I'm in the process of working on a Youtube project where I share my mental health struggles and what it's like for me living with complex trauma and chronic dissociation. I love creating and editing videos for my channel, and mental illness awareness is a huge passion of mine. I aim to proactively work against the stigmatization and romanticization of dissociative disorders by giving a stark reality of the struggles it creates in the lives of suffers, and also connect with other survivors in hopes of learning from people with similar experience, and sharing what I've learned in my own healing journey. I started the project early this year at the peak of the lockdown, and have quickly found my new passion. I want to show people that dissociative people are not to be feared, but they're also not to be idealized. Living with dissociative disorders is absolute hell, but it's hell for us, not those around us, and the stigma around these disorders keeps many from speaking out. Being that dissociative disorders are often the result of attachment trauma, healthy relationships are vital to healing from the traumas we experience, but the attitude publicly held towards dissociative disorders makes them especially isolating conditions, and the misinformation publicly held about these disorders dictates how people respond to us, often causing immense guilt towards our symptoms, keeping us from speaking up and speaking out. I think projects like mine are especially vital not only for showing the world that it's possible to live a relatively normal, functional life with a dissociative disorder while also reflecting the ways it impacts my daily existence, and also for showing other survivors that they're not alone in their struggles, and that they've nothing for which they should be ashamed.

When asked to describe myself, the first word that comes to mind is always, "resilient". I'm someone who has had to deal with a great many hardships in my life, however, I'm also someone who has taken these hardships and turned them into a force for positive change in my life. Having grown up in an abusive home with mentally unstable parents, I've found myself constantly grappling with the impact of mental illness on our lives, and what it means to live without the assistance that you need when it comes to something as important as your mental health. I myself, as a result of my traumatic upbringing, am living with dissociative identity disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and borderline personality disorder. These are conditions I have largely had to navigate alone, and it has both hampered and solidified my life ambitions. I want to create a more trauma-informed, inclusive environment in psychology, especially as that pertains to more “severe” and stigmatized mental illnesses. Having also grown up impoverished, it isn't lost on me the impact that a lack of resources has on the mental health of an individual, and the opportunities they are allotted in life. Poverty is an exacerbating factor to any physical or mental illness. This is why I firmly believe in working to achieve universal healthcare for all, and will continue to advocate for the broad and equal treatment we all deserve well into my career, as a fundamental part of working in mental health care.

I always struggled to see beyond this moment. I don’t think I’m different, in that regard, from any other young, naive person. There’s a point for everyone where we learn we don’t, in fact, know everything. And, beyond that, there’s the moment each of us learn we’ll never be done growing. Having been told repeatedly growing-up I’m mature for my age, this was a hard pill to swallow. And a fairly recent prescription, at that. Following my acceptance into Baruch College, I began preparing to move to The City. I’ve no interest in learning to drive, so I contacted my father to help make the cross-state journey. It had been over a year since I’d seen him in person. We had a lot of catching up to do, and I, not yet keen to the medicinal properties of accepting my own endless growth, was less than excited to listen to my father’s ramblings and infamous “I-told-you-so” attitude. Unaware, also, of my father’s own need to continue his growth, I dismissed his eagerness to teach me a final few life lessons before seeing me off to college. “You’ve already taught me all you can, Dad,” my tone incredulous, laced with annoyance. He’d been saying something about how I needed to handle myself, once in The City. I, a 19-year-old going on 49, didn't want to hear it. I could tell what I said hurt him. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he fixed his gaze on the twisting roads taking us through Pennsylvanian mountains. The idea he’d no longer be there to guide me through life’s lessons was a terrifying one, and, on top of that, as he told me while drank together in the rain, sitting in his car in the parking lot of our New York hotel room, waiting to hear back from the new landlord on my rental, he still harbored immense guilt for my childhood. “I know I wasn’t ready to have you,” These words he slurred to me while not making eye contact, looking right past me to watch raindrops roll down the passenger window. “We kinda’ grew up together, really,” He met my eyes when he said this, and I stared back, despite the emotion welling up inside me. I viewed my father as some type of hero; undeterred and omnipotent. My mother was toxic to the both of us throughout my childhood, and I innately clung to my father as a result. I idolized him. He’d been my age when I was born. I imagined how fit I'd be as a parent. The thought made me nauseous. Granted, it may have been the alcohol. I wanted to lighten the mood, so I said to him, “You tried your best! I’m only slightly screwed up.” He didn’t laugh, and, though I tried, neither did I. “It isn’t your fault.” I tried to sound as serious as possible. I didn’t even know if he’d remember our conversation, but I knew I would. It was too important not to. “Yeah, it is. At least a lil’ bit. I shouldn’t’ve stayed with your mom. ‘N I wasn’t all that great of a parent either,” he didn’t try to portray any certain emotion as he said this, but I could tell how meaningful this was for him. “You’re all I had. You still are. What you did was enough.” He shook his head in a slight way, a micro-expression, like he didn’t want me to see him disagree. Like he didn’t want me to see him as the disappointment he saw in himself. “I wanna make it up to you.” “The fact that you’re even saying this to me right now is enough. Admitting is more than Mom did. The fact you’re taking accountability shows you’ve grown.” In the end, I think I managed to reassure him. The conversation drifted to talks of mother, my childhood, or, as he called it, “our” childhood. Everything he had to re-teach himself about survival, and the way he had to redesign himself to be a fit parent. I could see it now, in the pedestal I forced my father onto for as long as I could remember. Knowing that I, a 19-year-old man, having gone through similar developmental traumas as my father before me, would be a disastrous father-- that I'm hardly prepared to rent an apartment, let alone start my own family-- I see the impossible truth: my father was not, and is not, perfect. But he wants to grow. He sees the necessity in change, and embraces the fact that humans, like sharks, must be in constant motion to stay alive. Two decades my elder, and still ever-expanding. I’m now living in the city, and my father, now returned home in Indiana, calls me regularly. We talk a lot more than we used to since seeing each other again. I think the chance to bond over the new ways in which we’ve discovered ourselves has given us both the perspective needed to better understand each other. It’s much easier to forgive someone for the transgressions committed against you when you are capable of acknowledging that we are all works in progress. More importantly, it’s easier to forgive yourself for your transgressions knowing you still have much left to learn. Value your self-connection like you do that which you hold with a close family member or friend, and be willing to be as lenient to yourself as a child to their parent, while separating yourself from the idealization that relationship entails.