Swingin'

A few weeks ago, I was really struggling to find ways to decompress and just get my mind to slow down and get back in the moment instead of just constantly allowing my mind to race.  I've tried meditation with some success.  Music usually helps, but not at my most difficult and anxious times, which is unfortunate.  Baking helps, but there's only so much baking I can do...heaven knows I don't need to eat that much and there's only so much the people at work can eat, too.  So I was talking with my therapist one session and she mentioned a couple of things that can sometimes help.  The first suggestion was dancing.  She made a comment about not being able to be sad while dancing, to which I responded, "If I try to dance, EVERYONE will be sad."  I'm seriously the most uncoordinated person on the planet and for as much as I love music, I have a shocking lack of rhythm.  I'll save everyone the pain of seeing me dance - I struck that one down before it ever made it onto the list.  The next suggestion?  Swinging.

Let's just say that when an adult starts talking about swinging, this isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind, which led to a few (VERY) awkward moments in the conversation.

To be honest, I thought the suggestion was really kind of silly.  Like, seriously silly.  But then this week, I had a mommy/son day with my oldest and we spent some time at the park and for the first time, he was able to swing all by himself so I was able to grab the swing next to him and just chill.  And you know what?  It was freakin' awesome!

I am without the kids this weekend.  And the first thing I did after they got picked up and driven off was hop in the car and drive to the park.  And I hit the swings...all by myself.  I felt a little silly going to the park with no kids, but I've been practicing my death glare - you know, in case anyone tried to get between me and the swings.  Because that's what mature adults do...they use a death glare to feel less awkward.  Just trust me on this one - death glares are a sign of sophistication and being properly adjusted.  Would I lie?

It's been a tough few days.  I've been struggling with something that's just left me feeling detached, isolated and alone.  I've been struggling to process things.  I've found myself having trouble sleeping and having difficult thinking about anything else.  But at the playground, I was able to just relax.  I was able to concentrate on the beautiful weather, the gorgeous sunset and just losing myself a bit on the swings.  It sounds cheesy - and I guess it is kind of cheesy - but there's something really therapeutic about swings.  I don't know if it's that repetitive, rocking motion or if it's the idea of somehow getting back in touch with my childlike side...but it was like a much needed therapy session.  In the end, it may not keep my mind from racing tonight or keep me from being stressed and anxious trying to process things, but for that brief time, I had a reprieve.  And I see many more trips to the playground in my future and many more opportunities to practice my death glare.

Thankful

It's that time of the year again when people stop what they're doing to take a moment and remember what they are thankful for.  As a very difficult chapter of my life is coming to a close, it's a better time than ever to celebrate the things that got me to this point. After all, with this year being the hardest I've ever muddled my way through, just getting through it is something to be thankful.

But there are lots of things and people that got me to where I am right now.  And I am beyond thankful for all of them.    

I'm thankful for my psychiatrists. I haven't liked either of them - at all - but they did at least help me find some meds to get me through some crappy times and, perhaps more importantly found me something to kick my insomnia's ass. I don't have to like them to appreciate the contributions they made. And in the end, the fact that they were so resistant and unwilling to listen to me forced me to commit to being my own biggest advocate.  That's always been something I've been downright awful at, so that push to force me to stand up for myself was a gift, despite being hugely frustrating.  

I'm thankful for my therapist. I mean seriously, ridiculously thankful. Some days I feel certain she must dread her sessions with me as I certainly feel like I have a tendency to suck the life out of everyone I'm around.  But I've never felt more comfortable with someone than I do with her and that's been the most tremendous gift I could have ever received.  She has supported me when I felt completely alone.  She has challenged me to learn about myself and grow in ways I would have never thought about.  She has provided for me a safe and nurturing environment for me to talk about anything...or talk about nothing at all.  Some weeks, that time on her couch was the only time I really felt "safe."  There are no words to describe how invaluable that has been for me. She has been such a tremendous help/support/motivation/kick in the pants.  I could never thank her enough.

I'm thankful for friends that have stood by me and supported me through what has been a horribly difficult year.  Friends that haven't judged and haven't abandoned me even through the scary stuff.  Friends that I have learned to talk to about my struggles and who have been there when I've needed to reach out.  You know who you are - and you mean more to me than you could possibly know.  I hope some day to be able to somehow repay the favor.  I'd be lost without you.

