The struggle has always been there, a lurking shadow we continuously decide to ignore. The world I lived in for so long was drenched in mental health issues and personality problems. Very few members of my family were ever diagnosed, let alone got help for anything. No one seemed to view that as an issue. We all assume what’s wrong with us is wrong with everyone else. And those family members who took it too far, I was taught to believe were beyond help. From a young age, I was warned against drugs, alcohol, and even prescription medications. My bloodline came with prerequisites; both ones I was warned of from a young age and ones I’ve acknowledged as I’ve matured.
Being raised by a single parent with the help of my “tribe” has had a great impact on who I am today. My mother always did the best she could; giving my little brother and I a roof over our head, food in our stomachs, love, and the best childhood I could’ve asked for. I love her, I truly do, but she fell a bit short in some areas. My little brother was diagnosed with ADHD, a mood disorder, and later an anxiety disorder when he was 5. He was medicated for roughly a decade. Mom worked tirelessly to help him learn to control himself and express himself in non-destructive ways. Of my family, she’s one of the most open minded ones about mental health. She had to be. However, that fell short with me. I internalized a large portion of my brain struggles and mimicked her advice to learn to interact with myself as if I was an outsider.
My mother noticed I wasn’t neurotypical but she never did anything about it; even outright told me whatever I was, I was high functioning so it wasn’t worth getting it looked at. Being told that as a young teenager only made it worse. And the fact that most of my friends struggled with mental health as well, Anxiety and Depression were the big ones there, didn’t help. Two of my oldest friends struggled with suicidal thoughts and one even attempted to hang herself at one point. My world was flooded with beliefs that if you don’t struggle with anxiety and depression then you’re not really mentally ill. My struggles were more centered in my personality and dark impulses, dark thoughts; anxiety never made sense to me and I was never depressed or suicidal. I suddenly had the voice in my head telling me just because I am struggling, doesn’t mean that should affect my day to day living. Voices questioning if I even have mental health issues. Inner demons tearing apart my mindset due to misplaced words and views.
It took some really good friends and a lot of repetition before I finally could accept that not only was it okay I was neurodivergent, but it was okay to ask for help in relation to it. It was okay that it affected my day, normal even, to have to work with it. That just because my problems were different, doesn’t mean they are any less relevant or any less painful. It’s okay to struggle in a way that is completely unique to me. Those words changed me.
To this day, I’m still undiagnosed and mostly doing self help, but that’s okay. Improvement doesn’t need to be a giant leap across the canyon; it’s okay if it’s just starting to build the bridge across. My support system has grown quite a bit over these last few years. I’ve done a little over 6 years of taekwondo to help boost my strength and self confidence. Though I struggle with actual illustration art, I absolutely love poetry. It’s become one of my favorite forms of communication and emotion expression. My overactive and, oddly, vivid imagination has been kindled by my community theater and my radiant library. My interests and my many personalities have been supported and cherished with my new mindset and my new environment. Over the summer, I moved into the dorms here at UAF and it’s been amazing. Being out of the house has given me a new sense of freedom. I’m not worried about presenting in a way that upsets my family, and there’s a new forwardness about my interests and hobbies. I’ve started openly talking about my sexuality and even my gender identity. My little inner extrovert has been thriving amongst my new friend group and increased social events. And, for the first time in my life, I found professional help here on campus.
I’m in my first semester of my BA in Psychology. I’m strongly determined to become a counselor; possibly mental health or grief, maybe even rehabilitation. My past has given me a strong view about mental health issues and getting that help. I’ve learned how to help others set boundaries and work through those negative emotions. My own mind has given me some unique ideas for how to cope and help others and I want to share those ideas. I want to be there when people need to talk, regardless if they have that at home. I want to be a safe place for queer kids to talk and express themselves. I want to help keep people safe from the little demons trashing their minds. I’m determined to become qualified enough to make that difference, even for that one person. And maybe, just maybe, social work will be one of those ways I decide to help. I’m unsure yet, and hopefully this class will help me make that decision.
On one final note, let me properly introduce myself. My name is Mattison or Matti. I use she/her, they/them pronouns. I’m asexual, and I’m, also, basically, the embodiment of a Gemini. It’s lovely to get to know you all, even if it’s without a proper face. 🙂