The Fear of Being a Freak

In the culture I grew up in, discussions about mental health issues were an opportunity to point out the wall between US and THEM. Having a mental issue meant you’re a freak, you must be disturbed or weak. Not normal. Normal people know how to handle their problems discreetly. Normal people are on top of things (and it is even more true for men). It was obvious on which side of the wall I needed to belong. I can deal with my problems. What problems could I have anyway?.. The privileged girl.

As a teenager, I started to occupy my mind with all sorts of worries. I could have lain in bed for hours before falling asleep, haunted by dramatic scenarios of what could happen in the future or beating myself over and over with something I did a day, a month or years ago. Sadness and hopelessness overwhelmed me seasonally. I wondered what it would feel like to talk to someone who would get me. Maybe a therapist. But wait. That’s ridiculous of course. I have no problems. No big enough problems obviously. I’m a normal person, not a freak. I had a clear picture what that meant to me and I committed to playing my role.

We all do that in our social lives. Play roles. The role of a capable employee, reliable friend, stable partner, happy daughter… I adopted my role of „normal“ so well that I lost touch with my own needs. I chose to ignore the pain in me cause it didn’t align with who I pictured myself to be. And the pain piled up as I kept sweeping it under the rug instead of facing it. I shamelessly cheated myself and hurt myself with meaningless motives. As long as I pretended for myself and others that this is ok with me and this is what I wanted, I didn’t have to deal with it. What a comfortable state of being. I could go ahead through extremes and still believed that’s what I deserved and was alright with me.

I used to starve myself for the majority of the day only that I could binge-drink in the evening. You would most likely find me slurring an order in some fast food place later. I’d inhale all the burgers and fries while hating myself for it. The next day I’d wake up hungover. I had forgotten long ago what feeling sober meant. Never mind, I would have my next drink soon enough to bury the memory even deeper. I also used to spend my energy on people who didn’t care about me, and hoped for their validation. And then came the panic attacks. (For more context read How I Developed an Eating Disorder)

My self-reflection eventually caught up with me. It grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me from blissful ignorance. Look what you are doing to yourself by chasing an illusion! Recognizing and admitting that I treated myself like a piece of shit tasted bitter, and the thought of dealing with the consequences made me wanna climb under a blanket and sleep for a thousand years. But at the same time, it planted a seed of an idea that I deserved better, and the choice to steer my life or to be steered was mine. I wished to challenge my fears, my shame, my self-doubt… That meant to cultivate my well-being as well as to communicate my struggles outside.

I realized quickly that I can thank the halo effect for my ability to come across like I have it all figured out. That I got it all – so what do I have to complain about? I‘m a positive, strong, capable person who sees the big picture. And I like being that, but that‘s not all I am. How to quit playing that role exclusively and make others see that I can‘t do that any longer? How to accept internally and show externally that I‘m on a spectrum; that I‘m strong, but I can be vulnerable at the same time? I shivered when I imagined what disappointment I might bring to others. But soon I found that my biggest struggle would be having my pain acknowledged.

After I opened up, some reactions of the people around me mirrored perfectly the role I played till then. What could that pretty girl know about self-worth issues and how could anyone that outgoing suffer from anxieties? Apparently it was hard for others to relate to what I was going through or understand, that by admitting an issue, I wasn’t magically cured. I know I didn’t fit the image of a person who might be entitled to have mental health problems and it fed my self-doubt.

I noticed both in me and others a general ignorance about mental health. Sometimes we only recognize cases that the media presents us in their worst, dangerous or life threatening forms. For instance, there are as many forms of eating disorders as there are people suffering from them. I didn’t throw up, although skinny at that time, I looked healthy and yet my mind suffered. Pausing my life till I got better wasn’t an option so I had to learn patience in communicating what I was experiencing.

At first I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs, „When you can hear me, why aren’t you listening!?“, sometimes I wanted to hide from the world forever, curl up in a ball and cry. But frustration and self-pity didn’t prove to be productive. So I kept going even if someone didn’t get it and kept finding ways how to put in words what was going on inside me. I accepted that I might be misunderstood. As well as I will misunderstand.

Although opening up was sometimes tough, it also brought support, care and compassion. “I can’t think clearly, I’m freaking out. I just wanna run away and hide.” I called my boyfriend when I broke-down at a festival, while I was simultaneously freaking out about admitting to another person that I lost my “cool”. But he got me. He went out of his way to meet me and bring me home safely. “Hey, today I finally managed to recognize that I was hungry!” or “Today I stopped eating when I felt satisfied.” I would show off my progress to my best friend. “I’m proud of you,” she celebrated with me those stupid un-relatable things that were a big deal for me.

I can’t be more grateful for all the people who are there for me. For all those who ask questions about my well-being and listen with an open mind. Sharing often encourages people to open up to me with their stories. It makes me feel like I’m not a freak and I’m not alone. And I want to spread that feeling.  We all have our demons and problems, and they are all unique, they are all valid and deserve respect. It’s ok to talk about them; there is nothing to be ashamed of. No one should feel isolated in their struggles. There is no us and them. Only us, so let’s destroy the wall.

For more context read How I Developed An Eating Disorder and The Horror of Asking for Help