Twenty: The Birthday I Didn't Think I Would Make it To

Tomorrow (maybe today by the time I'm finished writing this) is my 20th birthday. Like I always do around my birthday I have been looking back at the past year and couple years that have got me to where I am today.

I have been thinking  about the fact that for several years I didn't think I would make it to twenty.

I started experiencing psychosis just a couple weeks after I turned 16. I experienced suicidal thoughts intermittently from 15-18, peaking when I was 17. I spent my 18th birthday in a Residential treatment facility.

Even when I was not actively suicidal my mental health was such that I could not envision a future for myself. I would be asked what I wanted to do with my life and I could give answers like, "I want to go on a mission." "I want to go to college." "I want to have a family." But I couldn't see it. They didn't seem possible and sometimes I honestly didn't believe I would live long enough to see those things happen.

Now here I am, at 10:47pm the night before I turn 20. I'm typing this from my dorm room because I am second-year, full-time college student. I can't go on a regular proselyting mission, but in January I am supposed to start a Service Mission at the Institute. I am a public speaker and advocate for mental illness.

It is crazy to look back on where I was two, three, and four years ago, then to look at where I am now. I am so glad I didn't kill myself. I am so grateful for the people I had in my life who helped me through that time and continue to provide support to me now. I grateful that I had the means and opportunity to receive good help.

I am glad I didn't kill myself, because now I see this whole life ahead of me. Now I can see a future for myself. In that future I graduate college and go to graduate school for Marriage and Family Therapy. In that future I get married and have children. In that future I serve my God where He calls me to serve. In that future I continue speaking anywhere they will have me to break down the stigma of mental illness and let people know that their life can be so much more than their diagnosis.

I have a future now, I'm not going to waste it.

Mental Illness Should Not be a Halloween Costume

Happy Halloween everyone!

Today is a day dedicated to treats, tricks, and scares. Halloween is a very commercialized "holiday" that capitalizes on people's fears. But what happens when what people are afraid of are other people?

Every year around this time I see more and more online about mental illness, but it is not what I want to be seeing. Instead I see Halloween costumes letting people dress up as a "schizo," "psycho...," or even an "escaped mental patient."

These are some of them:

This year my town's big haunted house is doing an Insane Asylum theme. They did reach out to me and let me know that it is meant to be a state hospital that closed down 50 years ago leaving the people inside. They said they are not trying to make fun of people with mental illness, but are in the industry of capitalizing on people's fears. She apologized if she had offended me. 

I appreciated this and I understand as a business they want to go with what sells. I never thought they were trying to personally attack people with mental illness. I still think it is wrong. 

Even if it is meant to be 50 years ago in an abandoned state hospital in which I know patients were treated horribly, they are still portraying people with mental illness with the goal to scare people. 

That is the main problem. That the stigma and fear of mentally ill individuals is so powerful that is what would get the most attention. 

"People fear what they don't understand." I have grown up hearing that. It is part of the reason I write about mental illness, because so often if their lives have not been touched by it in some way individuals don't know what it is really like. 

Part of the reason these Halloween festivities bother me so much is not just because I have mental illnesses. It's because for two years of my life I had the diagnosis of Schizoaffective. It's because I have had psychotic episodes. It's because I have spent considerable amounts of time in mental hospitals. 

The types of people being portrayed is me and I am nothing like those costumes or how the haunted house will portray people like me. Most of us who struggle with mental illness aren't.

I have met many many people with many diagnosis during my last few years. When you're in hospitals you have the opportunity to meet a wide range of people. Those opportunities showed me that no matter what the diagnosis attached to them is, people are people. Some just have extra challenges and they work harder than you will ever be able to comprehend to live despite them.

The problem with portraying those with mental illness as scary, violent, and dangerous is that they are such powerful images they become stuck in a persons mind. In reality individuals who have a mental illness are more likely to be the victim of a crime than the perpetrator. 

According to mentalhealth.gov "The vast majority of people with mental health problems are no more likely to be violent than anyone else. Most people with mental illness are not violent and only 3%-5% of violent acts can be attributed to individuals living with a serious mental illness. In fact, people with severe mental illnesses are over 10 times more likely to be victims of violent crime than the general population. You probably know someone with a mental health problem and don't even realize it, because many people with mental health problems are highly active and productive members of our communities."

