By Blake Rustman
“Blake, you’re being weird and annoying,” she remarked, directly in front of me in line during our daily returns to the classroom from recess.
My head slowly dropped, smile twisting into a frown. 10-year-old me hadn’t claimed his personality, his strengths, weaknesses, etc., leading to one shameful existential crisis after another. To say that this was true throughout my childhood is quite somber, but it’s accurate. The rest of that day, I sat in silence to think over how I may be accepted by the lonely crowds. We’ve all felt that way, the sudden fear of rejection from others that slowly creeps its way into our voice, choking whatever inner meaning we had wanted to express, leaving only frustrated (and sometimes bitter) silence. That inner expression builds what is most often labelled “authentic.”
I’m quite strange. In kindergarten, I licked my arms like a cat. On my very first day of school, I rebelled against the teachers and other children in the class, because I didn’t want to learn my ABC’s. Why would I do that when I can construct a dream world of my own made of Lincoln logs? Eventually, both of my parents were telephoned and were told of my “incredibly independent spirit.” This is all a reflection of a later diagnosis of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It’s reflected in every facet of my personality.
I had “friends,” tons of “friends.” We never became close. Moving around a lot (“military brat”) and the rambunctious behavior associated with a neurodevelopmental disorder created obstacles towards intimacy. I’m thankful for that loneliness, though, because it allowed me to reflect, observe, and take self-motivated actions from an early age.
Fast-forward to 8th grade. A lovely librarian who happened to teach one period of English literature happened to spark that inner expression, my authenticity. “I noticed your group work. You don’t put in much effort when working with others. Why is that?” I glanced up from doodling and replied. “I’ll just let everybody else take over. They seem to be doing better without me.”
Now I know what you’re thinking: I must be going through that dreaded “emo phase” everybody talks about. And you’d be correct!
What came next changed my life. Standardized testing is unfortunately the “best” way to assess students in the American education system. To the surprise of my teacher, I scored abnormally high, especially for someone with a disorder considered to be a learning disability. “I have an idea. How about you do an independent project? You’ve passed all the knowledge you need for this class, and I want the best experience for you.” She looked at me in a way that I’ve never seen before: someone trusted and believed in me enough to share myself.
The subject of the project was a little silly now that I reflect. I had chosen to just draw manga and work on improving my style. Every single day she would waltz over and observe everything that I felt on paper. “That looks fantastic!” Tilting my head up, I replied with a blunt, “Thanks.”
I presented those drawings to the whole middle school, being proud of myself for once. Peers asked questions on my own inspiration, how I developed a liking to this art form, etc. One comment stuck out. It was from an older gentleman, who looked somewhat frail yet spoke with a strong, confident voice. “Young man, we can all tell you worked hard on this. You poured yourself into it. This is YOU!” I giggled a bit over how dramatic of a person he was, but the message came across: my inner being can be respected and inspirational!
The confidence bled into all other aspects of my life. Playing instruments in band? Let’s riff and improvise! Cross country practice? Let’s take that new path with the dying apple tree surrounded by those hideous crows! The best female runner on the team came up to me one day and remarked, “Blake, you may not fit in, but you’re fun!” We were friends during all high school.
Still, through all these praises from a diverse group of individuals, there were the hardships. Homophobic slurs, childish pushing, even getting my head dunked in the toilet – they were all part of the authentic experience. But one experience would prove to ignite the initial confusion of the meaning of authenticity for a long while.
17-year-old me was a prankster, a cocky class clown. Junior year, I met another boy who resembled me. I would be confused for him, with even my closest friends being unable to distinguish us sometimes. I had no hate for him; in fact, I had a crush on him. You must be thinking, “How narcissistic of you, Blake!” You’d be right.
Over the course of that year, he began replacing me. This was unintentional, but my passive aggressiveness would still be directed towards him, regardless of awareness of that fact. It became a spiral into teenage depression. Near the end of that year, I had began forming suicidal thoughts and lost hope. For the next few years, I would put up an egotistical defense mechanism (which still occasionally comes out) observed in a few close to me.
My mood swings were agonizing. Not only was it difficult for me, but it seemed that I was deemed a “difficult case” like in my childhood. I had few friends outside of my best friend (bless her). I was engaging in risky sexual behavior, albeit sexual experimentation gave me the last glimmer and touch of my authentic self.
