by Band Back Together | Jun 9, 2015 | Dermatillomania, Loneliness, Self-Esteem, Teen Depression, Teen Self Injury |
I am under 15, and I live with dermatillomania.
Because of my problem, I have trouble with self image and sometimes get very depressed. My parents don’t know. The Band has suggested that I confide in a friend who will help me. I have no such friend.
One of my friends is a science geek. I feel like a dork so I will never tell her.
My other friend is too girly. She doesn’t take anything seriously. Sometimes she asks about my scars, but I am too ashamed of them, so I say it is nothing. She forgets and continues to talk about herself. I don’t even want to be friends with her. I don’t want to tell her.
There is nowhere to go, no one to confide in. None of the school counselors would ever understand. I am alone. I feel so bad.
I purposely try to hurt my self so I can pick at the scabs later. A small 1 centimeter scratch turned into a half inch gouge just from continued picking and scratching. How do I dig myself out of this 1,000,000,000 foot hole without killing my self?
by Band Back Together | Jun 8, 2015 | Feelings |
I don’t know where to start.
But I need support and I just found this website, Band Back Together, yesterday. Not many I know, like no one, has cared about what I have been experiencing. Most say it’s my own fault for engaging.
If so, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
Ed Note: We’re not here to pass judgement or to place blame on you or anyone else. Please, share your story with us. You won’t be wasting anyone’s time.
by Band Back Together | Jun 5, 2015 | Fear, Love, Romantic Relationships, Self-Esteem |
Hello Beautiful,
I know you don’t see yourself as beautiful right now, but you are. One day, you will recognize it and will find your own strength and power in believing that about yourself.
But that’s not what I want to tell you right now.
I know you have your dreams resting on the blond with the dazzling smile. That’s a dead-end dream. One day, he’s going to be in his 40’s, still hanging out with his college frat buddies, getting drunk and playing stupid games. He’s going to move away soon. Let him go. He’s nothing to your future.
But you know the sort of awkwardly cute guy who entertains you in science class when the teacher has his back turned? He’s falling for you. Hard. It will take a few years, but he’ll be head over heels for you when you’re 16.
He’s going to get contacts. Without the glasses in the way, you will forever fall in love with his gorgeous brown eyes, even if it takes you almost a decade to fall in love with the rest of him.
He’s going to stick by you, and protect you, and support you forever, even after you break his heart in high school.
Here’s the thing I want you to remember:
Never
Let
Him
Go.
Ever.
Even when other relationships try to tear you apart, never let him out of your heart. One day, you will wake up to find that you love him more than you ever thought you could love someone. You will see that he is your perfect match in every way. You are so very alike in ways that you never would have guessed, and you will compliment each other in the ways you differ.
He needs you, very much. You have gifts you can use to greatly bless his life. And you need him, desparately. He will heal wounds inside of you and love you like no other. He will cherish you and appreciate you, and you will wonder why you didn’t see it all along.
One day, you will see all the times you both just barely missed the chance to be together. But have no fear. One day it will happen. You will finally have your opportunity to make magic together. It will take a long time, but it will happen. And once he is really yours, you will finally understand what it was you were always looking for.
Chin up, dear, good things are coming.
All my love,
The older, wiser You
by Band Back Together | Apr 29, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Chronic Illness, Fear, How To Help A Friend With Chronic Illness, Lyme Disease, Pain And Pain Disorders, Stress, Trauma |
Lyme Disease treatment options are all over the place – no one can seem to stick to any standard.
This is her frustration:
I am sitting at the ER. I have had a headache since Thursday with pain behind my eyes. It feels like my skull is trying to break through my eyes and nose and ears. I wish it were sinus related. But it’s not.
The reason I’m at the ER is two-fold. I want to make sure that I don’t have spinal fluid building up in my head. The second reason is more complicated. I was hoping maybe I could switch back to being treated here by my neurologist, who is covered by insurance. My Lyme doctor isn’t. She wanted to treat me with IV antibiotics. My Lyme doc thinks that orals are the first line treatment.
You see, Lyme disease is rife with controversy. Does it exist in the numbers that the International Lyme Disease Association says? Are the current tests sensitive enough for diagnosis? Does Lyme seroconvert in the blood like other infectious diseases? Is it easily treatable? Will three weeks (and maybe six weeks) of oral doxycycline treat all forms of Lyme, even if it’s late stage, which mine is? Will four weeks of IV rocephin treat neurologic Lyme?
I have Lyme, but my diagnosis is still suspect.
When I saw my neurologist in September, part of my Lyme test was positive, the other negative. When I went back for blood work,the negative part was now positive. But the positive was negative. Confused? My neurologist wasn’t convinced that I have active Lyme disease though I am symptomatic, and my tests prove that I have been exposed to Lyme (and my first test indicated active Lyme).
So I went to Seattle. I tried Levaquin, but it can cause joint inflammation, so any sign of joint pain and they stop treatment (joint pain is common in Lyme). Then I was put on Rifampin, which I have stayed on for months. It treats a secondary infection that is thought to occur often with Lyme disease. It resolved the shooting electric pains in my arms. I was put on Amoxicillin, which I’ve been on for months as well. Then I tried Minocycline for Lyme. It caused me to walk sideways. I already was dizzy. I didn’t need to have sea-sick vertigo as well. Then I tried Biaxin. I broke out in hives. I tried Doxy. It caused heartburn that radiated to the base of my skull. But the doxy DID work. I switched to Zithromax, and all of my symptoms returned. So I’m back on Doxy and taking Nexium to combat the heartburn. The problem is I’m not getting better like I did before.
