Sep 26, 2016

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #3: July 19, 2013

Tonight
Tossing and turning again.

Sweating, freezing.

They are calling me.
Do I listen?
Do I dream?

Do I stop swimming against the current?
Do I lose (give) myself to madness?

They don’t stop.
They won’t stop.
They can’t stop.

I can’t fight.  Or can I?
I can’t sleep. Or can I?
I can’t dream.  Or am I?

Maybe I’m not crazy.
Maybe I’m not dreaming.

Yes dear? What do you need?

-E.H.  

Entry #4 July 23, 2013

When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary acquaintance.  This is how I knew something was wrong early.

Most little girls have imaginary friends.  They play together, they go on silly adventures.  They make up stories.  They get silly names.

Carrot was not my friend.  We didn’t play or have fun.  Lots of times, she was just there.

Sometimes she was scary, or mean.  Sometimes she was sad.  Sometimes she would smile.  But we never really played.  I always pictured her with a stuffed toy bunny, which might be why I came up with the name Carrot.  She also never opened her eyes or spoke, which is what made my mom curious when I was a kid.  She thought I was progressive and forward thinking, like I made up a blind, mute imaginary friend and wanted to include her in my life, and I would grow up to be a caring individual who took care of people less fortunate.  It wasn’t that.  Carrot could see, she just kept her eyes closed.  When I explained that to my mom, she stopped asking about Carrot. In hindsight, it is a weird and sort of creepy detail for a kid to make up.  Not the weirdest I ever heard though.  I was in a group therapy session once and brought up Carrot, and one of the others had an imaginary friend named Marley who’s scalp was made of sponges.  So who’s the weirdo now, mom? :)

It was comforting to know she was there.  "There."  Of course, she was never really there.  I know that now as an adult.  Dr. Harper seems to think she was just a way for my mind to visualize inner emotions or turmoil. To deal with things my mind didn’t want to deal with, or didn’t know how to deal with.  Granted, this is why a lot of kids have imaginary friends.  Carrot didn’t want to play with me, probably because I didn’t want to play with me.  That’s either sad or ridiculous.  Maybe both.

What can happen, especially with children with my diagnosis, and with me in particular, is that these imaginary people or creatures can sometime manifest themselves into full blown hallucinations, because your brain is already using these archetypes to deal with stress.  It’s likely the reason I believed in Carrot for so long (embarrassingly long) is because I started really believing I could see her.  Though I never heard her, even though off my medication, I would hear things every now and then.  Voices, or banging sometimes.  Not really banging, more like a loud thumping, like a heartbeat.  That was the worst.

I’m sure it seems weird to believe in imaginary friends as long as I did.  The medications I’m taking really curtail the hallucinations, but I still have vivid dreams sometimes.  And sometimes she’s in them.  This little girl I made up when I was barely able to talk (something that also took some time for me) and I’d still think of her.  My brain would still reference her as a way to cope with stressful situations, or emotions I couldn’t handle.

My point of bringing this up is really just fascination.  They say the most a human develops in any given time is between birth and 3 years old.  In that time, you grow a personality and a paradigm of life, the universe and everything. (Douglas Adams reference... thank you.)  These moments in this time, the lessons that you learn and things you see shape your entire life from that point on.  It’s where you learn how you fit in socially.  If you’re hugged a lot, you tend to be okay with touch.  If you are left alone screaming in your crib, you tend to grow up cold.  Child psychology (and as you can probably tell, psychology in general) is all so interesting.  At least to me.

I eventually, through certain circumstances that I’m not up to sharing quite yet, decided to take control of my life.  I have it good when it comes to mental disorder.  I’m still very cognitively aware and high functioning.  Not everyone has it this good.  So rather than be a victim of the hand I was dealt, I have done what I can to be as knowledgeable about my diagnosis as possible. I didn’t go to college, and I was home schooled after 3rd grade, so I never really took any psychology courses.  I had planned on taking some classes at the community conir, but then I decomped (meaning I basically lost my shit again) and couldn’t.  I do however have a library card, and I read everything I could.  I got a copy of the DSM IV for my birthday (weirdest birthday request ever), and when the DSM V came out, I bought it immediately.  I don’t want to be in the dark about what’s happening in my brain.  I did that for too long.

And like I said, I’m lucky to be able to understand what’s happening.  I’ve lived with people who cannot, and it must be hell.  They’d probably give anything to be able to cope how I do.  Who am I to waste it?

Okay, I’m getting tired, so I’m calling it a day.

All the best!
-Emily