I'm NOT Mental !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I would like to tell you my story.

I am 33 and live in a very small town in Ohio. I was born to a very young mother and spent my very young years being raised by a struggling single mother (Bless her heart). When I was one, my mother married my younger brother's dad. who had "legally" adopted me and I was given his last name. (There were no DNA paternity tests in the early 80's so all he really did was tell a Judge that he was my father and signed my birth certificate.) They divorced when I was 5 and my bother was 2 or 3. (I later had my  name changed to that of my biological father) At the age of 8, my mother married my (first) step-dad. This man had no other children and had a very strict philosophy about raising children. The old sayings, "children should be seen and not heard," and "spare the rod, spoil the child," sum it up. From day one of their marriage, he took over all discipline. From that day, I was raised in an environment I would liken to boot camp. Some examples: When we got up in the morning, we were to make our beds. Nothing else was allowed until we made our beds and they were inspected. YES, INSPECTED. If there were any 'wrinkles' found, we received a beating. We had to ask before entering any room. We had to eat everything on our plates by the time the adults were finished. (this was difficult for me as a picky eater.) If we didn't finish in time, we were beaten and sent to bed. One time, my brother noticed he was falling behind and attempted to finish his mashed potatoes quickly, he threw up on the plate, was still beaten and sent to bed. Once at the age of 13, I was beaten and stood in a corner for several hours for using mouthwash without asking. Once I was beaten with a wooden board so hard that I pissed myself. Looking to my mother to stop this insanity was met with a stony, jaded, frightened gaze. She could not stand up to him. I think she was just as frightened as we were. I could not understand how all of this "discipline" was appropriate. I could not grasp why anyone would treat children this way. I am still in disbelief as the memories flood back and my eyes fill with tears...

My adolescence was no easier. I was not allowed to have friends stay the night. Not that anyone would be interested anyway since 9:30 bedtime meant lights out and not a peep or else. I was only sparingly allowed to stay at a friends. I was only allowed 1 hour a day on the phone. At 13 I was not allowed off the small town city block where we lived, so even riding my bike around and around was not much of an escape. 

School was no escape either. Being very shy and timid, I was bullied relentlessly. It was very easy to make me cry, which satisfied my taunters to no end. Never had more than one friend at a time. When I did make a friend, we'd be close for a while, then she would grow tired of my sensitivity and join the bullies or get her jollies by embarrassing me in one way or another. Never had a boyfriend or even anyone interested. I struggled to make average and slightly below average grades due to becoming easily overwhelmed. Having "bad grades" made me even more of a target at home. I was repeatedly called 'worthless' 'an embarrassment' and 'lazy'. I had no where to turn, no one to confide in. 

Needless to say, I was beaten down and made to feel like I was unworthy of love from a very young age. Looking back, knowing what I know now, I cannot help but mourn for my child self. All that pain. It is still there like a raw nerve. But mostly, I mourn for the child that I could have been if only I had been raised by parents that knew or even vaguely understood what HSP means. I mourn for the confident, glowing and creative person I could have grown to be. 

My mother had grown weary of my frequent crying fits and bouts of depression and took me to a doctor who promptly put me on Paxil, an SSRI, at the age of 16. At first, this seemed to have a good effect. I was less moody, got better grades and seemed generally happier. This did not last long. 3 years after beginning treatment, it seemed that I was reverting back to my old self. Depression, crying, suicidal, and a new symptom. Paranoia. So, back to the doctor I went and he increased my dosage. Thus my medication fiasco began its rapid snowballing.

After this first increase, things seemed ok for a few months. I was in a toxic relationship with a boy who was the first to ever pay attention to me. As toxic as it was, I didn't want to leave. I had moved in with him and we were living in his mother's basement. As creepy as that sounds, it was sweet freedom for me. I had escaped the prison that was my childhood home. I didn't want to give up this freedom. Even after realizing, he was a cheating alcoholic before we were even 21. Chaos ensued and before I knew it, I was pregnant, dumped and living back at home. In hell.

During the pregnancy, I was advised to suspend my medication. I had no adverse withdraw symptoms, and felt quite good at that point. After giving birth to my beautiful baby girl, I got to see her for 30 seconds and I was ordered to sign some documents through a drug haze, post c-section, before they removed her from me for an entire week. She had been born with a hole in her heart and had to go to a bigger hospital equipped with the appropriate pediatric cardiologist, while I was still stuck in the local hospital. I didn't even get to hold her. I didn't get to bond. I had wanted to breastfeed but she was gone. After a week without my baby, I began to get hysterical. Even though they said she was fine and the hole in her heart should heal within a year, they would not send her back. We had to fight tooth and nail and threaten the hospital with legal action just to get my baby back. Finally, she was in my arms. And all I could do was mourn the fact that, someone else had given her her first meal. Through a bottle. I never got to breastfeed, she was used to a bottle and I had mostly dried up. Someone else had burped her, held her, picked her up when she cried. Our bond had been stolen from us. 

