Getting to (self) acceptance

So, it’s probable that if you are in here, you are as me: “Not normal”. You have something, let’s say physical or psychological, that makes you unable to fit in the mold society wants you to. It’s likely, that you as me, aren’t a common ____ (enter age here) year old ____ (enter sex or specie here). Like me: Hi, I’m Mariana and I’m not the typical 22 year old woman. Why? Because I have major depression, general anxiety, asthma, fibromyalgia, arthritis and dermatitis (I know, irresistible dating profile). So that means I have to use an inhaler, I use a cane sometimes, I can’t wear high heels, I can’t stand up for long periods of time, my legs swell up so I can’t wear super tight pants, cold makes my joint hurts so I’m always with tons of layers and sometimes gloves in the tropics of Colombia, I get anxious about silly things that don’t represent real, objective jeopardy for me or my life, I’m tired ALL the time, I usually don’t have a lot of energy, there are days in which I can’t stop crying or can’t get out of bed, my skin is full of bruises and of rashes and red dots, I’ve had more suicidal thoughts and moments than I would like to admit, and that’s all I can remember right now (Again, irresistible dating profile).
You can see now why I’m not the typical 22 year old girl.
Going to a club is a huge effort, I can’t wear heels, I don’t drink (If you have depression, don’t drink. Don’t be stupid), I don’t smoke (If you have asthma, don’t try cigarrettes, don’t be stupid) and I don’t do drugs (I’m guessing that if you have a mental health issue, it’s better to remain taking legal drugs. But I’ve never done it so I have no idea, therefore I can’t have an opinion on that). I have to wear my cane, while limping, in a gathering with people my age. A do ra ble. And I’m absolutely exhausted so I stay a little, while drinking water. So it’s common to listen stuff like “Oh you are such a grandma” or “Is that really necessary” or “I’m sure it’s a matter of time”. Well, no. It’s chronical, and I’m not making it up.
But you want to fit in. You want to be like the rest of them. You want people not to talk behind your back. So you do your best, ignore your body, climb your way up into the heels and go out all night. And then, when you physically can’t get out of bed in 3 days, you understand it: You have to listen to your body. To your unique body. Accept it and love it as it is. And just let go the fantasy of fitting in.
And you want to fit in. So you try to have casual relationships, and the “no strings attached” stuff. But you can’t. Because you are anxious, and you have to much baggage that is part of you, and if someone is with you they need to deal with it. So you get involved. And there, you just screw things up. And then, a normal break up becomes a depressive episode. So you learn to wait, for the one that will be able to understand the puzzle that is your mind, even if that means letting crushes and lovers go. You understand it: You have a unique mind. Accept it and love it as it is. And just let go the fantasy of fitting in.
And when you don’t fit in, and when you have way too much baggage, you are left out. People start speaking. Start gossiping. Start making things up. Start judging you. Start stigmatizating you.
All of the sudden they start to dissapear in a subtle way, to never ask you about your health, to never speak about your symptoms. Some just go, like that, once and for all. But you want to fit in so badly. And you understand that there are so, so, so many things of what’s going on with you that you can’t control and you desperately want the people you love to get that too.
That you didn’t chose this. That, yes you can seak help and try your best to be the best version of yourself, but that you work in a different way: Your system, your mind, your organs, you aren’t like that. And that’s why sometimes legs won’t work, that’s why you have to wear a cane, that’s why you can’t stop crying, that’s why you get paralized in a movie when they mention the word “suicide”.
You can’t help it, you aren’t like them, you won’t fit in. And by that I’m not saying that I’ll be having anxiety, depression, arthritis, fibromyalgia, asthma for my whole life (Eventhough I’m realistic and I know my odds, we’ll be friends for a long, looooong time). Let’s say a fairy godmother comes tomorrow and makes me absolutely healthy. Still I wouldn’t fit in. Because I’ve lived what many of the people that reject me haven’t: I have lived discrimination, stigmatization, I’ve been in situations in which I was disabled, I’ve had to stop my life because my mental health couldn’t take it anymore, I’ve been with one step in the afterlife and one here, I’ve been seconds away of being in a mental health facility, I’ve had to take every single psychiatric medication, I’ve survived death…
And eventhough going through all of that has been incredibly painful, I’m glad of not fitting in. Because yes, I’ve lost friends, lovers, best friends, family members, job opportunities, dates. I’ve been judged for people who I thought were like family to me. And the saddest thing: I’ve begged so much to gained them back. I’ve sacrificed my dignity so people wouldn’t reject me and tried, denying the reality of my mind and soul, so badly to fit in.
Dear reader: Don’t. Don’t beg for love or acceptance. Don’t kill yourself in the process of fitting in (because you might end up, in fact, dying). You are different, you are diverse, and that’s absolutely beautiful. You’ll embrace it someday, that makes your heart more tender, softer, makes you more empathic, identifies you with becoming an advocate for whichever cause affects you because you’ve seen stigma IS real. You are marvelous, for all of those things that make you unable to fit in.
You’ll be alone. Yes. You’ll suffer, you’ll loose people that you never thought of loosing. But you’ll find wonderful, amazing, adorable, empathic people in blogs, in pages like The Mighty, in support groups, who will get what you are going through. And you’ll see that people who are 10-20-30-40 or even 50 years older than you, and that live in other continents, and that you may never even see in person, will fill your heart with love and understanding. Because they, as you, won’t fit in. They get you. They support you. They believe in you. And that will make you love yourself, because for the first time you’ll see that you aren’t a monster or a broken ghost that should be hidden.

You are a freaking art work, unique, admirable, unable to understand it fully because every single viewer has a different interpretation. And that, my friend, is amazing.