I was on the phone with a close friend the other day. He was telling me about his manic depression, and when he told me that he was in the middle of a pretty low point, I felt bad for him. He stopped me, letting me know that he gladly suffers through his low points because the highs are so good, so productive.

While I can’t pretend to fully understand the complexity of what he’s feeling, I think I can see a glimpse of it through my own eyes, and it makes a bit more sense to me now.

For a family steeped in mental health issues due to my brother’s autism, their views on the issue in general are… yes. My father does not believe in therapy, counseling, or the ilk, and while my mother is a bit more open to those concepts, the thought of someone “normal” needing those things is beyond her. As the “normal” child in the family, I’ve struggled with my feelings of inadequacy and guilt my entire life, needing to be some form of stability for them. I couldn’t tell them that I couldn’t deal with my problems, because what were my problems in comparison to what they were going through with Joseph?

My coping mechanisms became reading, and eventually my violin, but no matter how I would throw myself into those things, it couldn’t take everything away. I felt alone, utterly alone. I would pick up leaflets sent out by Parent 2 Parent, longing to meet other kids like me, wondering if they felt the same crushing pressure that I did, if these feelings were normal. My unhappiness consumed me to the point where in middle school, I went so far as to swallow a handful of pills one day in my bedroom, watching the walls blur and phase out of existence. Thankfully, that’s all the pills did, but I was racked with guilt afterward. One day, my mother went in my room and found my journal, reading the entry where I talked about wanting to swallow my life away. I ended up getting yelled at and my door was removed from my room. For a person who values their privacy more than anything tangible, that was probably the worst thing to happen.

Ever since that day, I’ve never let myself entertain the thought of suicide. The idea of an eternal sleep frightens the hell out of me, which is probably why I battle with insomnia. More often than not, I’ve locked myself in the house for days, even weeks at a time, letting the world roll on without me, too afraid to let anybody in. At least within these walls, I knew what was going on. This mess was mine, this wreck was mine, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone else coming in and judging me. When I decided to change things around, to make myself into someone who could be true to her heart without being dominated by her fear, it was hard. I made myself go outside and take walks, began reaching out to people and returned phone calls. I logged onto AIM and reconnected with old friends and acquaintances. I let myself open up again, and it felt nice.

However, with all of these changes, pieces behind the scenes began to shift, and I found myself not knowing who I was or where I belonged.

A couple of months ago, I woke up in a terrible place. I felt like a giant fuck-up whose black thumb corrupted everything she touched. Opening up my e-mail, I realized the one thing I had been looking forward to — an afternoon spent working on a project with a friend — wasn’t going to happen after all, and all of a sudden I felt more alone than I had in a long time. Lorelei was at school and Nick was in Seattle: there was nothing but myself and silence.

So I did what anyone would do in that situation — I went to YouTube and pulled up Eric’s cat videos. As I was sitting there, giggling at his cats being crazy, my phone rings. It’s Matt, whom I haven’t talked to in quite some time! His life was just chock-full of great news, and time just ticked by until I hung up the phone and noticed that three hours had passed by. Three hours! And while I’d been on, I’d missed a phone call from said friend who had to cancel on me that day, so I ended up calling him back and spending two hours on the phone.

Saves like that aren’t common — my phone doesn’t ring very much anymore and my unlimited text plan sometimes seems silly (except when Dan decides to hold a text conversation for an hour and a half). It did make me realize that I do need people, even though the very thought of putting myself out there scares the fuck out of me. I’ve been trying my best to overcome those fears in very small steps: I went to a show (and remembered how much I love going to shows), bumped into old friends, and am taking another trip next weekend. This time, it’s to Portland to visit Jen and her family because I had promised I’d go to her in June, since she’s always driving up here with the kids. This Saturday, I’m heading up to Seattle and spending time with Tino, maybe heading up to some museums or something.

There’s just a lot going on right now. All the elements of my life feel like they’ve been thrown in some lottery number machine and are waiting to be plucked out and set on a stand, stable. You’re not stable now, but you will be, my closest friend told me a few days ago.  At the time, I nodded, but god, my heart was screaming out: how can you believe that? the only stability in my life is fucking things up. why do you have faith in me? I’m just going to let you down. I’m just going to let me down. After sitting down and really thinking about it, though, I began to realize that yes, I can get through this. I may not believe that I’m brave or particularly strong, but damnit, I’m stubborn.

I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I magically know who I am. That would be a foolish, foolish thing to claim, especially since I don’t know if I’ll ever have that answer. (The philosopher who was once in my life would say that having that would take the meaning out of everything.) However, I think I’m making progress. I’m working toward things, trying to not let myself get the best of me. I don’t always succeed, but whatever happens, I at least know that my efforts are not for nothing.

Wish me luck. I’ll need it from here on out.

(EDIT: Said philosopher? Well, we just talked for about twenty minutes while he was getting ready for graduation! This is what I mean by things happening when I need them the most.)