After all of the trauma of the birth, I was advised by the doctor that I should return to my Paxil regiment. So I did. I did the best I could as a young mother. Still prone to crying fits and angry outbursts. Once I had misplaced a shopping list and proceeded to literally tear apart my apartment looking for it. Garbage cans overturned, drawers emptied, everything. That is one of my triggers, not being able to find something I just had in my hand minutes ago. So, when these outbursts became more frequent, the doctor, of course, increased my dosage. I had mistakenly gave the doctors permission to use me as a lab rat. They knew the increases were not working. The increases had become so dramatic that by the end of the 10 years, (age 26) I was taking DOUBLE the dose of what was recommended for an adult. At the end of that 10 years, I was a disaster. My behavior was OUT OF CONTROL! I was neglecting my parental duties, I was paranoid, suicidal, jealous, promiscuous, drinking and smoking weed to escape, I was having seizures and night terrors, panic attacks, rage outbursts, and hated everything and everyone including and most of all, myself. I wanted to die. It was when I had a brief moment of clarity, that I realized why this was happening. I quit Paxil. Cold turkey. (I do not recommend this, it is dangerous.) Yet, for me, it was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. If I hadn't quit when I did, I would be sitting here typing this with the bony fingers of a dead woman. I went through 2 weeks of pure hell. The withdraw of the drug was absolute hell. But all the while, I KNEW, I needed this. 

It has been six years since I removed that horrible substance from my life and I can say that, its possible I never even needed it to begin with. Looking back I realize that my HS had been mistakenly (perhaps purposely) misdiagnosed as a mental disorder. The drug acted as nothing more than a band-aid for those in my life that had to "deal with me." I feel that perhaps my story is not all that unique, many HSPs born to/ raised by non HSP parents possibly receive the same "mentally ill" label. Especially in circumstances where the parent is abusive and/or ignorant of this genetic trait. 

 I am profoundly grateful to have a definitive answer as to why I am the way I am. And I am profoundly grateful that I can share with you, my story. After 33 years of being told that there was something wrong with me that needed correcting, I FINALLY have an excuse to just be me. No shame. I feel a great sense of relief just being able to tell my story, and hope that it touches someone and resonates. I am a Highly Sensitive Person. ~Reverendt Raven Behr

   Being a highly sensitive person is NOT a mental illness. It is a genetic trait. Until a few days ago, I thought (and everyone who ever knew me, ever) that I was a mental case. It turns out, 15 - 20% of the global population have this trait. I, and 19 other people out of 100, are what is being called, Highly Sensitive people, or HSP. Not only is this a genetic trait in humans, it is an innate trait found throughout the animal kingdom. 

   The woman who literally, wrote the book explaining this trait is a Psychologist Named Dr. Elaine Aron. If you'd like to read more about her, or are interested in her books, visit her website. 

Here are some excerpts from the sight:

• It is innate. In fact, biologists have found it to be in most or all animals, from fruit flies and fish to dogs, cats, horses, and primates. This trait reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting. The brains of highly sensitive persons (HSPs) actually work a little differently than others'.

• You are more aware than others of subtleties. This is mainly because your brain processes information and reflects on it more deeply. So even if you wear glasses, for example, you see more than others by noticing more.

• You are also more easily overwhelmed. If you notice everything, you are naturally going to be overstimulated when things are too intense, complex, chaotic, or novel for a long time.

• This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood. Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called "shy." But shyness is learned, not innate. In fact, 30% of HSPs are extraverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion. It has also been called inhibitedness, fearfulness, or neuroticism. Some HSPs behave in these ways, but it is not innate to do so and not the basic trait.

• Sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told "don't be so sensitive" so that they feel abnormal.

If you believe you are, or may be a Highly Sensitive person, there is a self test you can take that was developed by Dr. Aron herself, after hundreds of studies and interviews. You can find it here.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, if you were interested enough to read this far, you may be thinking these things could be describing you. Welcome to the club! I have experienced high sensitivity all my life but only recently became educated about it. When I read Dr. Aron's information, took that test and watched A LOT of you tube videos about it, everything just clicked for me. Not only realizing why I am sensitive to criticism, get deeply hurt feelings at even the slightest jab in my direction, hide myself away in isolation, get headaches under sustained artificial lighting, weep over joyous things, I am hyper-aware of subtleties in my environment and can easily pick up on how others around me are feeling. I am easily frazzled and get annoyed when someone asks me to do too much at once. I get over-stimulated in crowds and just want to retreat to be alone. All of these things are true and yet, my realizations go even deeper than that. It turns out that an HSP as a child can be deeply scared by things like, strict or harsh punishments, trauma, bullies and abuse. These things will tend to manifest in HSP adults as, depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and in severe cases, PTSD. So, as I continue on my journey of learning what it means to be an HSP, I continue to have multiple "Aha" moments and connect with other HSPs like me. If you would like some links to help you find other HSPs to connect with, leave a comment and we can take it from there! Thank you for reading my story and I hope that it resonates and inspires other HSPs to come out of the proverbial closet!

Peace and happiness!

~Rev. Raven Behr