The Valleys

They were easily the hardest three years of my life. Dozens of panic attacks. Hundreds of cuts. Countless negative thoughts. I had fallen into a pit of depression and anxiety, and I struggled on a daily basis to pull myself out of the quagmire of my own mind. However, I stand here before you today. Stronger than I’ve ever been, looking forward to a bright future filled with aspirations and dreams I couldn’t have even imagined two years ago. My name is Katie Twyman, and I’d like to share my story with you.

I’d like to be able to say that as a kid, I was relatively normal. But that would be lying, and seeing as this is a church event, I’ll tell you guys the truth. I was a little… unique. I specifically remember running around at recess in third grade, explaining to my dear friend Harry Potter how football was sort of like Quidditch, but totally different all at the same time. I did well academically, already realizing my passion for writing at nine years old. I was a teacher’s pet in school, and I only had two neighborhood friends. I wasn’t even friends with the rejects, to be honest. But that didn’t matter to me. I was happy, I was doing my own thing, and at the time, that’s all that was important.
Sixth grade was when I finally decided to break the mold I’d been placed in by all of the kids in my class. Surprisingly enough, it worked. For the first time ever, I gained a few close friends at school. However, with other people comes other people’s problems, and that wasn’t something I was quite ready for. Seventh grade was a bit of a struggle, in which I began to learn what rebellion was. I threw myself into situations that I normally would have avoided, and the classic teacher’s pet found herself getting into trouble for the first time ever. But overall, I was still happy, so what did the rebellion matter?
It wasn’t until eighth grade that I introduced myself to the world that would later devour me. In the eyes of all around me, I appeared to be a relatively typical teenager. For the first time in my life, I had a large group of friends at school, and I was writing at least two poems a day. However, attention, I found, is the greatest gateway drug of all. I remember my newfound best friend confessing the endless stories behind the scars and gashes lacing up and down her ankles. The follower in me leeched onto the concept of self-injury faster than I can even explain, and within months, I was locking myself in my room, hissing insults violently at myself and cursing my very existence, rapidly extinguishing any self-confidence I held before.

At the time, I wasn’t aware that I was inviting a monster into my head. It wasn’t long, though, before codependency carefully wrapped its fingers around me. Because I had already helped my mother deal with addiction numerous times in the past year, I thought I was somehow uniquely qualified to help my friends with their struggles in the same way. Within no time, I found myself needing to help those around me. With such defeated self-esteem, my ability to advise others was the only thing I found myself capable of. I found that my desperation to help others was the one thing that really gave me any sense of self-worth; I found that if I was caught up in everyone else’s troubles, I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with my own. But not even the strongest of people should hold the pressures and turmoil that I loaded onto my very own back. I subjected myself to the issues of anyone who asked, overburdening myself to the point of snapping. In the long run, the tedious and dangerous act of throwing myself so recklessly into bailing out my friends only intensified my need to physically self-medicate.

Within six months, cutting was a frequent getaway. I’d leave school during lunch at least once a month, sprinting the few blocks home so I’d have time to feed my indescribable desire for self-mutilation while no one else was around. Dull mornings led to nearly manic afternoons and ended in extreme depression each and every night. The pain I felt, however, was something I relished. Something I searched for around every turn, the desire to suffer never waning.
The summer of 2007, I had unbelievably high paranoia and anxiety, and I quickly became unable to even function normally. But Sophomore year brought the biggest trials of my life. Suicidal thoughts were dangerously frequent, though contained to my own head. I had an endless amount of utensils to feed my building addiction. I was participating in massive amounts of self-injury, usually reaching nineteen cuts within thirty minutes. I spent most of my time reading, even my favorite things sounding unappealing and dissatisfying.

I was completely helpless. I’d fallen victim to myself, and I was walking down a dead-end path — the one I had very carefully chosen. There was never a point when I didn’t know that this was my OWN doing, but that failed to stop me. It was a split personality of sorts, half of me verbally begging my mother to hospitalize me, and the other half absolutely refusing to change. I was at war against myself, and something needed to give.

Soon enough, individual therapy led to dialectical behavioral therapy, or DBT, a group therapy program that put me with other girls who were in a similar situation to my own. But I feared the skills they taught us, terrified that in losing my warped mentality, I would lose myself. Things somehow managed to worsen. November 3rd, 2007 was my brother’s 14th birthday. We went out to dinner at a local restaurant, and I literally crowded myself into the corner of the booth and broke down. The next day, I was hiding out in my room, playing Guitar Hero, when my mom came up the stairs, walking across my room until she stood only a few feet away from me. “Katie,” she said, “This is an intervention. Pack your things — we’re going to the hospital right now.” After a day of looking for an inpatient program with room for me, I ended up at Abbott. I began the intense process of rehabilitating and reconstructing myself. One month later, I was discharged, daring to find a glimmer of hope in the world around me, and more importantly, in myself. I was anxious for a new beginning.
After another year and an indescribable amount of hard work, I graduated from DBT, self-injury free for almost two months. Ready, at last, to say goodbye. Goodbye to the hell I put myself through. Goodbye to the torture one can only do to herself. This was, really, the first physically manifested proof of how far I’d come. I still struggled regularly with continuing to fight against the endless lures of cutting, and nights were still hard for me to get through at times. But I was ready at last to stand on my own two feet.
That was a year and a half ago, and since then, I’ve come further than I ever dared to think I could. I’m passionate about the things I do I may not have been able to see it then, but I can recognize now that all of that hard work – all of the therapy and skill-building and reflection – would have been for nothing if I didn’t have my Lord to fall back on. Through it all, God was there for me.
I’ve always had an issue with that “Footprints” story we’ve all heard so many times. I don’t believe that God picked me up and carried me through those challenges and trials in my life. Instead, I feel that He reached his arm around me and helped me to walk with him right at my side. And this, I believe, has made all of the difference. The Lord taught me to walk on my own two feet while never letting me forget that He is always there to catch me and pick me back up. With God’s arm around me, I’ve become healthy and self-sufficient. I am able to care for others without sacrificing myself and my own values in the process.
It would be unrealistic of me to say I will never struggle with depression again. It happens, and I know that lightning CAN, in fact, strike the same place twice. I never said goodbye to the suffering; I said goodbye to letting it win. The difference is that this time I know to fight back, and I will never allow myself to forget that I have a friend in Jesus Christ, who walks with me every step of the way. I know that the only thing standing in the way of my tremendous capabilities is myself. And I know that with my family, my friends, and my God guiding me, I can make all of my most ridiculous dreams come true.
I left DBT ready to conquer whatever keeps me from my dreams — no matter how irrational my dreams may be. Today, I finally have some form of firm grounding . My schoolwork is improving; my confidence no longer wavers as heavily; and I have an idea of who I am, and where I’m going. I am proud of the person I’ve become; more proud than I have ever been. I’ve devoted myself to writing, spending hours a week writing articles and fiction. Harry Potter continues to be one of my obsessions, though this time – I promise – I’m not talking to him in public. At least…not often. I’m jam-packed with skills, and I can stick up for myself if need be. I am the closest to “average” I’ve ever been, and I am so happy to say that.

Finally, I can say confidently that I’m my own person. I am Katie Twyman, a Christian, writer, student, sister, daughter, and friend.