Taryn+S's+Final+AmEx+Speech+2017

In the middle of my sophomore year, sitting in a chair with multiple book shelves around me, with lots of antiques and photographs, I was in the office of my first therapist. This lady had a really weird vibe about her and I didn’t really like her that much. She always read anxiety and depression books to me. I never really understood why, it made no sense like I’ve never heard of a therapist who doesn’t really talk to their patient at all, but reads these books to them each session. She printed out pages of the book that I was supposed to take home, fill in, and then bring it back to the next session the week after, I mean it was just pointless. She kept telling me I had a mental disorder, and that I needed to learn more about mental disorders in order for me to get better. She told me to read books, articles and papers on depression and anxiety and said that it would help me “cope” with the illness I had. But I didn’t want to cope with what I had, I wanted to get rid of it that was the whole point of going to the therapist in the first place. And to be honest reading about it only made me feel worse, like I couldn’t be treated the same as “normal” people.

My mom had me see her for 5 months, and around that time was when I had my first seizure. I was at a volleyball tournament with my club team in LA on my birthday and all of a sudden on the sideline I started seeing spots of flashing lights and my vision completely blurred out and I went unconscious. Thanks to Heather I didn’t hit my head, but it was still a really traumatic experience. They took me in an ambulance to the USC Medical Center and after waking up in the hospital I remembered nothing. Going through one of the hardest times of my life and hearing that my whole team as well as one of our opposing teams from colorado all prayed that I would be okay and hearing that after I woke up in the hospital meant the world to me. You would think that something so small wouldn’t be that impacting on a person, but to me it was so meaningful. After hearing that I had two consecutive seizures, the first one lasting about 5 minutes, and the second being about 7 minutes, the only thing that was really on my mind was whether or not my team won. I was pretty disappointed hearing that they forfeited, but hearing how much they all cared really had a positive effect on my recovery.

This event specifically, even though I remember nothing from the time I fell to the time I woke up in the hospital, is an event that I will remember for the rest of my life, not just because it was so crazy, but because of all the support and encouragement I got from all of those around me.

The doctors did a ton of testing and the only thing the doctor told me was that there was a slight spark in my EEG but nothing to worry about, so I carried on with my life.

A couple months after, my mom sent me to another therapist, which also sucked. He was a pretty weird dude and always liked to pound you with questions and brag about all these famous people he had helped. He told me that I had a “problem” and that I needed to solve it, and that I wasn’t helping myself at all. He was the kind of guy who tells you what you’re doing wrong and that you need to fix it, but never really told you how. Great therapist right? And although I don’t think he realized it, but he made me feel like I couldn’t accomplish anything, like I was worthless. Thinking back to it, I think that this was when my depression and anxiety was the worst. I had no interest in talking to anyone, not even my friends. You would barely see me smile and to be honest I just wasn’t just feeling life at all. At this point in my life I felt like I had no friends what so ever. My mind was bombarded with thousands of negative thoughts and I just didn’t want to live anymore. I couldn’t stop thinking. I was over it, over the pain and over the thoughts I couldn’t get out of my head. A little after 7 months I think my therapist realized the fact that I hated being in there and that he wasn’t helping me so he told my mom to not have me come to him any more. Thank god, but the depression still continued on. Throughout my sophomore year of high school, depression and anxiety was pretty much the consistent norm.

After not seeing a therapist for a while, this past January I had yet another seizure, luckily not in a classroom but it was at school. I went unconscious again, and they called the ambulance and I was taken to the ER and they told me that I only had one seizure that lasted for about 3 minutes. I went home, and did not come back to school the next day. My mom didn’t want me going to school until they figured out what was going on so I stayed home and I probably went through about 20 doctors appointments, blood tests, and other services all in the course of a month. My neurologist told me that there could be a chance I have epilepsy so she prescribed me a medication called Lamictal to hopefully prevent further seizures as well as help me with what I was feeling.

It was not until I saw my pediatric doctor that he noticed something was seriously wrong with me. I had lost about 20 pounds. I’m skinny as it is and I have an extremely high metabolism so I have to eat like every 3 hours throughout the day or else I get nauseous. And it's really difficult for me to gain weight, but too easy for me to lose it. I miss one meal, there goes 2 pounds down the drain. But to be honest, I love food and it's not like I had an eating disorder where I thought I was fat and I wanted to be skinnier, it’s just that nothing sounded appetizing, so therefore I didn’t eat. Sometimes even the smell of food made me nauseous and every single doctor I went to had no clue why because I wanted to gain weight, not lose it. They kept asking me if I had an eating disorder like anorexia where I forced myself not to eat, and even though I kept telling them no, they continued to tell me I had an eating disorder. And that is something that I still don’t really understand to this day.

Almost every doctor and therapist I went to during this time in my life placed me into a category, whether it be an epileptic, anorexic, or “mentally ill”, all of which they had no proof of whether or not each were completely true. From personal experience it actually makes you feel worse, like they aren’t the same as everyone else because of whatever problems or illnesses they may have.

As i am ending my junior year I no longer have any problems with depression or anxiety. My eating problems have gone away and I have actually gained back each and every pound I lost, and thankfully I have not had another seizure since January. I really couldn’t have gotten through what I went through without my friends and family because looking back on it now by keeping to myself so much and not really talking much my sophomore year it only hurt me in the long run. But now in June and seeing where I am now from where I was about a year and a half ago I am really proud of myself and all i have overcome and I am so thankful for all of my friends, my family, and my teachers who have helped me these past few years because without the support and encouragement I would not have been able to get through it.

When people ask me that if I got the chance to go back and delete that part of my life, would i take it back? My answer is always no. Without my experiences with depression and anxiety I wouldn’t be able to relate to so many people today and help them with what they may be going through. I wouldn’t be who I am today without going through what I went through. I’ve changed a lot through the past three years of high school but I am incredibly thankful for each obstacle that was thrown at me because it has made me that much stronger in the end.

I wish to live in a world without categorization where we have to put everyone in a different category, a world with no “middle/upper/lower class” or a “food disorder group” or the “suicidal group”. Obviously each and every one of us all have our differences and unique things about us, but people should not judge a person solely about what group in society they belong in. We are all humans, and we all live on earth, so why can’t we just treat each other like human beings rather than numbers in multiple kinds of groups.

Imagine if this entire side of the room was considered to be the eating disorder group, where you have anorexia, you have bulimia and so on. And the middle portion of the room is the mental illness group with depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD and so on. And then this side of the room is the suicidal group. That is literally our world today but with so many other categories.

Everyone is categorized in some way or another. We know that each and every one of us is just a number in the system, but in the America I wish to live in is an America where we aren’t all categorized into different groups. Whether it be by race, gender, illness, or separating people due to the way they talk, act, look or feel is horrible. And half the time people don’t even realize that they are doing it, it is just apart of our world. For me, after going through what I went through and experiencing categorization first hand you really see how downgrading it can be on a person. It makes you feel like a complete nobody, and it is something that I hope to see improve as time goes on. Thank you.