You Are Beautiful Just the Way You Are

For most of my life, bipolar disorder was steering me and I had no idea. I hated myself. Not in some casual, offhand way, but genuinely. The only time I felt like happiness belonged in my life was when I was helping someone else, so that became where I looked for it. People saw a cheerful, bubbly girl. What they didn't see was that I spent most of my time hunting for a reason to disappear for good.

There was a stretch when I believed the world would be better off if I were gone. Some old friends in Colorado and California probably still see me that way, carrying their own scars from the things I did back then. I understand why they might wish me dead. What I also understand now, which I didn't then, is that I don't deserve to die. I know what my life has actually been. I know I've earned the place I'm standing in today.

Nobody has to sign off on our recovery. We only need to trust, for ourselves, that we're building something real: happiness, usefulness, a reason to stay. That confidence has to come from inside. We're allowed to smile for the plain reason that we're still here.

When my mind slides back into the old grooves and the suicidal thinking creeps in, I hold onto one thing. I am alive. Someone out there might hate me. I might feel completely lost. But my lungs are working, my brain is working, and yes, I have self-harm scars, and none of that cancels out the fact that I'm breathing. I never managed to end it, and that failure turned out to be one of the most beautiful things I have. We tell ourselves that quitting is worth escaping the pain, when the truth runs the other direction: the pain is the price of getting back to the person we actually want to be.

I hated my body for a long time too. Over the years I had crushes on probably a hundred guys, and I was clear-eyed enough to know I wasn't the girl most of them pictured. I'm not thin. If a guy is after some sexy figure, I'm not it. People have told me my voice sounds strange. I confessed my feelings to a lot of those guys, and almost none of them felt the same. The funny part is that I can laugh about it now, because I look back and think, who was going to fall for me when I was living inside the body and the mind I had then?

One boy I told I liked prank-called me for two solid weeks, bullying me until the whole thing exploded into something awful. And somehow I kept telling other guys I liked them anyway. I'm relieved now that none of them in California or Colorado ever said yes, because underneath the face I showed the world every day I was a horrible person, and the worst part is I couldn't even see how bad it was at the time.

People ask: if you were like that before, couldn't you slip right back? Sure, I could become that old self again. I won't, though, because that version of me left me traumatized. That's exactly what showed me, once I started getting well, why protecting against relapse matters so much.

For most of my life, what I wanted was to cut out the parts of me I couldn't stand. Myself entirely, some days. The fat. My hair. Anything. I'd perform for people so they'd like me, and I'd do things that gave me a short hit of feeling better, but happiness never showed up. Removing what you hate about yourself by just slicing it out of your life doesn't work. You need an actual plan. You have to accept your body and your state of mind, admit that change has to happen, and keep reminding yourself that life is still there waiting. You just have to go find it.

I may never be the hot girlfriend. What I do know is that my illness made me tougher and surer of myself. My brain works differently from other people's, and I'm aware that a lot of folks still stigmatize mental illness. So here's what I do now. I cut a photo of a gorgeous model out of People Magazine and I tell myself, you are that hot. The more I say it, the more I believe it. I'd rather be loved for what's inside my heart than for my looks. For the first time I'm seeing myself as beautiful, and as someone who belongs out in the world.

Love your body. Love your mind too, and understand that recovery means changing your mind, which takes time and patience, so be patient with yourself. Don't cut anything out of your life. Accept it, and keep moving. :) - Susan Page