Essay 1 Draft

Creative Nonfiction – Essay 1 Draft                                                               Marjorie Papa

Labels

            I am not sure I know of one person who likes to be labeled.  There are some good labels: mother, father, wife, husband, sister, brother, friend and this list can go on.  However, those are more like “titles” to me.  Perhaps some might consider them labels, but they are the “good kind.”  What I am referring to are labels that we may receive from other people’s point of view.  Unfortunately, they can define us.  We may begin to believe those labels or we may just be discouraged at being viewed this way.  I call the latter being put “in a box.” This means that when we act a certain way, it’s as if it is already expected and thus commented on.  It can seem to be a type of ridicule.  Or we may have been a certain way in the past and others cannot seem to let that go.  They continuously speak of those traits or aspects out loud and mostly in front of other people.  It’s as if they cannot move forward or away from that point of view, when the person being spoken about has moved forward or is at least trying to.  Honestly, I feel it is a shame and is completely unfair, especially being that it is mostly done in the presence of said person.  Allow me to illustrate my point using the story of a specific female who has had this happen for the majority of her life.  Of course I asked her permission to use her life stories in my writing.  After much thought and deliberation, she reluctantly agreed. 

            I can actually go back to her childhood as a first example.  She was always a sensitive person, yet feisty on the outside.  She also showed tendencies of being a perfectionist.  Even as a child, she had inner anxiety.  Many viewed this as controlling and neurotic.  This was even said in front of her.  What no one was aware of was a specific incident that occurred to make her even more this way.  When she was a young girl in first grade, the second grade teacher made her tell the class that she was ugly.  Can you imagine what that made her feel like?  To quietly carry that inside for years can be quite damaging, as well as defining.  So she felt that the only way to deal with this was to strengthen those qualities that people remarked on so often.  This was one of her first times being labeled: “bossy;” “bitch;” “perfectionist.”  Still, she kept her chin up throughout all of this to not let anyone know how she really hurt from that.

            Let me skip to her high school years.  This was a time of rebellion for her.  She often skipped school and classes and even began dabbling in alcohol and drugs.  Unknowingly, she still carried the hurts from her past.  This might have been the cause of her acting out but no one, not even she, can be sure.  By her teachers, she received the label as “lost cause.”  Many gave up on her, even though she was a bright, intelligent student.  Since she was considered this anyway, she decided to continue in that role.  She felt that if she already was looked upon that way, then she might as well act that way.  To many adults, she was labeled “the black sheep.”  This meant that she was not like others, especially her siblings.  She was definitely different.  I think this could be considered unique.  However, most people felt it was just a deficiency in her genetic make-up.  She did harbor secrets from the past that negatively affected her in an enormous way.  It was actually life-changing and her behavior, even as an adolescent, could be regarded as life-threatening.  I do not have her permission to discuss those secrets, as they are too painful to her and some are still ongoing to this day. 

            So she continued on her experimental path.  This led to even more destructive behavior.  It was at this point in her life that she was deep into her drug use.  Therefore, she was labeled “junkie.”  Although she did well academically in her college years, this was often overlooked due to her habits and social life.  Again, she felt that she may as well conform to the label if others saw her in that light anyway.  What they did not realize was her incredible hurt and emotional pain.  The older a person gets, the more adept they are at realizing their emotions.  She could put her own label on what she was feeling.  She was anxious and depressed.  However, she felt she could not express this when no one seemed to look at her in a positive light.

            She changed her social life and came out of her world of drug use.  Although this was a great thing, she still was not content in her life.  She was very much the same as she was in her childhood with many of her characteristics and traits.  For example, she was still a perfectionist.  She was still neurotic.  She was still anxious.  Although this next label may have a ring of truth to it, it was still very hurtful.  She was called “obsessive compulsive.”  Even if there was truth to that, it is not something to be taken lightly and certainly not discussed in a room full of people.  It is an actual struggle.  She would wash her hands so many times they would be raw.  Others would watch her and actually make comments.  She had to do almost everything in “evens.”  This means that when she ate something, she would need two bites, or two pieces of something.  It could not be an odd number.  Even though others did not think they were being insulting to her and would tease her, it was very hurtful to her.  It was something she did not have control over, although these repetitive actions made her feel as if she were in control.