I'm thankful for family.  Over the past few months, I've been able to reconnect with a number of people in my extended family, some of which I've not really "spoken" to in a very, very long time.  They've been so tremendously supportive and accepting - I can't help but feel like I don't deserve it.  Regardless, I certainly appreciate the hell out of it.  I really do.  I love you all and appreciate your support more than you'll ever know.  You have been a lifeline for me - honestly and truly.  Thank you times a million.

I'm thankful for the vacation I'm planning next year.  I can't even explain how much I'm looking forward to that.  I'm excited able to have some freedom to just enjoy the open road and the beauty of nature without being a slave to any kind of rigid itinerary (I'm so not a planner...at all).  I'm excited to see and spend time with family I haven't seen in ages (and thankful they're willing to put up with me).  Somehow, being one of the youngest in the family, I've always had trouble viewing any of my family members, extended or otherwise, as peers.  It's been a bit of an adjustment to realize that the years that separate us, while it seemed like a huge gap growing up, don't really mean much anymore.  Sometimes I honestly forget that I'm a grown-up now.  I'm looking forward to being able to spend time with people that genuinely care about me...and maybe even feeling normal for a moment or two.

And finally, I'm thankful I'm here.  I'm thankful I exist.  I'm thankful I have people who love me and accept me, scars and all.  I'm thankful that I've made it through another year.  I'm thankful that I finally made the choice to reach out and get the help I needed to sort through everything.  I'm thankful to be uncovering parts of myself that I thought were lost forever.  And I'm learning to be thankful for the journey...

Secrets - Fo' Serious, Yo!

I went to IKEA last week.  I love IKEA...like, an unhealthy amount.  I'd have a love affair with IKEA if I could, but that's probably another blog post entirely.  Every time I go to IKEA, I drool over all of the fabulous gadgets and knick-knacks they have for organization.  Well, I drool over the thought of them - I don't actually physically drool on them.  Apparently they frown on that there.  Those of you who know me well are probably already laughing at my love of organizational things.  For those of you who don't know me, I'm petty much the most unorganized person on the planet.  My house looks like a giant monster came in, ate everything in sight and then just vomited it all over the place.  Yes, my house looks like monster vomit.  And monster vomit is in no way organized - and it's actually kind of gross.  I've never quite been able to understand why I have such a fascination with organization doohickeys.  Perhaps it's just my natural inclination to want what I know I'll never have.  I'm never going to be an organized person.  I've accepted that as one of many truths in my life.  Organization = not gonna happen.

So, you're probably wondering why this post is titled "Secrets."  Certainly my love for IKEA is no secret, nor is my complete lack of organization.  So let's start at the beginning.  It was a cold November day in Somewhere, Indiana when I made my entrance into this world in spectacular fashion.  Okay, that's probably too far back.  But this picture below - this is why IKEA was Hell, if only for a brief time.

What's so horrific about a giant pile of scissors?  Well, that's a freaking long story, and it's one that I'm sure will leave a fair number of you either judging the hell out of me or convinced I'm psychotic - or perhaps both. So I'll start with this - I'm NOT psychotic. Not even a little - my psychiatrist told me so... Now that I've got that out of the way, the reason that a huge pile of scissors makes me so damn uncomfortable is because I struggle with self-harm and have for a very, very long time.  I cut and scissors are typically my "weapon" of choice. It's something I've never been open about because of the fear of judgment, the fear of people thinking I'm a freak. And I'm sure I'll get a fair amount of both, and that's okay. Well, actually that really sucks, but I understand and expect it anyway.

I suppose I'm at a point in my life where I feel like people who can't see past it and realize I'm the same person I've always been aren't worth worrying about. The truth is that it's a hard struggle and I need all the support I can get. At some point I just need to have some faith that people don't suck and aren't just going to run screaming the other way because they don't understand. If you don't understand, you're in great company. I'd imagine most people who've never struggled with it really don't understand - it seems really counter-intuitive and fucked up. My hope is that people will educate themselves and try to understand instead of jumping straight to judgment. And if you don't understand and you have questions, please ask me. I'd rather answer awkward and uncomfortable questions than be silently judged. I don't want people to think I'm some kind of crazy lunatic...any more than they already do. 

