A lot of people don’t like the movie, Frozen. I think this is probably because they heard the songs too much and got sick of it.
I actually still love it. I’ve never gotten tired of it. But it’s not because it’s such an amazing movie that I’m obsessed with it. No, it has a special place in my heart… because it tells my story.
When I was a child, I knew I was different. I never fit in, not really, in any group. I had an awkwardness to me, a darkness, a depth that was always several years ahead of my age. I felt as if there was something wrong with me, that I was unacceptable. I felt cursed.
I hid it, though. I don’t know when I learned to hide it… I was always aware of the fact that the things in my head were not okay with other people. That part of me was meant to stay hidden… then.
“Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you always have to be! Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know…”
I hid my mental illness from everyone. I pretended to be normal, good, acceptable to society. But I felt dead inside.
My senior year of college, something awoke my emotions, and suddenly I felt EVERYTHING. I felt pain, I felt joy, I felt loss, I felt love. It was overwhelming. But I also began drawing and painting what I was feeling. I began creating. Suddenly, my curse became a superpower. I could feel deeply, and let myself feel. I could love deeply, and it was okay. I could cry, and shake, and paint pictures, and there was so much beauty in that. I let loose. I let go.
In the years since then, I went from one extreme to another. I went from hiding my illness, to being obsessed over it and what I was able to do with it. I separated myself from other people and focused only on myself. But there was still this element of hiding. I was separated from everyone else, and I enjoyed the security the walls I had build gave me. I enjoyed the freedom I had to express myself. One of the ways I expressed myself was through this blog. I made beauty out of darkness.
But there was another element of protecting other people. I was afraid to let people see my what was really going on. I was afraid to hurt them. I knew that my illness drove me to do things that hurt other people deeply. I started to kill myself more times than I can count, each time stopping before it was too late, either because it hurt too much, or because I freaked out. A suicide attempt can be defined as any action done with the intention of killing oneself, that fails to meet that goal. According to that definition, I have attempted suicide dozens and dozens of times. I knew that suicide, and also suicide attempts, hurt the people around me deeply. I kept my walls up because I didn’t want to hurt them.
But people keep pressing through. Even when they’re hurt, even when they harbor the scars and damage of past things I’ve done to them, they still seek me out.
Some people think that just talking to me should make me better. Just telling me to stop will make me stop. But it doesn’t work that way.
I finally froze someone’s heart.
I hurt them so deeply that I thought I had lost them forever. I wanted to die more than ever. One more failed attempt had pushed them over the edge, and they were hurt too deeply to be with me anymore. They had to leave, to get away.
But here’s the thing… even though I lost one person, I still have others. They haven’t given up on me. They keep pushing towards me, even though I hurt them, even though each step closer brings them closer to the ultimate pain of grieving my death. They keep pushing closer through the storm.
And when I crumble, broken because of the loss of one person, the darkness inside me brings out the sword… or anything I could use… to kill me, to kill myself.
But my army of supporters push through, and stop the blade, and it hurts them so much… it feels like I’ve lost them, too.
But little by little, the ice, the pain melts away, and all that is left is love. Because love heals. Love thaws.
It doesn’t fix everything. I’m not all better. I still struggle. But I’ve found beauty in the fact that I can express myself, and also in the fact that I have friends and family who won’t give up on me.
This is why I love Frozen. It gives me hope for my condition. It gives me hope for life.