I understand the appeal to be scary on Halloween. For people who choose to dress up it is one night a year where all of that is socially acceptable, but there are so many costumes out there which are scary (trust me) and don't promote stigma against people with mental illness. 

Unlike with a costume we don't get to leave our illnesses in the hamper tonight, but we do have to carry the stigma every single day. 

Forgiving the Man Who Raped Me

I wish everyone could have the opportunity to attend LDS Institute classes. I have taken two so far, one last semester and one over the summer. I don't always make it to class, but when I do it is often the highlight of my day.

Institute is an uplifting environment where I have the opportunity to learn and feel the spirit. I feel like I always get something out of the class.

When I started attending Institute I expected to grow in my knowledge of the Gospel. That's why I was going, right? I figured it would be like Sunday School. I did not expect to be touched and grow as much as I did personally.

I have written before about being diagnosed with PTSD. I write for many reasons. I write to know that I am not alone. I write to spread awareness. I write to heal, but I had not completely healed because there were still things I was holding onto.

When I started this last class at Institute I had not forgiven the man who assaulted me. After going through this past class, I have. It wasn't purely the class that did it. There were several culminating factors that led me to this place.

But going to class, learning more about the gospel, feeling the Spirit and growing as a person were big components of me coming to the point in my life where I could forgive him.

For a long time I couldn't fathom the idea of forgiving my rapist. I knew I needed to. I knew I was commanded to, but I didn't know how I could. I tried to justify not forgiving him thinking, "How can I forgive this man who broke my trust? How could I forgive this man who hurt me so much? How could I forgive this man who hasn't shown any remorse? How could I forgive this man I was still afraid of?" And for a while I was content with that.

I was at Institute one night and I don't remember what the lesson was on that night, but I remember some of the thoughts and feeling I had which I wrote down in the notebook I had with me. One of which was "God accepts me as I am."

Perhaps the most powerful thing I wrote down that night was, "God loves him. God loves this man, despite the terrible choices he has made, the same as He loves me."

I had never thought about that before. I had thought about everything else. I had thought about his family, his job, his house, his calling, but I had not thought about how God feels for this man. This point I had not thought about made all the difference to me.

Throughout the past couple months Heavenly Father has been putting things in my path that were letting me know it was time to forgive. One of which was a beautiful video I saw where the LDS mother of a Sandy Hook victim was speaking about her feelings for the man who killed her daughter. (you can find that here. I highly recommend watching it) This mom's words about the shooter mirrored my feelings almost exactly.

The only person who was being hurt by my anger toward him was me. He had no idea. He didn't care. I was the one who was losing peace. I was the one who was not keeping the commandment of forgiveness.

As I was preparing my Sunbeam lesson this week which was titled "I can Forgive,"  (I told you the topic of forgiveness has been all over my life) I pondered on everything I've learned this past year. As I was doing this I realized I could think about this man without anger in my heart. That is when I knew I had finally forgiven the man who had raped me. And it filled my soul with peace.

What it is Really Like in UCLA's Mental Hospital

There are many misconceptions and stigmas about mental illness and treatment. One of the biggest stigmas I have found is that of spending time in a mental hospital. So many people think that if you have to be hospitalized you are crazy or dangerous. This is simply not true.

Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen I was hospitalized five times. The first trip was at my local psychiatric hospital in my home town. The last four stays were in UCLA's Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital. Those are the stays I will be talking about here.

I would like to point out that this is purely my experiences. This is not what all hospitals are like. UCLA is top of the line. Many people are not so fortunate to be able to receive treatment in such a great hospital.

At UCLA I was on Unit B, their acute adolescent unit. My first stay was about a week. The second and third were about two weeks. My last stay was for 3 weeks. The days were filled with groups and doctors all designed to help me return home better equipped to cope with my mental illnesses.

We had about a dozen groups including Ocupational Therapy, Recreational Therapy, Art, Coping Cards, Mindfullness, Cooking Group, and our daily Community group where we set goals for the day.

What I like about my stays at UCLA compared to my stay at my towns local hospital was that they really did a lot to help rehabilitate and teach me new skills. When I was hospitalized in my hometown we colored, slept, and watched tv all day. At UCLA our days were filled. Every time slot was assigned and had a purpose.

