How Polycystic Ovary Syndrome Has Affected My Mental Health
As a child, I couldn’t hide the symptoms, no matter how much I wanted to.
I read the comments on my recently posted picture. I sighed with a sense of relief. It wasn’t all bad. They found me happy. They found me cute. The filters were working.
Then I got a notification about a message from an old school mate.
“Still the same fat girl, huh?” The face filters could not hide the extra pounds on my body. Fat. Three lettered word. Storm of emotions. The skin tears wide open. The wound begins to bleed again. The pain brings my attention to the open wound. I realize it never healed since it happened.
Taking in a long breath, I type down, “Still the same sizeist, huh?” I press send. It felt good. I had stood up for myself, right? I take some cotton and dab the wound. The piece of cotton turns red as it absorbs all the blood, but the wound remains fresh. I continue to bleed…drop by drop. Oh, his guts. After all these years…
Maybe people never changed. I could almost see it as if it were happening before my eyes that very minute. The crowd of students jeering behind my back, calling me names. I had run into the washroom; head bowed down. School kids had interesting ways of entertaining themselves. It involved observation and undesired attention to every ‘ugly’ feature in me. It started from the most visible one – the obesity, to the most minute details – the hirsutism.
My younger self had looked at her reflection and cringed in the empty girl’s washroom. The acne breakout burned red under the heat. I could feel the sweat glistening on my bushy eyebrows. Her body frame barely fit in the tiny bathroom mirror. “Couldn’t just blame them... I look hideous.” I had thought to myself as I searched the school bag for the pills.
The doctor’s voice had rung in my head. “Three pills three times a day, PCOS can be controlled with the right medication and diet and exercise.”
My mother had seemed worried all through the doctor visits, and for good reasons. I was the first in the family to present such a diagnosis. They had barely heard about this lifestyle issue that was surprisingly prevalent among millions of teenage girls around the globe. I recalled how the risk of heart disease or cancer at an older age, or even the risk of infertility had meant nothing to my younger self back then.
My only concern, back then, had been the person I saw in the mirror every morning... and how all the students in school also seemed to notice only what I saw in the mirror. An ugly misfit. I leave the wound open. I carelessly brush it against the walls and pointed edges. The wound grows bigger and deeper.
I looked in the mirror. My present-self glowed in the mirror. Despite my low cooperation, all those doctor visits and medications over the years had had an impact. But I could see right through the façade. The hidden extra fat under the clothes, the acne marks, the smile with the crooked teeth. I fought only the unseen symptoms now... the mood swings, the anxiety, the binge eating. I looked at my reflection and saw the source of my misery and pain. “This body will continue to haunt me forever.” The wound festered, slowly turning into a toxic infection.
I brushed aside the messages. Put on a smile and told myself that there were more important things that required my attention. I was not going to let the bullies win again. I could not give them the satisfaction. I washed the wound. Applied ice. Put on a band aid. I moved on and forgot about the wound…. Again.
Another day, another comment, I found myself in front of the mirror again. Only this time, I broke down crying. My blurry eyes fall on the picture of my 5-year old self, that is stuck to the edge of the mirror, the girl with a chubby face and a hearty smile. That young girl didn’t seem to worry about what others thought of her. She didn’t seem to have contemplated a million times before posing for the camera. She seems happy with herself, her little chubby hands and feet, and how she could put a smile on any face in the room. I rip off the band aid. The wound still appeared fresh.
My reflection appeared tired. Fatigued after all these years of seeking approval.
When did that young girl grow up to be someone I hated? Since when did my own reflection give rise to feelings of hatred and shame in myself? Aren’t I enough as I am? Am I going to let a diagnosis define me? Am I eventually going to let the bullies win? After all these years of covering up my scars and wounds, I realized I did not have the energy to carry this shame anymore. I touch the wound, I could feel the insides burning. I dig deeper as the pain shoots through my body. But I dig until I take out all the pus, dirt and debris.
Step one—Disinfect the wound.
I wiped her tears. I apologized to my reflection for years of unkindness. I took a long hot shower. Put on my favorite clothes. I beamed at myself in the mirror and told myself– “You are beautiful and you are enough.”
Step two—Stitch up the wound carefully.
I took a picture of myself. Unfiltered and raw. I put it up on my feed. And when my best friend commented, I smiled and replied, “thank you.”
Step three—Keep the wound clean and dry in the coming days.
I continued to listen to my body, giving it water, food and importantly, love. I reminded my body every day that I loved it no matter how it looked. I thanked my body for everything it did for me, day in and day out. Wounds don’t heal with time. Tissues grow over them. The pain lessens. It scars.
Step four—Avoid picking at scabs.
I discovered the block feature in my social media accounts. I wrote more about body positivity and acceptance. I began reading and following healthcare for PCOS. I learn to live with the scars.
Step five—Let the air in.
I smiled at myself in the mirror every morning. I was looking at my favorite companion. I looked down at my arms, the scars were not visible anymore.
“Look down at your body
whisper
There is no home like you.”
– Rupi Kaur
Millions of young girls around the globe suffer from PCOS at a very young age. But many do not know enough about the condition or its consequences.
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is a hormonal disorder common among women of reproductive age. Women with PCOS may have infrequent or prolonged menstrual periods or excess male hormone (androgen) levels. The ovaries may develop numerous small collections of fluid (follicles) and fail to regularly release eggs. The exact cause of PCOS is unknown. Early diagnosis and treatment along with weight loss may reduce the risk of long-term complications such as type 2 diabetes and heart disease.
Bullying can lead to invisible scars. Both of these topics are very close to my heart and I have wanted share my experiences with it for a long time. Please give this a read and share your feedback.
Educate yourself, keep yourself informed and look out for the signs, in yourself and in others.
If you ever need to talk, I am here to lend an ear 😊
Ramitha Ramesh is a psychologist in the making. She’s a cinephile, reader, and music lover who is grateful for all the art that ever touched her life.
A version of this essay first appeared in Invisible Illness.