mattered. I climbed up the netting on the playground as high as I could go to get away from the stranger. And then the fear of heights kicked back in when I looked down to find my mom.
My mom had to climb onto the playground, 8 months pregnant, to get her screaming child unstuck from the great heights the child had climbed to escape the man she thought would steal her. I can only imagine the embarrassment that must have caused my mom and the discomfort. Being 8 months pregnant is no joke. I got into a decent amount of trouble for that little stunt, and eventually I learned that not every person was out to get me. Or at least I learned that telling people that everyone was out to get me was not a wise decision. It was my problem, so it was easier to keep quiet than yell. That’s what resonated with me there. It’s amazing what little brains are capable of… It’s amazing that even then, my mind was working against me.
As I got older, the contradictions just got more complicated. My brain needs a stimulant to function (ADHD and narcolepsy), but my heart can’t handle it, and neither can my anxiety. My anxiety (OCD, and all the rest) needs calming, but most of the meds that help make my blood pressure crash. The antipsychotics for bipolar also make my blood pressure crash and make my heat intolerance so bad that I faint, and start up fun heart symptoms. Everything’s pulling in different directions — my diagnoses arguing louder than I ever could.
My childhood was plagued with these stories, these weird memories that I’ve never been able to understand. They were all things that I knew didn’t make sense, but I just always figured that’s who I was as a person. And it was, labels or not. My brain works differently from most people, and with my list of diagnoses and a heart that still gives me trouble, there is one thing that being a bit different as a kid taught me. Don’t give up the things you love just because of a little snot. I want to go back and hug childhood M. and tell her it was okay. She didn’t need to suppress everything. That emotions were acceptable. That sometimes fear was genuine. But most of the time, it was just the tricks my mind played on me.
The war still rages on in my body and mind, but now I remember I don’t have to face it alone. Neither do you.
Enjoyed this? May I suggest:
M. Drella
Until Next Time,
- M.
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Originally posted on Medium