I'm Imperfect. Therefore, I'm Enough: A Mental Health Chat
I think most of us have a voice in our head that tells us we are not enough. Or at least, that’s what the voice in my head is always telling me – this post isn’t good enough. Your reply to this email is not good enough. You are not good enough. The voice demands perfection from me and doesn't tolerate the slightest of flaws. Over the years, it became easier and easier to subscribe to this notion. Yes, I am not good enough. I am not disciplined enough. I’m not fit enough. I’m not talented enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not witty enough. I’m not funny enough. I’m not pretty enough. I’m not thin enough. I’m not enough. I was never enough. I can never be enough.
It’s been a year since I was in therapy. I know people are embarrassed, disappointed, or frustrated by the idea of therapy. But I found it quite liberating. For the first time in my memory, I felt truly heard. I felt like someone got me, and I learned a lot about myself I didn't expect to. Which is why I don’t find an issue in telling people I went through it. I do, however, find issues with the reactions. It always goes one of two ways – a combination of shock and a desperate attempt to mask and replace with compassion because it’s perceived to be the right thing to do. Twined with a touch of concern and worry. I appreciate that because it’s often followed by trying to figure out what can be done to support me. It’s the second one that frustrates me to no ends, one that has disappointingly been used by friends. A quick launch into solutions, a speech about why I am currently where I am with life, and what I need to do. I always nod and smile, although I have spaced out. Because what I really want to say is, Please stop trying to fix me. I’m not your project to feel better about yourself. I’m not the substitute for the closet you’re trying to organise or the chore you are procrastinating. I get that you’re trying to help. Maybe, you can’t stand your friend being in pain. Maybe you do want to show you know me better than I do. Maybe you think you can genuinely help. I GET it. But here’s the thing. IDGAF about how going to the gym got you out of a rut. What I want to say is, adding or removing things is not going to fix my problems. This is not an unsightly mole. And so, I'm learning to live with it. But you're trying to eradicate it. Spoiler alert, it's not going to happen.
Many thought my “issue” was temporary, as it coincided with the time I started my freelance life. I heard it all and I never said what I wanted to. I'm not cooped up. I’m not sad. I’m not missing human connections. That’s the most common one I hear. Get out and meet people. I know well enough I’ve been this way since I was eight or ten when I grasped the concept of mortality. I realised I won’t be here in the year 2200 something after the whole Y2K and new millennium thing. Somehow, it translated in my brain as life has no meaning because the end is death. I started toying with that thought. It became a fact for me when I was 15 – life has no meaning because we all die. And here’s something many don’t know. This is not my first rodeo with therapy. I went once before at 14 and talked about not fitting in and my fear of cockroaches because I didn’t know what to say. Unsurprisingly, therapy didn’t help then. This is why by the time I was 20, I was struggling to fall asleep at night because I couldn’t understand what the meaning and purpose of it ALL (really, ALL) was. That struggle to find purpose and meaning and my insecurities started to feed off the other over the years.
Everything stopped being enough since I was eight or ten. Everything, including life in itself because I didn’t see the point. Yes, I laugh a lot. I seem like I’m thriving, and like I’m a well-adjusted individual. But also, I think about death a lot. It's just the way my brain has been wired.
Before you start panicking, it’s not that I want to die. It’s weird, isn’t it? You think someone who thinks about death is suicidal because we are raised in a world that forces everything as black and white. But in actuality, thinking about death, like all things, is a spectrum. I’ve never thought about suicide. I can even find the confidence to say it’s not something I would do. It's not that I want to die. It's just that sometimes the idea of being alive feels so foreign and inconsequential. What was once a simple fear of heights, became a phobia, and has now evolved into a full-blown trigger. I wonder how long it would take people to pick up their lives and move on if I didn’t wake up in the morning. I feel like I’ve not made a mark enough to be missed. But I still find beauty in day to day living. I love and I’m loved. I’m excited by and for opportunities.
Things clicked into place for me when I learned that I’m a pretty high functioning individual with depression. The first time I heard it was a very cathartic moment. Shock became acceptance and then a sense of resolution. The vulnerability in learning you have a mental health issue evolved into a source of strength. And dare I say, evolved further into an empowering moment. It has forced me to put myself first, something I didn't even realise I negate. It has taught me that taking care of myself is not a selfish act. It made me a lot more aware of myself. It made me relearn what I thought I knew about myself and it forces me to do a lot of emotional work. It helped me recognise that my pattern of putting a success behind me like it hadn’t even happened wasn’t modesty. After years of feeling like I'm not enough, I understand now that there is something that's not enough with me. An imperfection; a chemical imbalance. An imperfection that leaves me with no choice but to accept it. An imperfection that requires me to consistently remind myself that I have enough, I’ve done enough. That I am enough.
I’m not going to lie. Ever so often, it’s so easy to slip back into that dark vortex. Because it’s easy, it’s comfortable having been there for so long, and it’s familiar. Relearning certain patterns of thought and behaviour can be so mentally exhausting. Being so aware of myself, I constantly call myself out on my negative thoughts, patterns, and the language I speak to myself. Telling myself "Hey, this pattern is not okay" and trying to replace it with a new train of thought is draining, to say the least. It stunts a lot of other mental work, including my creativity which is why this blog is next to near stagnant. And then you start wondering if it's so bad to live in the vortex. Years of telling people “I don’t see anyone else as a competition, I’m only in competition with myself” suddenly rang with more truth. I am competing with myself – a voice that has been cultivated by society, books, and people against a voice that’s truly mine. The former drags me down deeper and deeper, intent to keep me there since … I don’t even know when. It’s a voice I thought my own. In actuality, my own voice is positive, upbeat and has been pulling me up, some days, fighting, struggling to do so but never giving up and shushing the other one. The voice that lets me find joy when two bus drivers wave at each other, the voice that patiently tells me to find my way back after a dark episode reminding me of what I still have to live for. The voice that asks "But don't you want to see it ALL?"
I’ve been told and I've been reminded that I have a lot to be grateful for. That I have a good life. That I’ve had opportunities I never even dreamed of. I’ve said these very things to myself as reasons for why I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I'm learning to appreciate the beauty of living. Being alive doesn't feel as incidental as it once did. When a negative train of thought starts to take over me, I know how to halt it. It's all just a result of imperfect brain chemistry. This is one more “flaw” to me, like my gigantic nose. And that’s okay. I’m imperfect. Therefore, I'm enough.
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