Broken Mask

For most of my young life I had an anxiety disorder. It went undiagnosed  because of how it manifested.

I pushed myself. After rising from the ashes of grade school and amending a two year education gap in six months, I became a beacon of hope in my special education school-a symbol, a chosen one.

I was 12. Maybe.

I went from not just doing well because I could succeed but because I had to excel. Anything less then high marks was a failure. I was letting down my parents, my teachers, my classmates, my schools, and future students who would need additional help.

No one did this to me. I did. I warped my own reality because of anxiety.

Achieving high grades became about more then learning. I forgot I enjoyed learning.

I could not confront my father when he demanded my mother and I's company every night. I could not tell anyone I could not handle it. So I did my homework on the school bus and after bed time on the sly. I finished the in order of class periods and between classes, during other classes.

Which made my study habits horrible for college. College was a new foul beast. There was a councilor my second year who suggested medication. I wish I listened. Instead I blew her off for years.

In my second to last final semester of college I contracted tendonitis in my right hand. My primary hand. Unfortunately I also had a very bitchy teacher who had a three absence policy no matter the reason. Pain and inability to take notes or difficulty completing assignments meant nothing. No excuses, no extensions, no exceptions.

Instead of focusing on my other necessary classes, my brain focused on my short coming and how I couldn't make it work put. As I result that semester I got 3 Fs, one D, and one B- out of pity.

It was the first time in 11 years I dropped the ball.

My self identity had been wrapped up in academic success. That summer it fractured. How I kept myself together for half a year I don't know. But that October, on an amended degree plan, my mask finally fell apart and my depression formed. It fused with my anxiety and combined I was crippled. I would stop mid step and stand in place. Day to day activity was impossible.

Don't even ask about my grades that semester.

The road to recovery has not been easy. It had a few trip ups. But I learned something important about myself.

I was not who everyone thought I was. Not even me. My chosen one complex made me a mask. It hid my identity from even me when I looked in the mirror.

My mask was Desi, a high function special education student who reached academic excellence and became a beacon for all students who needed special attention. She was going to be a teacher and give back to help children as she had been. Desi was soft spoken and buried her negative feelings and never confronted anyone. She followed expectations and dated boys-on occasion. Love would never work into her long term plans.

Desi wasn't real.

I am Desiree. I am gifted and talented. I let people know when I am upset. I enjoy writing and reading, I love to play video games and watch movies. I am madly in love with an amazing woman far too many states away and someday I want to make a life with her.

And I don't want to be a teacher. I don't know if I ever really did. It if it was a development of a false identify, the conception I had to be some kind of savior.

I don't have to live to inspire. My life can inspire without my aspiring too.

I just need to live my life as I feel is right. However that plays out.