You don't know
A TALE OF LIVING WITH BOTH A PHYSICAL DISABILITY AND MENTAL ILLNESS
By Carson Stanton
(Ricardo Gomez Angel / Unsplash)
Most of the time, the first — or last — thing people notice about me is my wheelchair. People don’t even consider the complex layers of my brain; because my wheelchair is already a bright yellow diamond warning sign reading proceed with caution “broken” person straight ahead. But if you really took the time to look, you’d see a woman in her early twenties or you might think I look younger. You’d see dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, a faded blue streak running through my hair. And if you took the time to talk to me, you might learn that, yes, my brain is broken but not in the way you think. Some days my brain is lost, swimming in a foggy sea of depression. A slimy swamp monster slithers around all day long, hissing “it would be easier if you didn’t exist.”
But sadly people don’t see this. They just see my three hundred and eighty-five pound seat, with six wheels, two arms, and a blue base. I call her Nessie. Because of my Cerebral Palsy or CP, I spend every day in this chair, so I think she deserves a name.
What they don’t see or take the time to see is the anxiety that courses through my body on a constant basis. The way my body temperature rises like a werewolf on a full moon when my emotions run high or are overwhelmed. When I’m in a large crowd throbbing along to music at a concert, worried about people standing up and blocking my view of the cute green bean of a boy strumming his guitar up on stage. “You’re a burden, it’s not their fault that you have to stay seated. People shouldn’t have to lessen their experiences just to accommodate you. My mind is at war trying to vanquish these intrusive unwanted thoughts, every hour of every day.
My brain is painfully busy, always on the move, like a ticking clock. Most people assume there’s something wrong with my legs. I can’t walk, so yes, the logical jump to make is that the problem is with my legs. In actuality, CP yet again roots back to the miswiring of my brain. CP is caused by a blank space in my brain where motor signals get lost in translation somewhere along neuropathways.
My CP, anxiety, and depression feed off each other, like shadows feeding off light, sea creatures lurking at the bottom of the swamp. The light exists on its own, but when it encounters the darkness shadows are born. My words are vomit today spewed in all directions across the page, like the stomach acid that burns as it crawls up my throat at the thought of being and speaking around strangers. I worry when a stranger stares too long at my contracted right hand which hangs limply over one of Nessie’s armrests. I worry when my words are trapped in my throat and my words trip over one another. I write because it is the key to freeing my trapped words. I worry that I won’t finish this in time. All the pressure I put on the words I write, the grades I get, the friends I make, build slowly like syrup, then faster like a hockey puck slides down an ice rink. Eventually, I crack from the pressure. I crack open like an odd strike of lightning on a clear humid summer night. My depression lurks in the spot where the lightning strikes the dewy grass.
Instead of letting my body give in to the deadly delicious warmth, I pop my head above the muddy swamp water, filling my lungs with fresh clean air. I’m learning to take things one breath at a time, and that’s okay as long as I keep breathing.
Reframing my thinking is adding streetlamps to the road ahead. “You’re a burden” becomes “you’re worth the extra time.” By talking honestly with all of my layers exposed one day, “you don’t know” can become “I know and it’s okay.” Maybe my warning sign can transform into directions on how to keep going.
This piece was written and shared during the IDONTMIND Writing Workshop. Learn more about our free, nine-week course and be the first to know about the next workshop here. Visit Mental Health Connecticut’s YouTube channel for a video version of Carson’s story.
Carson is a writer living in Tampa Florida. She is currently studying for her B.A in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from the University of South Florida. Her goal with the words she crafts is to share her story and bring positivity and optimism to the lives of others. She’s a mental health and disability advocate. She hopes her writing will help start conversations and break stigmas.