I'm sure it's strange - maybe even scary - to think about someone intentionally hurting themselves. Trust me, it's not exactly a walk in the park for me either - I didn't ask to be this way and certainly wouldn't have chosen it for myself. But the nuts and bolts of it is that it's nothing more than a coping mechanism. A maladaptive one, certainly, but really the drive isn't so different from the what compels some people to drink or indulge in retail therapy when they're stressed. It's hard to explain why cutting helps, but it ironically does take the sting out of some very difficult emotions. That's the thing - it's be much easier to beat if it didn't actually work, but it does and that's just unfortunate.  As anyone who's read this blog knows, it's been a hell of a year for me and that's certainly just added fuel to the fire.

To be clear, self-harm is NOT a suicide attempt, though I can understand how it might sometimes seem like it is.  It's often just the opposite - a way to try to take the edge off of some very horrifyingly strong emotions so that suicide doesn't start seeming like a viable option.  It is also not a cry for attention.  Most people who self-harm are very careful to hide it, harming in areas that are easily hidden or in ways that can be easily explained.  Most people who self-harm are too afraid of judgment to do it for attention.  I promise you, it's not for attention.  It's also not about enjoying pain.  No, just...no.

I remember talking with my therapist during one session about some of these struggles and issues.  She was trying to understand where some of my struggles originated and why I turned to this kind of crappy and self-destructive coping mechanism.  So she asked me about my earliest childhood memory.  I thought about it for a moment and then busted out laughing.  Like crazy, ridiculous laughter. I think my therapist thought I had officially lost my mind.  She was probably right, but that's not why I was laughing.  I was laughing because my earliest childhood memory was just so ridiculous in light of my issues with cutting.  You see, the earliest memory I have that's vivid enough for me to really remember is from kindergarten (which is apparently really late for a first memory).  I sat next to a boy called "Johnny O" who was a little...I don't know, unhinged is maybe a good word.  I remember him taking out his pair of safety scissors and cutting the crap out of my hand.  I had a hard time even telling the story through the laughter because the irony was just absurd.  Talk about some deep seated issues - I blame him for all of these problems!  I'm thankful to have a therapist that could appreciate the humor in the story despite the issues themselves not being at all humorous.  Sometimes it's nice just to break the tension and be able to find humor in things that aren't really traditionally humorous.  

I'm sure at some point I'll end up kicking myself for being open about this.  Probably really soon after I put it out there. But the truth is that I don't care anymore. I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm tired of hiding parts of myself because they're hard to swallow. People who don't support me in my worst of times don't deserve me in my best of times. And it's honestly a hard thing to fight alone, but it's even harder when I'm too busy being ashamed of it to actually try to deal with it.  As counter-intuitive as it may seem, self-harm is what's helped me survive through all of the times I wanted to give up, and there's absolutely no shame in surviving. With any luck, I'll pick up a supportive person or two along the way who will be willing to be there for me when I'm struggling, without judgment, without conditions because heaven knows that's what I need more than anything right now. I've made a lot of strides in dealing with this whole mess this year, especially considering the year I've had, but there are days it's definitely still a struggle...sometimes more than I care to admit.  There are a few people - and they know who they are - who have been such a tremendous support for me over the last several months (and kind of long suffering for having to deal with me - sorry about that).  I love and appreciate you more than you know.  Thank you for being awesome and patient and not giving up on me.

Here's hoping people surprise me with love and support instead of fear and judgment.  I guess we shall see...but I'm going to duck and cover, just in case.

Hooray For Getting Old!

I was playing around with my phone last night. Those who know me well know I enjoy having appropriately smartass ring tones for certain people. My ring tone for my therapist and psychiatrist is, for example, the mental health hotline. My standard ring tone is Mr. Bean giggling. I'm just special like that - I find things like that amusing and it seriously makes me laugh every time my phone rings.  I like having ring tones that make me giggle. So naturally, I had to find a fitting ring tone for my husband.  So I decided that the theme song to the Halloween movies would be an awesome choice because, you know, much of the relationship over the past few years has been similar to a horror movie.  

So for whatever reason, I found that ring tone for him to be awesomely hilarious.  It continued to be hilarious for about three hours...until my husband decided to call me on my cell phone after I had gone to bed for the night.  In case you were wondering, waking up from a dead sleep to the Halloween theme music is scary as hell.  I may have required a change of underwear after that.  Obviously, I didn't really think that idea through especially well, but in hindsight, it was funny...

