The Briar in the Brain

This is an essay I wrote for my Advanced Writing course and read aloud today.
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The Briar in the Brain

Once upon a time, a princess known as the beautiful Briar Rose was born to a king and a queen. At her birth ceremony, an evil fairy cursed the princess so that she would prick her finger on a spinning wheel and die. The third good fairy partially reversed the curse so that the princess would not die, but merely fall asleep once that day came. With the curse’s fulfillment, the three good fairies made all the castle’s people fall asleep as well, and a hedge of thorns grew to block the castle and hinder anyone from getting to the princess. One day a prince was traveling through the land. An old man told him the belief that there was a castle behind the thorn hedge, with a beautiful princess asleep inside. Though he was warned that many other princes had tried to penetrate the hedge and had died in the thorns, he went forth, and when he came to the thorn hedge, it turned into flowers. He went into the castle, woke the princess, and the curse was lifted. They lived happily ever after.

Once upon another time, Rapunzel was kept in a tower by an evil witch. One day, the king’s son happened to be riding nearby and heard Rapunzel singing. Stricken by her voice, he hid and observed the witch come to the tower and call for Rapunzel to let down her hair. Once he discovered the way to getting into the tower, he ascended her hair once the witch was gone. When the witch discovered this, she cut off Rapunzel’s hair and banished her to the desert. Using the severed locks, the witch lured the prince into the tower. Dismayed that his beloved was gone, he flung himself from the tower and the thorn patch below pierced his eyes. After wandering blind for many years, he heard Rapunzel singing and was drawn to her voice. Overcome with joy in finding her prince again, she wept, and two of her tears wetted his eyes and healed them. They lived happily ever after.

Once upon a third and quite different time, the Apostle Paul was tormented by a thorn sent by God to keep him from becoming conceited, as he was enjoying great success in preaching the gospel and communicating with God. Though he pleaded with God for it to be removed, God replied, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness.” Thus, Paul was deeply comforted in this, for he knew that in all his faults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities, though he was weak, God was strong. And he lived happily ever after.

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“Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.” This quote hangs above the arched entrance into Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth. As I pass from the normal world into this enchanted park full of rides, characters come to life, different lands and kingdoms, and the beautiful castle that sits at its heart, I feel a sense of elation and joy. The mouse ears perched on my head appear to perk up, and all five of my senses kick into overdrive, taking in the tinkling music, the smell of flowers, the sight of horse drawn carriages, the taste of Dole Whips, and the feel of the rush as I whirl through Matterhorn Mountain. It is truly a magical place.

I am now lying on a hard bench, taking in the blue sky, hearing the laughter of people, seeing a whirl of color as a balloon passes by, and I am barely breathing. My heart is pounding, my hands and arms are numb, my brain is screaming, and my breath is shallow and painful. I am having a panic attack, one of dozens upon dozens I’ve suffered since I was a little girl. I am being held by my best friends, soothed and whispered to, but all I hear is my own body blaring that I am close to death and will not be okay. I am in a living nightmare within the The Happiest Place on Earth.

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Here you leave freedom and enter the world of sterile rooms, blinding white lights, and whirring machines that scare the hell out of you. I am lying on a soft cot, annoyed by the rustling white paper beneath me as the doctor attaches wire after wire to my forehead. He shines a strobe light in my eyes and looks at a monitor, tracking my brain waves, nodding to himself. He asks me to breathe deeply, checking my oxygen and brain response. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Long. Panic grips my heart. Breathe in. Shudder. Breathe out. Grab the table with white knuckles. Within seconds, I am having a severe panic attack. I pass out.

I awake about thirty minutes later to a dark room, the spindly wires brushing my eyebrows, and a square of light from where the door is ajar. I  hear two voices, one belonging to my mom and the other to the doctor. He tells her that it was convenient that I had passed out since he had been hoping to collect data while I was asleep. He also tells her I am normal. Completely normal. Nothing is wrong, and he advises her for me to see someone about my panic attacks, someone called a “shrink.”

I am furious and exhausted. Once in the parking lot, I burst into tears and began to scream out my anger. This is not the first doctor we have seen, and this is not the first procedure I have experienced. I had gotten my hair, blood, excrement, urine, and toxicity levels tested. I had now had an EEG scan, and an MRI scan on top of that, where dye had been injected into my veins and I was trapped in a terrifying, roaring machine for over an hour.

My anger rages. My hopelessness is amplified.

Silently, the thorn drives deeper into my mind, striking my consciousness and beginning the flow of poison into my soul.

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I am soaring through the air on an elephant, giggling with glee and gazing out on the whirling carousel, the Storybook Land boats, the people gathering to board Peter Pan’s ride. I am in heaven. Slowly, my Dumbo begins to descend until a full stop is reached, and I exit the ride, quietly running my hand over the inanimate elephant, the smooth gray paint reassuring me. I push my way through the gate and start my journey from Fantasyland to Frontierland, where I hope to next climb aboard Thunder Mountain Railroad and then travel to New Orleans Square to venture through The Haunted Mansion. I pass the Rivers of America, where the Mark Twain riverboat slowly sails past, filled to the brim with passengers who smile and wave at the crowds making their way around on foot. I grin and wave back, taking in the colorful attire of the ship’s passengers, the assorted Mickey and Minnie ears, the wide-eyed eyes of the children who gaze out at this little corner of the world. How many of their dreams had yet to come true? I let my eyes drift back to the path in front of me, and I consider this. So many dreams wandering around in the heads of every person within the parameters of this park, all encompassed in the dream of a man since passed, who now stands as a statue holding the hand of Mickey Mouse before the castle. I smile sadly, and feel the thorn gently remind me that my dreams would forever be tainted. Forever blackened. Burned around the edges and laid to rest in a grave. I skip Haunted Mansion.