The staff at UCLA was amazing. There was a very high staff to patient ratio, everyone was assigned a psychiatrist they saw every day, and a therapist and social worker who they saw respectively a couple times a week. I still remember all of the nurses and staff who I worked with while hospitalized. I will be forever grateful for the time they took to comfort me, help me, and teach me.

I am so glad that I was blessed enough to be able to be hospitalized in UCLA's hospital. I learned and grew so much there. I continue to this day to use some of the coping skills I learned during my time inpatient. So while many people think of mental hospitals as scary places with crazy people, my experiences were the complete opposite.

What I Want You To Know When You See My Service Dog

I am coming up on two years of having Jenny with me. She has blessed my life in ways deeper than I could ever put words to. She saved my life and gave me back my independence when she first came into my life as a medical alert dog for me PTSD. She continues to aid me everyday as we grow and learn together.

As I try to do with most things when I'm asked questions about her in public I try and answer them and educate others about service dogs. I'm not always perfect at this. Sometimes I'm busy or just not in the mood. Perhaps I've just been asked why I have a dog five times in one trip to Walmart.

I have heard what seems like every comment under the moon about Jenny. Most of them roll of my back. I have gotten very used to ignoring people and not letting ignorance upset me. There is one comment though that I always hate to hear. "I wish I could bring my dog with me too."

I always want to answer, "No you don't. Yes, she's cute and dogs are fun, but she is not with me for fun. She is with me as medical equipment for provide needed aid. When we are out together we are working. She is doing her job taking care of me and I am taking care of her. I love taking her out with me, but I do it out of necessity. For you to have a service dog that you get to take everywhere with you, you have to have a documented disability that you can't choose to leave at home."

That's usually more than people want to know and no one wants to hear that it's not all fun and games so I tend to just smile and say thank you.

Don't get me wrong, I love Jenny. I love having her with me and I am so grateful for her and the life she allows me to have, But if I could pick getting to have Jenny with me 24/7 or not having PTSD I would give her up as a service dog to not have PTSD.

The same goes for other handlers that I have talked to. We all love our service dogs but if we could give up our medical conditions we would do it. I love dogs and would always have one as a pet, but a service dog team is not about the fun of being together, it's about managing the handlers health.

I know that's not what most people are thinking of when they say they wish they could bring their dog with them, but next time you see a service dog team stop and understand that there is a medical need that necessitates that team be together.

Fight Song: My PTSD Anthem

Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion

I love music especially songs with meaning. I have adopted "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten as an anthem for my life through struggling with anxiety, depression, and PTSD. The upbeat rhythm and powerful words demand that I sing along. I have a feisty side that this song feeds into well. The lyrics seem to follow a path that I also went down. 

And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

I go through these moods where I want to make a change. I want to do something that matters. That's one reason I started writing. It's always been a great way for me to use my voice. "Can you hear my voice this time?" 

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

This chorus is what really gets to me. I am ready and willing to fight. I've been doing it for years. I have fought for my health and my life in ways you couldn't even imagine. I fight for myself in order to advocate for my needs. I am taking back my needs and proving I'm alright. I have power. "And I don't really care if nobody else believes, 'cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me." 

I've gotten to this point in my life where I am starting to be okay with all of who I am. Excluding a few friends and family I'm closest to I don't care what other people think of me. This is my life. This is who I am. If you can't accept that, if you can't make time for me, if you can't support me, then I don't need you in my life. "Like how a single word can make a heart open. I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion."

Do you have an anthem? 

My Journey to a PTSD diagnosis

I have written and rewritten this a hundred times over in my head. Even when I thought this was a story I would never share I wrote it out. Somewhere inside me I knew that as part of my healing process one day I would talk about it.

That being said I know there will be some of you who don't agree with my decision to speak out about this on this platform. That's okay.

I had a secret, something I held inside me for years. Until recently I held so much shame over this secret, but I've come to realize that my life doesn't have to be a secret. Speaking takes away the secrecy and the feeling of shame. So here it goes.

When I was 15 I was the victim of rape.

That's quite a sentence for me to say. I'm not speaking out about this to shock you. I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. My only motive is for spreading awareness about sexual assault and mental illness.

