Don’t Touch

I love you for reading Caddie’s story. Don’t Touch is Caddie’s story, not my own, but it did have its spark in experience.

I wrote this book for anyone who’s felt the kind of fear that keeps us from pursuing what we love or that separates us from other people. Most of us feel that at some point, right? But for readers who might be dealing with an anxiety disorder or other mental illness, there are a few more words I’d like to share.

My own fun OCD symptoms started at age ten. My parents saw the raw skin on my hands and took me to the doctor. I didn’t want attention on my problems and did not want to talk about them, so I hid my symptoms for four more years.

By eighth grade, my inner landscape was a minefield, every thought dangerous. I feared that I was going crazy, that I might completely lose myself. I don’t remember telling my parents this. I remember locking myself in a bathroom, knowing it would scare them. That was the only way I knew how to ask for help, but it worked.

And when I finally did get help, things changed for the better—quickly. I don’t want to suggest that everything got better all at once. I needed medicine, and it took a while to find the right one. Even after my symptoms went away, fear and shame lingered. It took me years to feel okay about what had happened in my brain. This brain that allowed me to write a novel—that lets me teach and perform and fall in love and consume too much reality TV—has a few quirks. That’s part of me.

But—and this is the important part—so much got so much better the moment I knew I had help.

We all know—or we’ve been told—that the pain and challenges of life make us stronger, and that’s often true. But that’s a long-term view. In the short term, pain is pain. And as a cause of pain, mental illness carries so much confusion. So many questions.

Is what I’m feeling real? Is it normal? Could I be doing something to fix this? Will I ever feel better?

These are big questions, and I can only answer from my own experience, but I’m going to give them my best shot.

Yes. Absolutely. Whatever the cause, if you’re feeling it, you’re feeling it. And if what you’re feeling hurts, or if it’s messing with your life, you deserve help in making it better.

Some mental illness stems from “organic” problems—biology. The brain is an organ like any other, and sometimes it needs support, just like the heart or the lungs or the eyes. Sometimes, stress or trauma causes mental illness. Sometimes both biology and experience are at work. It really is a spectrum.

Like Caddie, maybe you’re dealing with something stressful and painful, the kind of thing any person would find difficult. Is what you’re feeling mental illness or a healthy emotional reaction to trouble? Is it somewhere in between?

To some extent, it doesn’t matter. Like I said before, pain is pain. And if you’re in pain, you deserve help.

Normal is a fiction, an exact average of every scale or as close to that as a person can get. Is a person who needs glasses normal? Or a person with acne? How about someone with perfect skin?

Nobody’s normal. If normal is a perfect five, the most normal person in the world might be a 5.001 or a 4.999. My math team days are long over, but I’m guessing even that degree of normal doesn’t exist.

Whether you’re feeling great or awful or somewhere in between, what you’re experiencing is unique and particular to you. But if you’re dealing with mental illness, you’re also not weird or rare or alone. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, about 11 percent of teens have a depressive disorder and about 8 percent have an anxiety disorder. About 25 percent of adults in the United States suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in any given year.

You can probably guess my answer to this question: Get help. Talk. Talk to people who love you, and if that doesn’t help, to a professional.

That’s right, I said it. Talking to the people who love you most is a great starting place, but it isn’t always enough. I have amazing, supportive parents and friends who’ve encouraged me to get help when it was needed, but I’ve also gotten bad advice from friends.

People may tell you to “suck it up” and “learn to live with it.” They may suggest exercise, more sleep, less sleep, vitamin supplements, a change in your diet, a hobby. Some of this advice might even help. Getting regular exercise rarely makes us feel worse, BUT—and this is a big but—when you’re suffering from mental illness, this kind of advice probably won’t be enough.

And if it isn’t enough for you, that’s okay. That’s not unusual, and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. The people who love you aren’t always well-informed about mental health. Almost none of them are experts. Some of them may be grossly misinformed. The people who love you best may not always know what’s best for you.

If you thought you were having a heart attack, and your best friend got out a stethoscope and tried to diagnose you, you’d tell him or her to stop playing doctor, and you’d get your butt to the emergency room, right?

If the people who love you are telling you that your pain is your own fault or a sign of weakness, that you have to learn to live with it, or get over it, or be stronger, or . . . I could go on for a while . . . seek professional help. Find someone with training in mental health—a counselor, a school psychologist, a social worker, or a doctor. Tell them your story and ask them your questions.

You may not love the first therapist or counselor you talk to, but that doesn’t mean talking can’t help. Finding the right person to talk to can take time—it’s a little bit like dating—but don’t stop talking.

And if you’re ever feeling suicidal, like you might hurt yourself, then it is extra important to reach out for help. Call a suicide hotline or go to the emergency room. Put yourself in a room with other people. Even when we feel most alone, there are always people—some of them strangers—who want to help us.

So much better. I believe this with all my heart. There is help, and you will find it, and your life will be magical—not all the time, but enough of the time that you will love it.

If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this: People want to help you and love you, but you have to open up and let them.

The things that you fear may be worthy of fear. They may come to pass, and they may cause you pain. Or you may wake one day and discover those fears have lost their power to worry you. No matter what, keep talking—keep asking for help and helping yourself—and not one of those fears will be stronger than you.

National Institute of Mental Health:

www.nimh.nih.gov

TeensHealth:

http://kidshealth.org/teen/your_mind/#cat20123

Mental Health America:

http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net

1-800-273-TALK

1-800-273-8255

Author’s Note