Be Open (More About Me) — Taylor D. Levesque

Summary

Taylor D. Levesque shares a personal journey of struggling with clinical depression and anxiety from a young age, exacerbated by a move to British Columbia, bullying, and toxic relationships, but finds solace in video games, music, and writing, eventually discovering genuine love and happiness.

Abstract

Taylor D. Levesque's narrative begins with a diagnosis of clinical depression at the age of twelve, shortly after moving to British Columbia, Canada. The transition was challenging, leading to feelings of isolation and being the target of relentless bullying for various aspects of their identity. Despite a tumultuous home life with an unstable father and frequent thefts at school, Taylor found escape in reading and video games. Online friendships became a lifeline, particularly a connection with someone from their hometown. However, this relationship turned toxic, contributing to further mental health deterioration. After a traumatic breakup involving stalking and threats, Taylor's mother provided crucial support. Post-high school, while the impact of past traumas lingers, Taylor has rediscovered writing under a pseudonym and experienced real love, leading to a happier and more stable period in life, despite ongoing challenges such as anxiety and work-related stress.

Opinions

Taylor views their move to British Columbia as the catalyst for a drastic decline in their mental health.
They express a strong dislike for the books assigned in school, which led to a temporary aversion to reading, but later rediscovered a love for it.
Video games are portrayed as a positive coping mechanism, providing a sense of normalcy and escape from reality.
Taylor reflects on the significance of online friendships, which were both a source of support and additional trauma.
The first romantic relationship is retrospectively seen as harmful and abusive, with the partner exhibiting controlling and psychopathic behavior.
Taylor's mother is acknowledged as a key source of support during their most vulnerable times.
Writing, particularly under a pseudonym, is seen as a therapeutic activity that has helped Taylor process their experiences and scars.
Current relationships and self-care practices are credited with improving Taylor's mental health and overall happiness.

Depression sucks

Hi, my name is Taylor, and I was diagnosed with clinical depression by the time I was twelve years old. If you’re here for a happy story, you’ve come to the wrong place.

I moved to British Columbia, Canada, during the summer of my eleventh year. When I initially found out I was moving across the country I thought it was kind of cool, but I didn’t realize how far away it actually was, and how much I was going to hate my new environment. Upon moving to British Columbia, even at that young age, I went from carefree to more or less hating my life. Most of my family that I was so accustomed to seeing all the time was across the country. I had no friends, all the people here were god awful. And school? School drove me to being officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety by the time I was twelve.

I had no friends. I was made fun of for literally every aspect of myself, from my height, skin tone, complexion, clothing, the way I walked, the way I talked, knowing things and not knowing things, being good at something, passions, everything. No matter what it was, good or bad, I was bullied over it. I was stalked a couple of times, and that was scary as Hell. I couldn’t make any friends, there were no friends to be had. When I thought I was finally making friends, it turned out to be a sick game to mess with my head, manipulate me, or stick me into a bad situation. I had stuff (including my food) stolen frequently. I would have this at school, and go home to my Dad who was not on the right medication at all — or none, now that I think about it — and get yelled at over nothing, or get in trouble for things I had nothing to do with. My world was one of constant negativity and constant criticism. I was stripped of my confidence, my aspirations, my interests, and eventually, my will to live. By the time I was thirteen, I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

As the depression got worse, I began to neglect reality. I used to love reading but the shitty books forced upon everyone in school led to a distaste in reading for me (indeed, it wasn’t until after I graduated high school that I actually found my love for reading again). Don’t get me wrong, I would read some books when I found one and wasn’t being forced to read another, and when I did find those books, they became my obsession. They were my focus, a world outside of this one. But, again, they weren’t something I could always have. As such, I turned to the next best thing for an escape: video games.

Honestly, I played video games for most of my life. It never mattered what the system was, be it a PC, PlayStation, Xbox, Nintendo? Anything that played a game, I was interested in as a kid. But after moving to British Columbia, games became an obsession. They were all I did outside of school and sleep. Games were the one of the only things in the world that made me feel okay. I had my games, I had my music, and I had my Mom. That was it. Further into the future I found writing again, but it wasn’t to last.

For a long time, the only friends I had were online ones. Hell, even to this day, as I am ironically still in British Columbia, 99% of my friends are only online. As such, back in early high school was also online. We met in a game we both played, and it turned out he was actually from my home city. The latter was honestly the pull for me. That was home, where life was good. It was where I wanted to be. It was where my life didn’t suck. But the relationship was a huge mistake, and only led to more mental scarring, anxiety, and depression.

The boy seemed great at first, as they always seem to. But once I was able to look back on everything when I wasn’t so broken and scared, there were a whole lot of red flags. He was controlling, isolating, obsessive, and frequently lashed out. If something else made him mad, he would take it out on me. The times we were physically together, it was like he actually had something wrong in his head in the borderline psychopath kind of way. Everything I did was belittled and criticized, and he drove me to not write at all anymore. No stories, no poetry, nothing. But to me, this was something I was already going through for the last five or so years, and it made no difference. I didn’t see the significance in any of this until it was too late.

When we finally broke up, it was a mess. He stalked me over everything, hacked into all of my accounts, continuously threatened to blackmail me, and stuck me into a state of fear that had me more messed up than I had been in a long time. I didn’t know what to do, I had no one I felt like I could really go to, and for days I crumpled into a ball of anxiety. In desperation I talked to my Mom. I told her everything. She was understanding, she was able to give some advice, and most importantly, she had my back. It was the support I needed to get me through.

Once high school was over, there was some improvement, though I am still affected by depression, anxiety, and my mental scarring to this day. Though all the worst things were over and done with almost ten years ago now, there has been a long-lasting effect on my brain’s wiring. I only got back into really writing again within the last few years, and I use a pseudonym. There are many reasons behind the pen name, but the scars certainly play a part in it. Even within the years between my graduation and the present, there have been some crazy things happen. Crappy people, deaths, another not-so-caring ex-boyfriend (though thankfully not nearly as horrible as the first one), fights, and scary situations, but I am overall doing a lot better than I was in the past.

I am still heavily affected by my anxiety, but my depression has mellowed out. Part of it has been the course of bonding with the family I have with me, doing the things I love, and trying to find all the silver linings I can. For over more than a year now, even through the pandemic, I found real love. I can spot red flags from a mile away now, and this is someone I’m truly comfortable with, someone I’m confident would never hurt me in a million years, and someone who’s been through his own trauma. We both have our struggles, and we both lack a lot of confidence in just about everything, but we’re healing together. Despite all the craziness in the world, from COVID-19 chaos to the crap I deal with at work, I am happy to say that I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.