I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from my assault, however, I was not diagnosed with PTSD when I was 15. The trauma fractured my mind in a way. Our brains are marvelous things and mine knew that I could not handle the trauma at that time, so it took the memory away from me. This is not uncommon.

But my brain remembered even when my mind didn't actively hold the memories. I became extremely anxious, depressed, and experienced psychotic symptoms. My doctors didn't know why these symptoms were happening so suddenly and I was misdiagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder.

About a year and a half ago the memories had been resurfacing over time and I gathered up the courage to tell my therapist and parents. The Schizoaffective diagnosis was changed to PTSD and I started trauma therapy. I went to a residential treatment program for 10 weeks. When I started getting help for the rape I started making progress. Up until that point we were treating symptoms, but then we started addressing the root of the problem. I became stable for the first time in years.

I am still recovering. I see my therapist every week, I am in a support group with other women who've experienced the same things, and I practice my coping skills everyday. I will be working on myself for a long time, but I have absolutely no intention of letting what happened to me ruin my life.

I am taking back the control that was taken from me.

One important way I am doing this is by writing. Writing and speaking is very theraputic for me and it is so important that we start speaking out about sexual assault. I get it, it's not a fun conversation to have, but it is so incredibly needed.

The stigma is strong around those people who are victims of sexual assault. I have supportive parents and a loving family and I was terrified for the longest time to put this out there. I'm still nervous about it.

Stigma breeds shame which breeds silence.

So I am breaking my silence. If not me, then who?

Survive then Thrive

When mental illness and depression come knocking it can sometimes be all one can do just to survive. When my own struggles were at their worst my day to day goals involved things like getting out of bed, taking a shower, or eating all three meals. Anything beyond that was unfathomable.

I thank my Heavenly Father everyday that I am no longer in that spot. From the time I was sixteen to eighteen my efforts went only to surviving.

I am now nineteen and further along in my recovery. I still struggle. I still see a therapist. However, I have been able to move on from simply trying to survive.

I don't usually make New Year's resolutions, but at the beginning of this new year I have been thinking about what directions I want to take my life. One thing I know is that this year I don't want to just survive, I want to thrive.

I will do that by continuing to take care of myself. When you start to see progress it can be easy to drop some of the coping skills and routines that got you there. I will be focusing on those little things while also pushing myself out of my comfort zone. My therapist has a saying that if I feel uncomfortable doing something I'm probably exactly where I need to be.

This year I am not going to let anything hold me back. I am taking steps to acknowledge myself and accept myself where I am and as I am.

We are all in the places we are for a reason. Whether it be our own actions, the actions of another person, or God's will that got us here there is a reason for it. It can be so easy to use the past as a reason to be afraid and not do what we desperately want to. Let go of that fear this year. Let go of all the voices around you telling you that you can't do it and that you aren't good enough. You can do anything that you put your heart and soul into.

It might not be easy. It might be the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, but I've never met a strong person who had an easy life.

Surviving had its place. It got me to where I am, but now I'm ready to thrive. Who's with me?

10 Things I Learned in a Mental Hospital

Shortly before Christmas when I was 17 I was admitted to UCLA's Psychiatric Hospital again. This was during my Junior year of High School. At the time I was an active member of my school's Speech and Debate team. When I returned home I wrote this speech and competed with it for the rest of the competition season. 

10 Things I Learned in a Mental Hospital

Want to know a secret? I’m not who you think I am, not entirely, but that’s okay. How about we be honest with each other today? I’ll be honest with you, and then you be honest with yourself. I’ll go first. Over the past year I have been in two different mental hospitals (or as my mother would prefer me to say, psychiatric hospitals) three different times. The two most recent times I was in the neuropsychiatric hospital at UCLA but I have also spent a little bit of time in Good Samaritan here in town. Each time it was for anxiety, depression, and psychotic symptoms. Now I would bet that your perception of me has already changed from what it was originally because of this stigma attached to what I just said.

  Patrick W. Corrigan, a professor of Psychology at the Illinois Institute of Technology, informs us that “Stereotypes” depict “people with mental illness as being dangerous, unpredictable, responsible for their illness, or generally incompetent” (citation)

There are many misconceptions people have about mental illness and mental hospitals. Today I am going to prove all those people wrong. I learned a lot on the psych unit and that is what I am here today to share with you.