I met a man, who I wish the best for. An intense roller-coaster of a relationship ensued with him. He was a bright young man, 4 years older than me. I fell madly in love, a rare burning passion. I had done many things I previously wouldn’t have, like flying alone to go see him. Neither of us were perfect, obviously, but where I went wrong? I hid my inner world.
That childhood fear crawled into my mind of me being “weird and annoying,” so I hid all of my art and any books I thought he wouldn’t like or was “too strange” and turn him away. A prime example would be those drawings I worked so hard on in 8th grade. But that man was intuitive, and he was aware I was hiding parts of myself. Trust issues escalate, and the temporary romance ended.
Following that break-up, like a lot of other college kids, I turned to alcohol to solve my problems. Did they? Of course not. All it did was create temporary relief from the inner turmoil of lack of self-acceptance of my own quirks. By the end of that semester, I barely passed my classes.
After melting down on Christmas Day 2017 following an intense discussion, I realized that I forgot who I was, or who I could be. All I knew was depression. “Let’s see what’s on Netflix…Eat, Pray, Love? Why not?” I watched it, thought it was cute yet incredibly cheesy. As I sat in my parent’s guest bed staring at the ceiling blankly, I thought about the journey she went through. “Yeah, travelling to India is outside of my budget,” I thought, being the typical broke-college kid. “I need to know myself and love that person. I’m tired of feeling so broken and confused.” Cue the stereotypical spiritual journey that would ensue!
Meditation was quite revolutionary, but frustrating for someone like me. “ADHD adult suffers stroke after trying to concentrate,” I whispered during my first attempt. “They would put on that on headlines of obscure newspapers.”
Over time, I eventually learned (through much dismay) that the meditation was simply a time not to stop thinking but let the inner turmoil flow. I noticed thought patterns, mostly negative at the time. However, with much practice, I began noticing the positive thoughts. “Remember earlier today when you explained ethics in cancer research and was surprised at how easily it flowed?” That teacher would later give me a 100% on a paper, something quite rare.
It was through this practice of self-awareness and acceptance that the epiphany came, like the earlier one during childhood. “I could share my thoughts and express them, and if it isn’t accepted, I still know that I’m worthy of said expression.”
I wanted help understanding my new understanding of expression and working through the childhood loneliness and rejection. Fortunately, I had access to therapy. I also began the journey of exploring medication and adult behavioral therapies. During the last therapy session, a comment blurted out of my mouth that would stick with me to this day. “You know, I don’t think it’s about being ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ I think it’s about staying true.” My therapist gave the brightest smile and replied, “It was a pleasure seeing you evolve.”
Up until this point, I chose silence and secrecy to defend against the judgment of others for being me. My mind is naturally considered inconsistent, rebellious, and uncooperative. I battled the depression that resulted from my different mind. But from that point on, I chose nothing less of expressing that inner turmoil.
The inspiration stemming from the new positive mindset led to opportunities that would further my character development. I became Chair of the Student Health Advisory Committee at Washington State University in which I have pushed for the much-sought improvements the campus healthcare system needed. We now have a more efficient communication system in Counseling and Psychological Services regarding same-day therapy sessions. The opportunity for becoming a TA for an introductory microbiology course crossed my mind. The last two semester have been a blast due to the diverse group of students I’ve worked with! My own thoughts on the material being taught are readily expressed, and students have commented on how helpful it’s been. Recently, after saying goodbye to the class due to the current pandemic, a student waddled up and said, “I’ll miss this class. You’re really considerate of students and do your best to explain it in weird and funny metaphors. I haven’t been bored once here.”
“Weird...and funny? Not annoying?” I grinned as she walked out the door, head slightly tilted. “Not bad for a teacher with a learning disability.”
Here we are today, with me licking my chapped lips, wearing a full galaxy outfit, feet scrunched on my revolutionary meditation pillow. Authenticity has been a rough journey, but I feel like my authentic self. Finally.
It took 22 years for me to get here, which, depending on who’s reading this, may seem like an eternity or quite a short time. Perhaps we’re the same age and think similarly. Maybe we seem like complete opposites. However, authenticity isn’t about being “like” or “unlike” anybody, just like how it’s not about being “right” or “wrong.” Authenticity is about creating and staying true to yourself. Authenticity is about being an unapologetic experience.