Leah Bargar

My mental health journey started the day I was born. I guess I was a really sad baby, never stopped crying. So much so that my mom and sister would just sit there and cry with me.

I'm not sure I was sad as much as I was angry because as I got older it was very clear that I had issues with my anger. My poor sister was the victim of most of my outbursts. Anything would set me off. I would scream and cry and hit my sister (sorry Jordi) and that would result in me getting in trouble a lot which would only make me even more upset. I got put into therapy when I was 5, not because of my anger but because I couldn't sleep by myself, I could only sleep in my parents bed. Eventually that got resolved and therapy was then focused on my anxiety and depression which I was diagnosed with at 7. Things were fine for a bit, I went to therapy involuntarily, I tried to control my emotions which didn't work very well and I tried to listen to my parents and therapist. 

But things went downhill very quickly when I was 10 and my parents got divorced. Things got very tense at both houses and my sister's mental health got very bad and started affecting her physical health so my parents got very focused on her. I wasn't upset about it, I knew my sister needed them but I was also 10 and being forgotten. My mental health got even worse and everyday got even more overwhelming. Everything in my life was out of my control, I had no say in what happened to me. Not having control messed with me a lot and it started to take a toll on me. And then I found a very unhealthy coping mechanism. I realized that self harm was something no one could take away from me, something only I could control and have a say over. I also found out that the physical pain was a very good distraction from the mental pain. My mom found out very quickly because I had cut up paper all over my room because I would cut paper to try to stop myself from hurting myself. The paper didn't work and only sold me out to my parents. Obviously they were concerned because not only was that going on but I was also fighting therapy and medication as much as I could.  I think I was on my third therapist by this point and I was convinced that there was something wrong with me, that I was unfixable. I had to be if three different therapists and medication didn't make me “Normal”.  My parents decided to switch my therapist once again. That therapist helped a bit, she was better than the over three but she was also my sister's therapist which kind of made it hard to be honest with her.

Again things were okay for a bit. I didn't stop self harm and I was still super angry but it was better than before, until 8th grade. I don't know what happened or what changed but i got really depressed. I started missing a bunch of school and my grades went way down. Simple things like brushing my teeth and taking a shower started to feel like climbing a mountain. I didn't talk to anyone and stayed in my room unless I was at school and even at school all I did was beg my parents to pick me up. Something was very wrong and that was obvious to my parents, my therapist, my sister, and even my friends. I hated feeling like that, constantly being drowned by the feeling of not wanting to be here anymore. So after lots of thought I suggested Rogers mental hospital to my parents. After many conversations with my parents and therapist we all agreed that that was the best option for me. I started Rogers that summer in the outpatient program. There they decided to switch my medication and I started to focus solely on myself. My time at Rogers helped me a lot, I started to feel more like myself than I ever had and found a new coping mechanism through poetry. The program was a month long, 8 hours everyday except for the weekend. It was a lot but it helped so much that I didn't even mind.  Soon after I changed therapists again and finally found someone who actually helped me. It only took 5 different therapists and two different medications and a bunch of different dose changes to get to where I am now. I obviously still have my ups and downs, good days and bad days but now there are more good days  than bad. I'm still learning and healing but it's a lot easier now that I have the right kind of help and accepted that it's okay to have to take medication, that it helps. So thank you to everyone who has helped me and continues to help.

One of my poems:

Lipstick on pig.

I stare into my bathroom mirror, I don’t know how long I have stood there and stared, I can never tell when I look into that stupid mirror. “Lipstick on a pig” they say, but I would never insult a pig in such a way. So I continue to stand there and stare until all I can see is the outline of my hair and all I can feel is my deep despair. I have given up hope in trying to see what others do when the look at me. Because no matter how hard I try, when I stare in these stupid mirrors all I see are my stupid tears.