The Oddball Redheaded Stepchild that D.I.D

Author’s Note: Please be aware the following piece of memoir is nonfiction. What you’re about to read is true, so please do not judge and do not flame the author. It was really difficult to put this up, and I almost didn’t. Otherwise, I do hope you find some enjoyment while reading it!

“The Oddball Redheaded Stepchild that D.I.D” By: Leora-chan

You would think that after the dream/nightmare that is high school things would become clear and life would run much more smoothly, but for me it wasn’t really like that at all. Nothing became clear for me, and it seemed like there was no such thing as smooth sailing. As much as I tried to bend like bamboo in the wind, at some point I bent too far and ended up snapped. The mirror of self-reflection cracked, and before I consciously realized what was going on, the fractured shards of that mirror developed into full blown separate personalities.

Take an extra moment to go over that last sentence one more time. No, I’m not insane, but I’m not without my problems. It was a heavily mentally tumultuous time of my life, even though no one on the outside could ever tell the difference. At eighteen years old it felt like life was speeding past and I was being left behind in a mentally destructive wake. High school was over, but the drama had barely begun. During the end of high school my parents were separated, but not divorced so they still saw each other off and on.

My dad blamed my brother for their divorce and had always played favorites between the two of us, and while at the time I did confront my mom about my having depression there was nothing done and nothing else said about it. There were regular pretty violent fist fights between my brother and I. Verbal abuse was casually thrown in my direction more often than I liked. Friends were leaving me left and right and the one I loved, my first love, told me, “I hate you.”

In the blurred waves of trying to handle everything that was going on by myself, a few parts of my psyche developed a personality who came to be known as Shuri. At the time I was terrified of those lapses where I couldn’t remember anything. With a family that seemed to dismiss my having depression, told me that my being bisexual just meant I was horny for anything with a pulse, and that voices in my head were Satan and I needed Jesus, how could I tell them? I needed help, but I didn’t want to lose that time where it wasn’t me. Whenever Shuri took over I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to see through her eyes what brought her about. The situations were something I could not mentally handle at the time, but she could and I wanted to make sure it was a memory I didn’t lose. If I told someone there were lapses of time I couldn’t remember, I thought for sure they would think I was actually going insane and send me somewhere I wouldn’t come out of as myself anymore. It wasn’t easy, and it felt like I broke a little bit more in order to manage it, but in the end it was worth making it possible.

Being eighteen was difficult because I was alone and lonely, and dealt with numerous mental issues the same way. Alone. It was all I could do, but it felt like I was standing in quicksand wearing cement blocks for boots. The more I tried to keep myself up the more I felt myself sinking, and the more time that passed the more I looked in the mirror and saw nothing but a waste of space that was better off dead and buried. The thought of walking into a busy four way intersection seemed like something that could easily just be “an accident”.

If you’re wondering why I didn’t try, it was and is actually because of my faith and religious beliefs - even though my family claimed I had Satan speaking in my head and needed more Jesus - but not every person with mental disabilities is the same. At a time when I believed I would always be alone and lonely and unwanted, I found the one person who took those feelings away. I found my other half to keep me going and help me get the right kind of help I needed. A lot more people, however, don’t get that, and continue to deal with their problems like I did with mine; on their own. Too many of them are pushed past their point of no return and don’t make it through that hardship. Knowing this breaks my heart because I know they want the help, but I can’t be there for every single one of them.

I learned the hard way that no one should deal with these kinds of issues alone. No matter what beliefs you have, opinions you have, where you come from, etc. Your feelings tell you that no one loves you, that you’re better off dead, or you’re a waste of space, but the reality is different. You are and have always been loved, you are given your life because you are worth having it, and you are allowed to be happy. No matter what a bully tells you, you know your feelings and the reality are different, and trying not to blur that line and mix the two is more difficult to do than it seems, but you are strong enough to do it. It’s not easy, so don’t lie to yourself, but it’s worth it and it helps until you get the help you need. There is always someone that can help you. In the end, if my memoir - out of everything people read in their lives - can help even one person who has the same problems and still struggles with them, then it was worth publishing.