So I changed switched the ringtone from Halloween to the sound effects from the shower scene in the movie "Psycho."  Because it still makes me laugh...but isn't loud enough to wake me from a dead sleep.  Perfection.

Anyway, it's my birthday today. I'm thirty-something years old. I'm not typically one to celebrate birthdays much. As a matter of fact, birthdays have typically been kind of crappy days for me. But this year I'm trying to make an effort to celebrate it, even if just in small ways. Because after having what's been undoubtedly the worst year of my life, I've earned it. I finally feel like I have cause to celebrate making it through another year. There were times this year I didn't believe this birthday would happen at all, so to make it here is an accomplishment. The fact that I made it here with a little bit of my sanity still in tact is a bonus.  I mean, it's a REALLY little bit, but who's keeping track, right?  I actually feel like this birthday is an bonafide accomplishment.  Of course, considering what it took to make it feel like an accomplishment, it's safe to say that I am entirely ready to go back to birthdays that do NOT feel like an accomplishment.  I'll go back to birthdays that suck if it means that the rest of the year doesn't completely suck.

It's been a heck of a few weeks, but I'm trying to focus on the most important thing - that I have been making it through.  It's been one thing after another, and it's gotten a little dicey here and there.  But I've been doing what I need to do to get by.  Lately I've had a really difficult time seeing how I have changed over the past year.  It's probably a little ridiculous, I guess, because clearly I HAVE changed, but I just have a hell of a time trying to see it.  But weeks like this are a shining example of how things are very, very different for me.  Earlier this year, having a month like this would have broken me.  Completely, 100% broken me...padded walls, straight jacket, the whole nine yards.  I suppose now I have the gift of perspective.  Best birthday gift ever.  

I'm finally starting to let myself look forward to the vacation I'm planning over the summer. My master plan to trick myself into committing to the trip has worked like a charm. I was at the point earlier this week where I just wanted to give up and flush it down the toilet because there were so many other issues going on. Thank goodness for nonrefundable airfare. I can't stand the idea of flushing money down the toilet, so I was forced to keep my plans. And that's exactly what I wanted. Because I'm predictable. I knew the shit would hit the fan. I knew I'd be tempted to cancel the trip and give up on doing anything for myself. I KNEW it would happen.

My God, I'm so predictable.  I'm glad for that, I guess, because it made it a lot easier trick myself into keeping my plans.  And I'm finally starting to feel kind of excited about the trip.  I'm not much of a planner, honestly so I don't really have the slightest clue what I'm actually going to do, but that's part of the appeal.  No plans, no particular obligations, spending some time with some family that I haven't seen in a very, very long time.  That's really all I'm going for.

So cheers to the start of a new year with new possibilities, renewed hope, and rekindled relationships.  I never would have thought this past year would have gone the way it did, but I'm going to come out on top no matter how long it takes... 

Blindsided...

blind·side

: to hit (someone who is facing in another direction) suddenly and very hard

: to surprise or shock (someone) in a very unpleasant way

So, this happened this week.  The last several weeks have been a real struggle for me in a lot of different ways.  It's been an absolute roller coaster.  Have I ever mentioned how much I hate roller coasters?  Because I do. Emotional roller coasters, actual roller coasters...whatever.  My parents like to tease me because when I was a little girl, my dad was driving down a really hilly road that would give you that little stomach drop sensation.  I was so terrified I was wailing, "Don't go faster, don't go faster!" from the back seat.  Yup...I'm a regular adrenaline junkie.

I felt like I was finally starting to turn the corner - at least in a small way.  Then I got hit with it.  The blindside.  Now, I'm not going to go into details - because really, that won't do anyone any good.  But shit, can a girl catch a break, please?  So earlier this week, when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did.  It definitely did.  And you know what?  I surprised myself by not completely breaking down.  Only partially this time.... Seriously, though, with everything going on I'm kind of amazed that it went as well as it did.  I had to bust out everything in my arsenal just to stay afloat - listening to calming music, meditation, doing breathing exercises, painting, trying to focus on things and people that give me joy.  But I stayed afloat.  I didn't spend the week wanting to jump off the tallest building I could find or wrap my car around a pole.  And while I realize that hardly seems like an accomplishment for most people, it kind of is for me.

