'To be great, is to be misunderstood'

First of all please let me send some love to my lost friend, that one cut was a little to deep wasn't it. It killed you, but to you it stopped the pain. Now I know the feeling and I pray you wasn't your own killer. Why do I get to survive when you didn't? You did no wrong, I have. You will always, always be remembered!!

XXX

I am looked at with covered eyes, every eye that looks at me sees what it wants to see, not the truth and because of that I live a life, misunderstood. My little sister doesn't understand the extent of all my labels, and gladly so, I don't tell her. My brother knows of only depression and my Mom, well we have a rcoky relationship. Before meeting my brothers new girlfriend I heard her say, "well it wouldn't hurt her to put a little effort into meeting her". The thing is, it would hurt me and it did. With all my diagnosises comes bad days and good days, and with bad days I can barely be seen by my own mother let alone a new person that I have to greet open heartedly as if another member of my very large, evergrowing family. We are not rude but sometimes, the simplest of things can tip us over the edge spiralling us into a pool of rocks, disguised as water.

In a way it is a blessing to be misunderstood as it means that nobody knows who I truly am and with that comes an internal sense of safety, sense of disguise and normality. But at the same time it can be the most life consuming thing of all. There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whose delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.

To an extent aren't we all misunderstood, words taken out of context, meanings twisted by communicative barriers, emotions disguised and drowned by others. But when your survival is dependant on somebody understanding, where does that leave you? At home with people, that look a little like people you used to know. With friends that know nothing of the stranger walking beside them. Or with yourself and the ghostly demons that wonder your thoughts and scratch at your skin.

You see none of these options sound appealing. But the worst part of it is that you are also afraid of being understood, because of how twisted and confused events of your life are. How do you say the words and peice it together. And the questions, so why did you do this at the time? How did this happen? What happened? Where? When? Its scary how even yourself, when head hunted by so many questions, can be misunderstood by the head and memories you carry. So how can we expect others to understand?

Truth is, you only understand when you have experienced it first hand. And even then, its all very individual. Mental illnesses are nothing like physical ilnlesses, you are not blamed for having irritable bowel syndrome, or some drastic disease or whatever illness that may be puncturing your life. Though such things are devastating and can have devasting effects both physically and mentally, you are not blamed for them. Whereas... we are.

You're depressed...... just smile, be happy

You're anorexic....... eat something

You have body dysmorphia.......stop being stupid, you know what you look like

You self-harm.........just don't pick up the knife, don't buy scissors.

Its not that easy, if only, you understood.

Society would be incredibly silent if people talked with knowledge of their great misunderstanding. If only peopele could realize an ocean is no distance in comparison the distance created by misunderstanding. Thats just it, the irony, how easy it is to misunderstand, and how hard it is to find realisation of such.

Though I will end with this- Ralph Waldo Emerson an American essayist, lecturer, and poet who led the Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century once said; 'To be great, is to be misunderstood'

So please, continue to be great for we will be great for a very long time.

All my love

JulietX