Abby T.
Photography by Ally Szabo
Please Note: In this letter, there is mention of self-harm. If you think you may find this content triggering, please consider reading one of the other letters of IfYoureReadingThis.org, or prepare to access any support systems or resources you find helpful.
If you're reading this, pause for a moment, take a breath with me and remember, one step at a time.
Hi, my name is Abby, and I have borderline personality disorder and depression.
My story begins with my childhood, marked by anxiety and perfectionism. I was a people-pleasing perfectionist, always striving for the ideal, which, in hindsight, was not conducive to my mental health. While I still have a tendency to please others, I do so more moderately. Fast forward to a random fall day in my junior year of high school, you can only imagine the heartbreak I felt returning to a fatherless home.
Growing up, I felt I had the perfect family: Mom, Dad, two brothers, and my dog, whom I was very emotionally attached to (which my mom can vouch for). I had perfect grades, always top of my class. I only wanted to go to a top school, so I joined the math team, science team, etc., all to have the perfect college application. I felt perfect. I had no idea how to deal with such an unexpected imperfect situation, especially when my beloved childhood puppy was diagnosed with cancer just a week after my father left. I was in shambles.
Over a month later, with no contact from my father, whom I missed dearly every day, he returned, divorce papers in hand. Throughout the next few years his daily calls turned into annual texts, his wanting primary custody turned into kicking me out of his home, and his love for his only daughter vanished. I wish I could tell you the last time he told me he was proud of me and loved me.
This heartbreak was unbearable. During my senior year of high school, I abandoned sports, neglected all homework, and turned to self-harm as a means of coping. I felt ashamed of my despair, and I knew I could not continue living that way. After months of unrelenting misery, I mustered up the courage to confide in my mother.
I was hospitalized for a week when I received my diagnosis, then in intensive care for months. It was long, but I learned how to be happy instead of perfect. I started off college with a tough major to prove my intelligence, but now, I am doing something that makes me happy. I turned to my sticker-making business, as I have always been quite fond of art. I started doing things that made me happy. After all, you only live once and what’s the point if you aren’t happy?
Even so, I still get overwhelmed, and there is still a slight perfectionist in me, but now, I have learned to take life one step at a time. I do what makes me happy and have learned to live with imperfect grades or the other ways I don’t always achieve perfection. There are so many other wonderful aspects of myself I take pride in, whether it be through my creativity, my kindness, or my optimism. I am proud of myself for pausing to take that deep breath, reaching out for help, and remembering to take life one step at a time.
Abby T., Villanova University
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