It seems, though, like the times when you're blindsided in the most unexpected and hurtful ways are also the times you learn an awful lot about yourself.  That raw emotion that you feel when you first get hit with it...it just seems very revealing.  I'll admit that I kind of surprised myself.  If you'd have asked me a few months ago what my response would have been to this situation, I would have undoubtedly expected anger and rage and a whole host of unsavory emotions.  To my surprise, I haven't really had any of those.  The closest I've come to rage is frustration.  I'm hurt and disappointed, but I'm happier with that response than with rage.  The girl I want to be isn't a raging, spiteful bitch.  I'll admit that there have been lots of times - this past year especially - where I really started to think that's who I was now.  That the rage and spite were who I am at my core now.  So despite the fact that being blindsided sucks - A LOT - the one positive thing that's come out of it is that I'm finding that I'm NOT that girl.  Sure, I've got rage and anger and spite - I can certainly own that - but that's not who I am at my core.  And honestly, it was worth being blindsided just to find that out.  It'd have been great if there were a less painful way to figure it out, but I'm glad to have found out.  

But this is why I've been mostly in hiding lately.  I've been spending most of my free time trying not to think for fear of how it might end up if I think too much.  The rest of my free time has been spent crumpled on the bed in pure exhaustion.  I can't think of the last time I've been this completely exhausted - and that says a lot.  This morning I took the last of my happy pills.  I am officially off all of them...for now.  The next few weeks are likely to be really telling as I press forward with a clean slate.

Fingers and toes crossed...

So This Is What It Feels Like...

...to be run over by a truck.

Oh. My. God.  I feel horrible.  After another visit to my new psychiatrist on Monday, I decided that I think the med school these people went to must have an entire course for budding psychiatrists about how to be an arrogant asshole (oddly, both of my psychiatrists went to the same med school) .  If my experiences with these doctors is any indication, they were excellent students.  So I give up.  I am giving up on all of the meds - at least for now, I guess.

Word of advice - avoid being put on Effexor if humanly possible.  Seriously.  I mean, it's a great drug for a lot of people.  It really is.  But holy shit, if you're one of those people it doesn't do a whole hell of a lot for, getting off of it is a fucking nightmare.  If I had known what I know now before I started taking it, I never would have agreed to it.  There are seriously people that just stay on low doses for the rest of their lives because they can't handle they withdrawal.  There are also a lot of people that liken Effexor withdrawal to heroin withdrawal.  Now, I obviously can't speak to that, having never actually done heroin, let alone become addicted to it and I expect that's probably a shade on the dramatic side, but holy hell, coming off of Effexor is a damn nightmare and way worse than I ever expected.  Then again, it's a great drug for some people.  I suppose I'm biased, though, since it never did much of anything for me.

For some perspective, I hardly ever take sick days at work.  Almost never.  And often when I am sick and can't get into the office, I still work from home.  I had to take today off, and this week has been so bad that I took Monday and Tuesday off too.  I never do that.  And truthfully, I hate doing it.  I really do.  But hey, when you don't have a choice, you don't have a choice.  Better to be at home trying to just make it through the withdrawal process than try to deal with it at work.  Because I wouldn't get any work done...and if I had to guess, I'd probably end being super-bitch too - and that's not really the reputation I want for myself at work.  You know, assuming I haven't already earned that reputation at work... And I guess that's what sick days are for.  I should really stop feeling guilty for taking care of myself.

The first day off the Effexor went pretty well and I I think I lulled myself into a false sense of security.  I felt optimistic that maybe I'd skate through without too many issues.  By Wednesday, I felt like I'd been plowed over by a truck.  It's like having a horrible case of the flu...without actually having the flu.  Nausea, diarrhea, chills, sweats, aches, headaches - brutal headaches, insomnia, anxiety (though who knows what is the withdrawal and what's just me being fucked up as far as that's concerned), dizziness, sensory disturbances (pins and needles sensations all along my scalp and the back of my neck).  Fun way to spend a few days of vacation time, right?  Good Lord.  But hey, that's what those days are there for - prescription medication detox... Because fuck, THAT'S a fun one to explain.  "I'm not really feeling too well."  "Oh, what's wrong?"  "Oh, you know...just your average, everyday drug withdrawal... You know, like when you stopped your heroin addiction?  Kind of like that. Oh, you never had a heroin addiction - okay then...in that case, just trust me - it sucks a lot."

But next week is a new week and hopefully it'll be better.  I suppose every day that passes is one step closer to being on the other side.  At the very least, it's one step closer to being able to take up drinking...