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I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers

I’ve always thought flights were the perfect place to think.

The last time I was on one was after I went to visit my friends. I remember that trip as if it was yesterday, but the memories hit me square in the gut this time instead of being warm and fuzzy.

I adjust my headphones, looking at the dark and depressing clouds outside the window that match my choice of music for the plane ride home .

Home .

It’s odd I used to think of it as such. England has been my home for two years, two long years that, when I think back on them, feel never ending. But now, I’m headed back to the place I’m from—Virginia.

I pull the sleeves of my hoodie down, doing my best to shrivel into a ball in my window seat. I learned a lot about myself over these past two years—not all good or bad things. It’s been a bit of a mixed bag, but I’m headed back to Virginia, determined for a do-over.

Not only did I grow up in Virginia, but I went to college close to my house.

All my life, I had been in this little bubble of my hometown.

I started feeling jittery during junior and senior year of college.

It always happens like that. I’ll be content for a while, and I’ll finally get into a routine, only for my mind and body to feel restless when that odd feeling hits my stomach.

Maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe I don’t belong with these people .

It always comes. It happened to me when I was younger, so I begged my parents to switch schools, and thankfully, they let me.

In high school, I had this group of close friends, but I never felt like anyone's best friend or first choice. The jitters lasted until we all graduated and went our separate ways. I never talked to any of them again after we all went to college. My entire life, I’ve been on the outside looking in, and being alone has been the only thing that has ever made sense to me.

I feel the same way when I think of my family.

I’ve always felt so disconnected from them; none of us ever talked about feelings or anything deep.

Everything was surface level, and I never wanted to tell them when I was having a hard time, which was almost always, especially when I was younger.

I was always called a distraction to my classmates because I could never sit still.

My mind was constantly wandering to a million different things because I couldn't focus, and I was not the best student.

My older brother is the golden child, and I always felt like I was just…around. Steven is perfect. He’s smart, athletic. He got a thousand scholarships and excellent grades because he’s just so fucking perfect.

I, of course, had to be the one to disappoint them.

It took me an entire year to figure out that becoming a doctor was not for me.

I didn't enjoy it at all; not only were the classes hard, but another profession began calling to me throughout my sophomore year.

I was distracted, getting terrible grades, and even though I knew they would disapprove, I switched my major to journalism when I was a sophomore.

I know they’re disappointed in what I’ve chosen to do with my life, I know they’re disappointed in me , but I wouldn't have survived medical school. I could barely survive undergrad in the major I started in. So, I took it upon myself to create my own path separate from what they always wanted.

Do I regret it? Maybe. I’ve found myself reflecting a lot over the past few months about the decisions I’ve made, and looking back, I can’t tell if it was me actually making the choices I did, or if it was my stupid chemically imbalanced brain.

My decision to start seeing my therapist was one that only could have come from hitting rock bottom, which happened when I was in England. Things were dark for a while, and when I finally couldn't find the space to crawl out of it, I realized I needed help.

Which isn't a bad thing, I’ve come to realize. Normally, asking anybody for help with anything, especially concerning my own feelings, makes me want to run the opposite direction. But as soon as I hit rock bottom, it was the only path I thought could have helped, and to my surprise, it did.

I’ve gone my entire life, all twenty-five years of it, without being properly diagnosed with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, or ADHD.

It explains a lot, looking back on my childhood and who I grew up to be.

I can’t believe it took this long to realize something was chemically wrong with my brain, rather than just thinking I was wired this way on purpose .

Obviously, this doesn't excuse all the stupid decisions I’ve made, but it’s helped me make better sense of them. I’ve been working with Dr. Elyse since the beginning of the year, and the new routine and medication she has me on has worked wonders.

It took a lot of work to get to who I am now, but I’m thankful I didn't give up on myself how I wanted to so many times.

Turbulence jerks me around in my seat, and I grab the handle, my nerves taking over. I’m good at flying, but I’m far more nervous about the landing than I am being up here.

I’m going back to Virginia for good. I’m going back to fix what I broke with the people I love.

This is the beginning of my fresh start—if I can even call it that.

When I left, I was determined to climb the ladder at my job and find success.

I thought that would solve all my problems—by proving my parents wrong and showing them I can be successful.

The only thing that really happened in England was the wake up call I got when I realized my life was going nowhere. I left everything good and beautiful back here, breaking the hearts of everyone I loved.

But Dr. Elyse keeps reminding me part of the reason that happened was because I went so long undiagnosed.

It threw me for a loop when she told me I have ADHD, and now that I’m medicated, I feel a lot more in control of my choices.

The voice is still in the back of my mind, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m making conscious decisions, not impulsive ones.

My parents used to call me unmotivated. Lazy was thrown around more times than I can count, but it turns out, that’s the exact opposite of who I am. My brain is just a little different, and Dr. Elyse and I spent a lot of time drilling the word lazy out of my brain.

My decision to come to London was impulsive.

I was doing what I always did—running when things got too overwhelming.

I tend to bolt when people get close to me, and I thought that was just who I was as a person.

I thought I was the daughter destined to watch my family from afar, needing to be away to be able to breathe.

That’s not the case at all. Even though my relationship with my family is still strained, maybe one day, if I choose to reconnect with them, I can explain all of this. That’s not in the cards for me right now, though. Now, I have friendships to mend and actions to take accountability for.

I doubt my parents would be open to a conversation like that anyway.

My family was never one to talk about emotions, and I think the same would go for topics like my mental health.

I didn't realize it at the time, but the way my family went about deeper conversations made me suppress my emotions. I was never encouraged to talk about the things that haunted me in the middle of the night, or that I could never turn my brain off when I tried to sleep. I could never tell them I’m not lazy; in fact, I always felt like I was trying ten times harder than classmates to do the same work.

My parents taught me how to give just enough and never too much in that regard, and I’ve spent the past few months trying to undo years of suppressing my emotions.

Paired with the fact that nobody ever really tried to get to know me, so I never let them, my friendships fizzled out most of the time. I was called flaky by more than one person growing up. The signs were always there, but my parents, teachers, and me specifically didn't read them.

In a way, I get it. I always presented as odd to most people. I laugh at things I shouldn't laugh at, and most of the time, when I leave a room, it's with some weird anecdote that doesn't make sense. I always thought nobody ever really understood my sense of humor, understood me .

Until I met Paige.

Paige, my randomly assigned freshman year roommate.

Paige, the girl who broke down every wall I built up.

I remember that night as if it were yesterday.

Sometimes, I wish I could live in the memories and nostalgia, but part of life is about growth, and I can’t discount what I’ve been working on while in London.

That wouldn't be fair to past me, who wondered if there was something rotten inside her.

Paige had a panic attack the first night we were at school.

We barely knew each other, despite having gone to most of the freshman activities that day together.

I’ve never slept properly—something I once thought was just a quirk, but instead turned out to be because of my brain—and she had a bad nightmare I woke her out of.

She was disoriented and terrified, her hands curled around herself, as if she was afraid someone was going to get her.