Build Me Up, Strike Me Down - Commentary by Tara Campbell

Sominazation Disorder. Insomnia. Chronic PTSD. Eating Disorder NOS. ADHD-like tendencies. Crazy, psycho, belong in a loony bin. Don’t talk to that girl; she’ll contaminate you. A social leper. Girl with a disability-yeah, that’s me.

Fall semester was a dark, twisted mess. It was nothing but a cycle of nightmares, tears, and silent screams. That’s all I’ve ever known-sordid, traumatic memories. It fucked me up bad-mentally, emotionally, physically. I was a complete, absolute wreck. A concerned counselor required I go for an evaluation. Why? To prove whether or not I was crazy.

For the past five months, I have been going up to UVM once a week for Trauma Therapy. Two weeks ago, I finally had answers to what has been haunting me for so long. I finally had a diagnosis. A label. I was diagnosed with Somanization Disorder. No, don’t ask me what it is, because I barely understand it myself. But, to make some sense of it, whatever affects me emotionally or psychologically affects me physically. It started developing when I was a kid. I didn’t grow up in a stable, healthy environment, and I have no idea what one is. Hell, why would I? I was an abused kid. It’s not hard to put two and two together. I was never raised with how to accept, learn about, deal with, or interpret emotions. So it gave me a fucked up childhood and a difficult future.

I am struggling to even find any sort of evidence of what is healthy and what is stable, because for the first twenty and a half years of my life, I’ve been floundering. A diagnosis is the last thing I need to deal with. Yes, it confuses me, and yes I wish it hadn’t happened. Some of the only positive effects that come out of it is it offered me some directions, some answers, and a lot of explanations for how I am. The way things are. If there's one thing I hate, it’s being vulnerable, clueless, helpless, and being left wide open.

No, it doesn’t mean I’m fucked up, I’m crazy, or I’m any sort of different person. What it means is it’s just another hurdle I have to overcome, another thing that’s going to test my strength. The disorder also comes from the trauma I have experienced in my life, and in the last nine years, it’s been a lot-so it surprises me I am not a wreck most of the time. Turns out I’m actually stronger than I ever thought, and I am able to function somewhat normally.


I expected to have to carry one label, not six. Having six different diagnoses tends to make anyone wonder if they’re fucked up. I know I’m not crazy, but it’s not something I’m going to advertise to the rest of the world. I made that mistake once. The response I got was “Isn’t that a psychological disease? You’ll be okay. There’s plenty of help outside the professional. You have people who love and care about you. You’ll get better.” Never again. It doesn’t change me as a person. I’m still me.

Junior year has almost ended. It’s been a hell of a ride. You want to know how it feels to be a college student coping with a disability and trying to finish everything on time? It’s hard. Sometimes I struggle to find even one iota of concentration. Some days I just don’t want to do it anymore. Having AD-HD like tendencies makes it difficult to sit still for hours on end, for class after class. My attention gets diverted in the shortest amount of time. I wish I could use my energy to focus. How would you feel if you had to fight a constant battle and grapple with your priorities on an everyday basis? Two words: It sucks.

Receiving this diagnosis wasn’t the permanent form of relief I originally perceived it to be. Instead, it just becomes another chore, and adds another to-do list to my life. Actually, it just becomes yet another secret that I have to hide. Wonderful. I already have enough of those.

Being labeled presents a whole new ballgame. The recommendations for treatment for my disorder don’t guarantee any significant solid improvements. What do they recommend for the labeled kid? Get this: cognitive behavior therapy, education on proper sleep hygiene-i.e. sleep-study, sleep log, regular habits, etc, and learn how to redirect my emotions. Piece of cake, right?

I can’t let this disorder destroy me. I’ve been through much worse than this, so I ought to be able to transition into this new idea of labels without too much difficulty, right? Perhaps. I’ve already proven that I have iron clad self-will when Life decides to bitch-slap me. So, come on labels and disorders, I’m ready to play ball. Hit me with your best shot. I dare you.