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When Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on that spindle, did she feel pain before she fell asleep? When Rapunzel’s prince was blinded by those thorns, did he cry out in agony? When Paul was tortured by his thorn, did he rip it out of skin or pray that God would rip it out of his mind? Their physical pain must have been so real, maybe even easily remedied. A thorn in the finger requires a little bit of tugging, antiseptic, and a kiss and Band-Aid. A thorn across the eye requires some surgery, maybe a new eye, and sight may be restored. But what was the thorn to the Apostle Paul? As said in 2 Corinthians 12, it was a “messenger of Satan.” It is believed that when man fell into sin, sin manifested itself not only as grievous thoughts and actions, but also as sickness and death. Humanity contracts diseases, decay, and death because of this plunge from purity to paganism.

A discussion that has arisen as of late is that of mental illness. An array of seemingly invisible ailments, these illnesses are being debated, dissected, and are demanding attention as they dramatically affect millions of people all around the globe. A mental illness that is constantly brought to the attention of doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists is depression. There are more than 3 million cases of depression in the US a year, and it is a blurry illness to diagnose at times. Many individuals are depressed when a job, loved one, or other significant aspect of their lives is lost. Seasonal depression comes to the surface around wintertime. Environmental depression occurs as stresses and sorrows begin to build up around a person. But real, actual diagnosed depression? This is where things get ugly.

I suffer from chronic major depressive disorder, as well as anxiety disorder and minor panic disorder. As my brain developed, my emotions were able to be channeled from being “scared” as a child and having panic attacks to full depression: constant exhaustion, the loss of interest in things I loved, hiding away from my family and friends, giving away my possessions, and beginning to entertain the idea of killing myself. My brain froze over as the coldness crept into my soul, and I began to grow a deep-seated hatred of myself and those around me. That is truly when my story began, wrapped up in the desolate winter raging in my core. Little did I know that it marked the unfurling of one of the most painful and beautiful tales.

My own once upon a time.

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Depression appears and affects individuals in distinct forms. It is proven that depressed brains look different. According to a review of research published in June 2015 in the American Journal of Psychiatry, imaging studies of the brain can show some of the structures and brain circuits that work differently when a person is depressed. Depression is a mental illness that is characterized by the following symptoms:  a persistent sad, anxious or "empty" mood, sleeping too much or too little, disrupted sleep, reduced appetite and weight loss or vice versa, loss of pleasure and interest in activities once enjoyed, restlessness and irritability, persistent physical symptoms that do not respond to treatment (such as chronic pain or digestive disorders), difficulty concentrating and remembering, feeling guilty, hopeless or worthless, and thoughts of suicide or death.

Despite depression being an “invisible” illness, it does affect the body just like any physical illness. Like a thorn in the flesh, depression is a thorn in the mind. It is a cruel biting sensation that slices between marrow and mind, both physical and mental. Chronic major depression disorder is most often caused by the lack of serotonin in the brain; the neurotransmitters are not effectively communicating with one another and producing the right amounts of chemicals. Just as a diabetic individual’s body does not produce enough insulin, a depressed person's brain does not produce enough serotonin. And just like how diabetes is a complex and varying illness, depression is perhaps even more complex and varied.

The myths surrounding mental illness, particularly depression, are what make it so difficult for those suffering to come forth and find help. These fabricated “truths” include that depression is not a real medical problem, depression can be “snapped out of” through “positive thinking,” depression is just deeper form of sadness, and antidepressants alter a person’s personality for the worse.

These are utterly false.

The core of the truth concerning depression is that it is a real and serious condition. It is no different than diabetes or heart disease in its ability to impact someone’s life. It can have both emotional and physical symptoms and make life very difficult for those who have it. The medical community has acknowledged the seriousness of depression and recognizes it as a disease. While no one is completely certain what causes depression, we know that genetic and biological factors play a significant role in development of this disease.

Depression is not a myth, a legend, or a once upon a time. It is a stark reality that shatters and torments, just like a thorn in the flesh or the eye. But it isn’t always so bleak. For in truth, there is beauty in the bloom at the end of the thorn-studded stem.

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There is a briar in my brain. Perhaps this means my mind is a budding rose, waiting for the little bits of sunshine that break through the darkness to bring it life. My body is a garden, the roots intersecting and weaving beneath the soil of my skin, flowing with the lifeblood of hope. And despite its gnarled, angry appearance, tiny blooms begin to grow beside the thorn, their gentle color soothing the tender lobes.

There are golden days and silver nights. There are genuine smiles and tear-soaked pillows. There are peaceful mornings and tangled sheets. There are sunshine-peaked mountains and shadow-filled valleys.

But at the center of it all, my heart beats with a mantra of will, a rhythm that the garden pulsates and thrives to.

I will be okay.

I will see another day.

I will will myself to live.

I will take but I will also give.

I will be myself despite my flaws.

I will. I will. I will.

I will be okay.

I am alive.