Sometimes I Think I Should Be Studied
Me in my Twenties
When I was in my twenties, I looked the best I ever had in my entire life, but I felt the worst I have ever felt in my entire life.
Sometimes I would get zits and wonder if that was all people could see about me. I thought I was fat when I was a perfectly normal size. I thought people randomly did not like my personality, even though I was very charming, witty, and smart.
Why did I think these things about myself?
I think I thought that people reacted to my appearance much more than they did. I felt like it was more important to people than my personality.
And my personality? I believed that I wasn’t ‘cool’ enough to hang with the best of them.
I’ve always been unique; I’m not your average Jane. In high school, people thought I was weird; they called me the metaphysical vegetarian when I was on the school newspaper because I wrote articles about things like astrology and psychics.
When I was in college, I was no longer a vegetarian, but I longed to be some kind of philosopher/writer/hippie. But I felt I was too privileged to be a real hippie. I became a staunch feminist in high school and studied Women’s Studies in college.
I learned about the Beauty Myth: the idea that women are taught their value lies in how they look, no matter what else they are.
Studying it in books and classes was not enough to undo years of believing my appearance mattered more than who I was.
By the end of college, I knew I could write, but I didn’t yet believe I deserved to call myself a writer.
My first year in grad school was hard because I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and I could not find my writing voice.
I wasn’t embarrassed that I had a mental illness; many of the writers in my program did, many students in the School of the Arts did. Sometimes it comes with the territory of being an artist. I tried to wear Manic Depression as a badge of honor because there were rumors in my department that I had been hospitalized, and many fellow students found out.
But in that space is where I found my community. It is a cliché, but many of the writers and artists I knew experienced emotions with an intensity that did not always translate easily into ordinary life.
So did I.
I found a place where I wasn’t judged for not being ‘normal.’ Life was still very good; my second year at Columbia was one of the best years of my life. I made good friends, did some great writing, and felt better about the way that I looked. I even wrote about the connection between insanity and enlightenment. I still think it is a very complex, fascinating subject.
It was the first year I experienced mania, which was an intense high followed by a deep low. The high felt like euphoria mixed with anger, anxiety, and agitation.
I think you reach states of mind in mania that normal people can’t reach. When I have felt spiritual highs, the euphoria part was the same without all of the added negative feelings. This should be studied.
I also experienced the lows of Bipolar Disorder for the first time in my first year in grad school. I have never felt so absent from myself, so dead inside, so numb and unbelievably tired.
After I finished graduate school, I became very ill because I stopped taking my medication. I spent most of my late twenties in and out of hospitals, suffering from depression and mania because I did not believe I actually had Bipolar Disorder and would not take my medication.
It was only when I was thirty that I ran away from Michigan to New York. I wanted to live in a commune with a bunch of hippies. Well, that didn’t turn out so well because I was manic and ended up running away from the commune.
At that point, I ended up in a hospital next to Harlem in New York City. It had a crowd of patients like I hadn’t seen anywhere else. Still, I bonded with some of the other ‘guests’, and the reality of being locked up with people who seemed to have problems I had never experienced changed something in me.
It was a different world.
Me in my Thirties
I decided in the hospital to stay on my medication and to never be put in again. I kept that promise, and for seventeen years, I never had another manic episode.
What I really struggled with in my thirties was the fact that all the medication was making me gain weight. I also had to deal with bouts of depression.
I felt fat and sad.
And the irony is that when I started to gain weight, I realized that what really mattered was who I was as a person. I started to actually like myself.
The funny, charismatic personality I had was blossoming as I started not thinking about what other people thought of me all the time. I still cared what I looked like, but I didn’t let it define me.
There were lonely times when I was depressed. But as I broke through that depression in my forties, I began making real, solid friends. I realized I wasn’t good at relationships, but I was great at friendships.
Me in my Forties
I started meditating regularly in my forties, and it changed my relationship to depression completely.
I also began writing every day, and I think this helped my depression greatly as well. I started to believe I was a strong writer. I started to believe I was a strong person.
They say youth is wasted on the young, but is it really? I earned this body and this face after years of struggle, mixed with happiness.
I spent my twenties trying to become someone people would love.
Somewhere in my forties, I became someone I loved.
Sometimes I think I should be studied.
nina
A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/ or wherever you get your podcasts.
Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.
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