What’s next? IV drugs. Insurance will pay for one month. It often takes more. A PICC line. Daily infusion. I was hoping to get treated from someone locally. But it looks like the doctors here don’t want to touch this. When I get home, I will call my doctor in Seattle and wait. And if this doesn’t work, I am flying to the Northeast where this stuff is treated often and where it costs a lot of money to see the top docs.
I am ready to be healthy. Six months with little improvement is just not acceptable to me.
by Band Back Together | Apr 24, 2015 | Bullying, How To Heal From Being Bullied, Suicide, Teen Bullying |
So it’s 1976, I’m 15 and reading Stephen King’s “Carrie” in a corner of the library. The library is a fairly safe place. She doesn’t spend much time here. That’s not a guarantee though. She has spread the word and sometimes names or spitballs or random crap comes at me from some kid I don’t even know, but who knows Her.
I’m near the end, and I’m right there with Carrie, crowned, loved, feeling beautiful, on top of the world, until that first glut of smelly blood hits her face. I’m there with her, except she has something I can’t find: her rage. A rage so big that with her mind–not moving a muscle, but with the power of her anger, she destroys an entire gymnasium full of people. And they deserve it. All of them. That’s what I’m thinking, sitting there in the library. For a moment, I’m seeing everyone, even the people I like, dead on the floor and me above them, raging, holding the power in my hands. For once. For once.
Like Sweeney Todd, when he sings “They all deserve to die …because in all of the whole human race, Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men …the one staying put in his proper place, and the one with his foot in the other one’s face: look at me, Mrs. Lovett, look at you!” Like Lotte Lenya as Pirate Jenny, in that old 1930’s record my father plays: “Noon by the clock, and so still on the dock, you can hear a fog horn, miles away. In that silence up there, I say: kill them all. And they’re piling up the bodies and I say: hoopla! And the ship, the black freighter, disappears out to sea, and on it is me.”
That’s the fantasy, except in the library, for a moment, it’s not a fantasy, it’s the most sincere wish I can make.
Then She comes in to the library, God knows why, she never studies in here. And I’m the first thing She sees. I freeze. Now it’s just a question of how bad it’ll be today.
I’m not Carrie. I’m not a vengeful Sweeney Todd, or Pirate Jenny sailing away. I’m fat, with long hair that is always greasy because the water pressure in our house sucks. I’m wearing my “Shakespeare is the One” sweatshirt and it smells because I wear it so much.
She zeroes in on me, of course. She and her gang all pretend to be getting books, but what they’re doing is stalking me, surrounding me, like jackals. “Hi Gerber Baby,” She says, “watcha reading?” in that fake sweet voice. “You reading Shakespeare? Huh?” I won’t look up. I won’t look at her. The book is ripped from my hand. “Fucking look at me, bitch. Don’t fucking ignore me, Gerber-head.”
She looks at the cover, and grins. “‘Carrie!’ That’s a great book. I bet you like her, Gerber. Know why?” She gets in my space and pokes me with her sharpened pencil on every word. “Because. You. Are. A. Pig. Just like Carrie.”
So it goes. Every day, so it goes. As far as I know, that’s how it will always be. Little by little, I will be destroyed. Today it’s mild, poking and prodding in the library. Tomorrow it will be science lab chemicals thrown on my skin. My books will be on the floor more often than on a desk. I will be chased down stairwells, trapped in bathroom stalls, and punched. There will be no part of my body or face or personality unmocked. Spitballs will be stuck in my hair. I will eat more, to try and drown it out, but I can’t. School is inescapable, and it’s the same people, year in, year out.
I have tried to tell Authorities. A guidance counselor carefully explains what a terrible background She comes from. I am told that life is no bowl of cherries for anyone in this world.
My teachers look away, turn on a movie, disappear from the hallways into break rooms as soon as they see Her starting in on someone (usually me). I have a vague impression that the teachers are scared of her too.
Home is my safe haven. I would rather die than tell my parents that their smart, pretty, talented only child is, in reality, a Big Fat Loser being tortured every day by the school nutcase. The fact that She is African-American would just make it worse. My folks were Civil Rights activists and I was raised on stories of racial oppression. They’d probably tell me how hard it is for Her, one of maybe five African-American kids in the school. And I’d agree.
No. Home must stay safe. I will not let Her have my home.
Sunday night, and I’m cold inside because I have to go back to school the next day. After dinner, we’re watching Masterpiece Theatre. “Upstairs, Downstairs.” I adore that show. I wish I could be an Edwardian servant. It looks better than Warren Junior High School.
The phone rings. My mother answers it, annoyed. “It’s for you, honey.” I go to the phone, annoyed. “Hello?” “Hi Gerber-baby,” She says sweetly. “Watcha doin? I bet you’re writing a paper. About pigs. I hope you’ll read it out loud to me tomorrow. You better fuckin do it.” Horrified, I drop the phone, then slam it on the receiver.
I go back to the living room. “Sweetie, are you OK?” says my Mom, “You’re very white.”
“I’m fine. I’m going to bed.”
I lie in bed. There are a lot of ways to die. I fall asleep wondering how many aspirin would do it, or if I could step in front of a subway train. Maybe that wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it would happen so fast that you wouldn’t know it.
“And the ship, the black freighter, disappears out to sea …and on it is me.”
ADDENDUM
It is 35 years later. I’m successful. I make my living as an actress and writer. I have lots of love and friends in my life, and everything I need materially, but I never married, or had children. I’ve always kept people slightly at a distance. I prefer to perform for them, I prefer to control what they see. I have fought with food, alcohol, and depression. Sometimes I win. What I just wrote, I’ve never said in full to anyone. And you know, all the school shootings now: every time, I think, there but for the grace of God go I.
