Tonight, I have decided to reach out and find others like me. Others with Conversion Disorder. To this day, I still battle with the tics and tremors that made it so I quit high school. Don't worry, I have a triumphant story. I graduated. On time. With honors. But the memory of my two year self-induced hell sticks to my skin like tattoos. And I am ashamed to wear that story.

Conversion Disorder was described by ancient Greeks as hysteria, which loosely translated that my uterus was wandering around and driving me crazy. Now a days, we are a little bit closer to understanding, but not by much. Unlike diabetes, or a tumor, or an auto-immune disease, this is something that is formed deep in my head. My own body was betraying me. It made no sense. I was a privileged girl. I was smart, talented, and pretty. Why would I be dealing with this? I was horrified to think that people thought I was doing it for the attention. I was more ashamed to think that I actually was. Tonight, I have read multiple medical journal entries about this disorder just to see the words "Unintentional" neurological symptoms to reassure myself. My own personal pat on the hand.
I was originally diagnosed with Severe Complex Tourettes Syndrome in 2009. I remember walking into the kitchen, my dad sitting on one side of the island with paperwork, (we were given lots of handouts then) and asking me "What if you have tourettes?" And I burst into tears replying "Because that means it wont go away." His eyes widened and he looked to my mom who I had always been closer with because he didn't know what to say. But as horrible as that diagnosis was, Conversion Disorder was worse. I look back and remember looking at this one specific diagram that explained that my body couldn't process stress. I remember thinking that it was because I was weak. I still wonder if it means I am weak. And that I am crazy. Crazy is such a dismissive word. And when I sit by myself and have had a particularly hard day, one where I suffer from head aches and my head ******* to one side in a terror inducing tremor, I ask myself, "Why can't I control it?" Because I am the person people turn to for advice. I am the person with all the answers. I am a straight A student, a fantastic creative writing student, a magnet for catastrophe, a Disney triumph story that always ends with a winning score and instrumental music. It scares me that the one thing I can't control is something hidden so deep in my brain that doctors took two years to discover it. I am being treated for my depression and my anxiety, but with each footstep, each new pressure I am terrified that it will be too much and I will break.
bluestocking18 bluestocking18
22-25, F
Aug 19, 2014