The very first thing I learned was that it’s not like it is in the movies. Have any of you seen “A Beautiful Mind?” Well, about a month before I went into Good Sam my therapist had me watch that movie; I’m not really sure why. About half-way through the movie the main character, who is Schizophrenic, gets carted away to a mental hospital. Shortly after that I shut the movie off without finishing it. I didn’t like seeing him restrained and drugged. That is what I thought going inpatient was like.  When I think of B Unit, the unit I was on in UCLA, it looks to me kind of like a college dorm floor. Up two of the halls are a bunch of rooms. Everything is centered around this big room that we call the Day Room where we spend all our free time. In it there are comfy chairs, a big table and chairs where we ate our meals, a tv we could watch movies on during visiting hours, and off to the side is the nurses station. There were no empty white bedrooms, no people muttering to themselves walking the hall, and definitely no straight jackets. We did have a Seclusion Room, located in the Day Room where if a kid got uncontrollable and became a danger to himself or others they would give him a PRN, (PRN means “As Needed” so when you asked for a PRN they would give you a medication, such as Thorazine, that just helps to calm you down) so they would give him a PRN and put him in there until he calmed down.

The second thing that I was happily surprised to learn is that you can have fun in inpatient and you can even make friends.  The morning before I was first admitted I was talking to my Aunt and I said to her, “Well maybe I’ll make friends.” She replied back saying, “Okaaayyy, but is that really the type of people you want to make friends with?” What I don’t think she understood at the time was that “they” are people like me. They are people like me and they are people like you. The kids I met in UCLA weren’t crazy, or scary, or bad. Some of the sweetest, more caring people I have ever met, I met on Unit B. There were all different types of people there, an unlikely group out in the real world, but we all generally got along. Some of the kids I still talk to.

There was work involved on the unit, we were there to get better and we had to go to groups, and meetings, and see doctors, but we also had fun at the same time. We had access to a deck with tables and chairs, balls, and a ping pong table. Some of the groups we did were fun too like cooking group, Recreational Therapy, Occupational Therapy, and Art Room.  I’d like to point out that while we made friends and could have fun in the hospital, being there was not fun. It isn’t a place to be glamorized and glorified. It’s a hospital. The kids there are there to get better.

Number three. Community. Community was a group and how we began our day. It goes a little like this. The staff running it picks someone to keep the journal and then we’d all go around and when it got to your turn you would have to set a goal for the day and a coping skill. While I was there one of my Communities might be “to communicate better to the staff when I need something, and for a coping skill I would color” Today it would look something like “do my best in all of the rounds I compete in, and a coping skill would be to shuffle cards.” Setting a goal like this is great for anyone to do.

Four. No, your mother’s not Bipolar…..unless she is. I don’t know? Here’s the point I’m trying to make. During my time in UCLA I saw people with many different disorders. I remember that one time I was there a discussion that came up was that we all hate it when someone uses disorders as adjectives. “Ugh, my mother is so Bipolar, “I got so depressed in class today.” “Haha, you’re so OCD” These words hold more weight than you think they do. You never know if when you use these words in the lunch room if someone at your table happens to be bipolar. You don’t know what others are dealing with.

Number five. Pain is universal. Almost everyone you know is dealing with something that you don’t know about. I would bet that some of you probably know at least one person who has been in a mental hospital. When I was in Good Sam here in Bakersfield, I was in an all-girls unit and from our group there were girls from a large variety of high schools. You normally can’t tell by looking at a person what is going on inside their head. Of the kids I met in my inpatient stays: the saddest girl tried the hardest to make everyone else happy. The boy who was on a court mandate was the gentlest person there. The girl with stitches holding her arm together could make anyone laugh. The girl who screamed at night could calm anyone down. I have found that in a lot of instances the gentlest, most caring people are the ones with problems haunting them that you couldn’t even imagine

Numbers six and seven kind of go together. What I learned was that someone always has it worse than you and that the pain doesn’t go away overnight. Good Sam was more of a psychiatric hold facility. I was the only person there who wasn’t on a hold for a suicide attempt. UCLA is a more long term care facility. Most people stay about 2 or 3 weeks. Some stay less, some stay more. Most people don’t leave completely better either. Actually, nobody leaves completely better. Something people need to remember for themselves and for those around them is that recovery is a process not perfection.

