How I Learned To Love Me!

In the early days of my youth, the thoughts that floated around in my head seemed generally positive from what I can recall, though it's somewhat difficult to have a clear overall picture of things from the ages of four to seven. I have what I call snapshot memories - just a brief flash of an image, a feeling, a vision of a few words, a smell or possibly a sound and nothing more before it's gone in an instant, but they are strong enough to leave an impression of what happened. The thing that jumps out at me most is that even when an incident happened, it was handled, then it was over and forgotten. Lesson learned, now move on. Positive in nature.

At some point, even if the lesson was learned, the moving on part stopped. Ironically we moved when I was seven. I believe it was actually harder for me than my parents divorcing three years earlier. I have a pretty vivid memory of crying on our front porch steps the day we left for this bigger, better life in a bigger, better city. After that time, the memories feel very negative. The bigger, better place was nothing but a big mess for the next ten years of my life. I wasn't bullied, but I was teased, as kids will often do to new kids. I had very short hair, glasses, freckles and a boyish name so I was called a boy, four-eyes and such. I was also smart, a bit on the weird side and when I finished my work, I talked. A lot.

Since I wouldn't shut up or back down, and because I was so weird, everyone picked on me. I wasn't just unpopular, I was the kid it was FUN to pick on since I reacted, the target for everyone's jokes or snide remarks. After a while I began to believe that what they said about me was the truth. I believed that I was strange, ugly and that no one liked me. What I heard the kids say to me (and what I overheard them say when I passed) soon became what I said silently to myself. Thus, in a few years, I went from being a carefree, happy child to an unhappy, distressed teenager.

Creative Commons Photo by
##Erika**

Through all of this I would somehow become friends with one or two girls, often who were popular, but I never fit in with groups of people as a whole. So I remained on the fringe of things just enough to be noticed and remain with the range for target practice but not enough to be liked my many. The end of middle school and my entire high school experience are best summed up as a hellish existence that I'm glad will never need to be repeated. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes is from Sir Winston Churchill (1974-1965), "If you're going through hell, keep going."

But I almost did give up. I won't go into a huge amount of detail here, as it is a trigger for some people, but my first suicide attempt happened at the age of sixteen. More of a feeble ploy for attention really, but still a cry for help that went largely unnoticed, especially after I told the school psychiatrist to shove it. I've always been a bit on the feisty side and I am extremely strong-willed. Unfortunately, since I appeared self-confident, capable and smart on the outside, it was difficult to tell that I felt exactly the opposite on the inside.

I must backtrack about three years prior to my suicide attempt to get to the origins of "fixing" the issue though. The last days of 8th grade are spent cleaning out lockers, having class parties and signing yearbooks. One particular boy was known as the meanest kid in school. He and I had been known to exchange words a few times because I wasn't afraid of anyone, I didn't care who it was, even though I'd only been in one fight ever and it really didn't count since a punch was never thrown by either party. Anyway, he got a hold of mine as they were passed to other kids and when it came back to me I was shocked at what it said, "You need to learn to be nicer, " Michael S.

I don't think I will forget those words as long as I live. The meanest kid in school was telling me that "I" needed to be nicer? It was very eyeopening. When did I become so hateful and who did I hate so much? Well, I was determined to find out and being an avid reader I did what any reader does, I turned to books. At that time I was the only 13-year-old I knew who was hanging out in the self-help section of Walden's Books and by the time I was sixteen I owned more self-help books than most adults do in their lifetime.

Yes, as a matter of fact, many of the books helped a lot!

It's a long, arduous journey escaping from self-loathing back to self-love. Again, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment of my arrival but I know I am here now, which is the most important thing. I spent my late teens really trying to discover who I was and why I was so angry. A fairly serious car accident at the age of nineteen (the other guy's fault) led me to a stress management class at the local community college and practically taught me more in a semester than I learned in the previous six years of reading on my own. I learned to control my breathing, to live in the moment and to be mindful of what I was doing every moment of every day. I was soon productive again at work and eventually moved out to the West Coast.

I enjoyed the West Coast, work, friends, etc., and though life wasn't perfect by any means, I was happier than I had been anywhere else, ever. (Most likely a manic phase.) I thought I was making good choices, but in retrospect, not all of them were honestly the best choices for me. It was life in the fast lane and I pushed it to the fullest. I worked hard and I played hard. Granted I was the designated driver more often than any of my friends because I was the most responsible and was willing to not drink (I was crazy enough without liquor), but I worked long hours, went to school, then took martial arts and would meet a friend at the gym several nights a week, plus went out on Friday and Saturday nights on top of dating and hitting happy hour at least once during the week before going home to take care of my two cats. After a few years of living life in the fast lane, it's not surprising that I moved to the South and Married a Psychopath.

Much of the remaining story can be found in how Anyone Can Marry a Psychopath but not the healing part. When I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar (a mental illness you can learn about by clicking on that link), eleven years after my first suicide attempt and shortly after my second attempt, the light bulb over my head finally lit up. It took another six years, a very serious (almost completed) suicide attempt, plus three (I think, possibly even four) in-patient hospitalizations (where they lock you in and won't let you leave) and at least that many out-patient hospitalizations before things were really sinking into that mass of gray matter called my brain. An additional three years passed before I found the embracing kind of LOVE for myself that has yet to find an escape route. So how long did it take overall? Well, calculating from the age of thirteen...twenty-three or so years. It sounds like a really long time, doesn't it? It was. Trust me it was, and it involved a lot of work, too. But I haven't really divulged much about the how the actual transformation happened, have I?

A few notes about affirmations and self-talk in general. A lot of people have no clue what goes on inside their head. It's important to monitor what you say to yourself in different situations because you've been doing it automatically for so long you probably don't even realize what you say. When you drop something, break something or mess up something minor do you say something that seems innocuous like, "Way to go, stupid. You broke something else this week." and then clean up, blowing it off as you being clumsy? It may not seem like much, but what if your friend broke it? Would you say the same thing or would you say something more along the lines of, "No big deal, it's just a (whatever broke)." thus really making it no big deal and not calling anyone stupid? It's the little things that tear us down over time.

Affirmations like these are just one tool in an arsenal of many. They absolutely will NOT work overnight. Change takes time, as I hope I've illustrated. I can say with all certainty that it's worth every second, every millisecond of that time though. I am not happy and filled with love 100% of the time but I can tell you I'm more content than I've ever been in my life. I love who I am and what I stand for as a person. I know myself and I love what I see! It doesn't mean that I'm perfect. It doesn't mean that I don't want to get better or improve or change or grow, because I do. It just means I don't look in the mirror and hate the reflection looking back at me.

I have a few more tips, but I can't give you the whole enchilada at once now, can I? Plus I tend to have what I affectionately call diarrhea of the fingers, so I will write more and post the link here. Look for it soon!

Squid graphic courtesy of Squidoo Squid Lens Graphics by GreekGeek.