            During this time, she was still called “neurotic,” “control freak,” “anxiety ridden.”  She took this all in stride and did not even allow a glimmer of her true feelings to show.  She even tried to laugh and occasionally join in with the comments.  It was her way of trying to appear as if it did not bother her and she could brush it off.  Inside, it made her feel very ashamed.  She even felt angry.  However, she had her own negative outlets in dealing with this pain.  Again, I am not at liberty to talk about these specific details.  It was her only objection to me writing so personally about her.  Let’s just say her outlets could be what I mentioned before as life-threatening.

            In her 20’s, people still continued to label.  They watched her and thought it was comical to draw attention to her tendencies.  She was seen to some as a “lost cause.”  Although this may not have been said in a malicious way, it nonetheless caused her emotional agony.  This was when she changed her tactics.  She used her neurotic tendencies to make others laugh.  She had always had a knack for making people laugh, but this changed into a façade to keep others at a distance.  She did not want to have more pain inflicted on her due to their thoughtlessness.  So why not make a joke out of herself before anyone else could? She was quite proficient at it.  She could even laugh at her own self at times.  She gave herself a label: “quirky.”  This seemed more harmless than any of the others labels she had others bestow upon her.  It was a natural way for her to deflect.

            Somewhere along these lines, she began to believe the labels she had been given all her life.  She started to view herself as a “freak of nature.”  Yes it was a healthy and positive and “normal” way of life to be different.  That is what makes life interesting.  However, she felt as if there was no hope for her.  She would always be on the outside looking in at the “normal” people.  Here is when her detrimental channels became the worst.  Others now looked at her as a shame.  Not that she was someone to be ashamed of, but more as a waste of talent or life.  They viewed her with fear.  Fear for her life.  Fear of her death.  What they should have realized was the hand they played in her low self-esteem.  They may view her as “worth it.”  And many didn’t understand her.  However, inside she did not feel worth it.  She felt ashamed and unworthy of love.

            Is it really fair to blame others though?  Yes, they played a part and could be unconsciously cruel and thoughtless.  But what matters is what a person does with the hand they have been dealt.  They can seek help to create healthy boundaries and healthy outlets for their emotions and pain.  It is certainly easier said than done, especially having to unravel years of inner and outer abuse.  But it is possible.

            This brings me to illustrate my final label of her.  She still struggles on a daily basis.  However, she had enough strength to seek help.  She even went on medication to assist her.  Yet it takes time.  She became angry and felt she was done an injustice.  She still put on her façade that nothing bothered her.  Her moods went from long periods of high, seemingly happy emotions to low self-worth that seemed to paralyze her and interrupt her daily life.  She was anxious…and very depressed.  She decided to change her psychiatrist for another.  This one prescribed additional medication for her.  However, this is when she was given her hardest label yet: “bipolar.”  It is not an overly uncommon mental disorder.  But can you imagine how that must make her feel?  It’s as if she is being given all her labels all over again.  Except this time, there is a medical reason.  And others seemed to go “ah now we see why.”  Why what?  Why a person is a certain way?  How can they judge another?  Shouldn’t they look within first?  Questions that remain to be unanswered.  Yet they are in the hands of the beholder.  It is our choice what we do with what is given to us in life.

            If you are wondering about this status of this female I can tell you how she is doing:  she is living life one day at a time.  She is learning to love and be loved and to forgive and be forgiven.  I know this intimate information firsthand because the essay is about me.  I am the one who has suffered from these labels…and at the hands of myself.  Shame on me for allowing others to affect me to such degrees.  Actually we all are affected.  I still work on my issues every day.  And I take my medication faithfully until the day that I hope comes when I no longer need them.  I am learning to accept myself.  That is the most important thing we can do in our lives.  When we accept ourselves, we can accept others; we can accept their flaws as well as our own.

 I had a difficult time deciding to write this essay on myself.  I could have easily written something about people who are very close to me and have their own whirlwind stories of life.   But then I realized I was being a coward.  I was afraid to look within myself.  I asked myself whether a reader had any right to know about my private thoughts and personal life.  Yes, it’s true that I did hold back some information.  But that is insight I need to keep only to me at this point.  I need to be clear that I do not feel sorry for myself.  At least I don’t any longer.  It is on me to decide how to be healthy in my mind, body, and spirit no matter what anyone says or does or thinks.  I write this to you with the knowledge that many can relate to this.  It still gives me butterflies to realize this will be shared with others, and possibly read out loud.  This is when being bipolar has its one perk:  a prescription for Xanax.