The 8^th thing I learned was taught to me by D, my favorite staff, she taught me to be my own advocate.  I was so used to other people saying what I needed that I wasn’t accustomed to doing that for myself. But when you’re living in a hospital there’s no one there to tell the staff or the doctors if you need something. You have to speak up for yourself. You have to fight for yourself.

Perhaps one of the best lessons I learned from my stay in UCLA was that people care. The last time I stayed there it was for about two weeks in December of 2014 and while there that time my favorite nurse was J. I knew J from when I had been admitted there a couple months earlier and when she saw me she was like, “Caitlin!” and I was like “J” and then we gave each other a hug. She hadn’t seen me in months yet she still remembered my face and name. When you stay in the “normal” hospital you have nurses but you don’t get to know them the same way you do your staff when you are in a psychiatric hospital. They are there most days, all day long with you. They know you. It wasn’t just the staff that cared. All of us kids there took care of one another. If someone needed something we did it. If someone need to talk we talked. If they needed us to just be there we were there. If they needed a hug they were out of luck because of body boundaries. We lived there, some of us for a while, so the staff and the other kids on the unit became our family.

The 10^th and most important thing I learned and I hope you learned from this speech is that you can’t judge people because they are in a mental hospital. Mental hospitals get a bad reputation. People get  stigmatized for being there but there doesn’t have to be that stigma. I see me and the kids I met in UCLA as smart and brave. We needed the help and we knew it. Mental hospitals are a good thing. I learned a lot there and I hope that you learned something too.

How the Movie "Frozen" Helped Me With Depression

There was an absolute craze when Frozen was released to theaters. I understood the appeal. I loved the movie as much as the next person. It was well played how the sisters ended up saving each other. I am all for empowering women and I think that movie helped. However, all of these reasons are not why the movie meant so much to me.

The first time I saw Frozen was with my big sis and nephew while I was visiting them in San Luis Obispo. I worked hard to hide my tears from them as Elsa was struggling with her powers.

I felt as though I could relate to how she was feeling. At the time this movie came out I was struggling immensely. I was still hiding my anxiety and depression from most of the people around me. My own sister whom I was staying with at the time did not know the extent of what was happening inside of me. So when Elsa was singing, "Don't let them in, don't let them see. Be the good girl you always have to be." I felt like I could have written that song myself. 

I was struggling with depression and I had not come to accept it yet. I felt so much shame from what I was dealing with. I was scared that if I let those in my life know what was going on they would see me the same way I saw myself. 

I am working on projects right now that involve speaking out more in depth about my mental illnesses and where they come from. There is still a fear that comes with that.

When Elsa's secret came out she went through a dark period when she felt all alone. She didn't know her sister was coming to find her. All she knew is that those around her found out about what was different about her and they did not accept it. It hurt. 

The pain I have felt when an important person in my life did not accept or believe me about my mental illnesses is incomparable to anything I have ever felt. 

But then....

That Perfect Girl Is Gone! When I finally let go of the idealist view I had of needing to present this perfect image I felt as if a year of held breathes was finally released. It was difficult. By no means was this the answer to everything, but boy did it help. 

I could focus on just being me instead of what I thought everyone wanted me to me. I had this idea that I needed to be the "good, little Mormon girl" for the people at church. I thought I needed to be as perfect as I could be at home so as to not give my parents extra to worry about. That was not the answer. The best thing I ever did was coming out about the struggles I face and try to be as authentic as I possibly could. 

Now I am at the point Elsa was when she had accepted herself and was using what made her different to "rise like the break of dawn." Being different doesn't make you bad. 

I watched this movie probably a half dozen times after it came out and listed to Elsa's soundtrack more times than I can count. Each time I hear the song it can bring me to tears. So much of it I can see in myself. 

I think this year I am coming out of the last bit of "don't let them know. Make one wrong move and everyone will know." I am so glad the perfect girl is gone. I like the real me so much better. 

If you haven't watched Frozen in a while I suggest you get it out of the cupboard and push play. Look for the hidden meanings behind the princess. They are there and maybe they can help you as much as they helped me.