I've had a difficult year. I feel like every year is difficult. It seems like I find the perfect combination of medications, and then they just stop working as well. Or, more commonly, I try something new and my IBS-C gets exacerbated or I develop sexual side effects. Always. Antidepressants are not friends.
The worst part of the medication-Russian-roulette is that I think I'm better. I always think I'm so close to normal or free. I feel like I can be myself. But, honestly, I don't even know what that is anymore. I don't really know what is delusion or depression. I don't know what is my feelings or just whatever the pills decide.
I hate thinking about things I've done under different medicines. I hate that I always claim I'm better and everyone gets so excited for me, and then mere months later, I'm in the hospital for being suicidal. Everyone is on the roller coaster with me - anyone who decides to stay on, anyway.
I know two things about me - I have a lot of love to give and I'm passionate about social causes/reform, and I am infatuated with death investigation.
That's about it, I've realized. Everything else seems fluid. My feelings aren't the same from one hour to the next. My thoughts are under constant attack from negativity and suicidality. I have to be dilligent to keep from ruining my own day with terror-filled thoughts of the future/failure or self-defeating thoughts of my minor, day-to-day shortcomings.
It's a lot of work to try to be this bland, mildly depressed, shy person. My only other option seems to be a hot mess. But, with all of this, with all of this medication, hospitalization, and therapy, I just want to be free to be myself - whatever that is. I don't want to be afraid of any one person or social situation. I don't want to be miserable. I don't want to be afraid or shy. I just feel like I have so much love to give. Like, to a socially-awkward degree. I feel like I'm this brilliant, burning star sealed beneath a self-created tomb of pure, unadulterated fear of nothing.
Stability would be nice. New Years is coming, and it's a wonderful opportunity for renewal. It's quickly becoming my favorite holiday (as all the others seem to have become a mess after marriage). Maybe I can make a goal to figure out who/what I am besides a lover of all things death and just a plain 'ol lover anyway. A secret plain 'ol lover. I want that to come through more, too.
Monday, December 26, 2016
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Still Happy
It seems like my blog has become a mental health blog. But it is what's in my brain, so...
I just wanted to note how happy I am right now.
Just because I'm better-medicated, doesn't mean I'm always happy. I still experience emotions, just not as deeply or as often. They also don't shift so much so quickly. I'm stable, you know? In fact, yesterday, I was very sad and very hopeless. I was dreading my future all day. It wasn't a good day, but I didn't get suicidal. Okay, I may have thought of it as an option, but it was a fleeting thought.
Anyway, that's over now. I'm pretty happy today. And I'm so thankful. I'm even thinking of getting a job soon. My sleep schedule is SO off, and I get so tired sometimes, but otherwise I feel so great! I feel prepared to try again.
I don't feel alone, despite having a more serious diagnosis now. I feel free. I feel like I'm more boring, but also less crazy. I can be me, right? I don't know. I'm just happy!! I feel GOOD!!! Thanks!
I just wanted to note how happy I am right now.
Just because I'm better-medicated, doesn't mean I'm always happy. I still experience emotions, just not as deeply or as often. They also don't shift so much so quickly. I'm stable, you know? In fact, yesterday, I was very sad and very hopeless. I was dreading my future all day. It wasn't a good day, but I didn't get suicidal. Okay, I may have thought of it as an option, but it was a fleeting thought.
Anyway, that's over now. I'm pretty happy today. And I'm so thankful. I'm even thinking of getting a job soon. My sleep schedule is SO off, and I get so tired sometimes, but otherwise I feel so great! I feel prepared to try again.
I don't feel alone, despite having a more serious diagnosis now. I feel free. I feel like I'm more boring, but also less crazy. I can be me, right? I don't know. I'm just happy!! I feel GOOD!!! Thanks!
Monday, October 24, 2016
I can breathe
It's hard to describe how things have changed since the antipsychotic.
I didn't realize how dissociated I was. I watched as my life happened, but I wasn't in any sort of control. I didn't realize how powerless I was over my mind. I thought feeling things everyday as if they happened yesterday was normal. For instance, I still lived in 2012. It was impossible for me to not drag up Stephen's infidelity and "chew" on it all day every day. Just let it gnaw at me. The feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, and deep, unrelenting sadness took over, and I would be miserable (Keeping in mind, we were only dating at the time, and he's a much different, better person now). It was so masochistic. So disproportionate. It wasn't even a choice. Of course I'd want freedom. I wanted to forget, but couldn't. Now, when it ever does come to mind, I have a choice to not think more of it. The raw, searing pain is gone, and it's just something that happened years ago. It's in the past - where it belongs. It really is just a thought, and not something I've unintentionally breathed life into to torment me for the rest of the day. I have control. I have power. I have peace. Finally. And that's just the most prominent example! I don't think of slights or negative interpretations of things people have said or done. I don't cycle the "whys" and "what ifs" behind them. I can let things go! I'm free!
My marriage, obviously, is happier. I don't get annoyed at nothing anymore. My choices no longer feel like they have life and death consequences. It's okay to not have things "just so". People are more tolerable. My life is in my hands (for the most part). It's a whole new world at my fingertips! I can think, I can feel, and I can react on my own terms.
For the most part.
There has to be a catch, and my (very affordable) price to pay is a dulled imagination. Things have less color in my mind. It doesn't feel as realistic. Sleep is not as deep. I don't have to sleep as much (a good thing)! In fact, I feel restless often. It's hard to go to sleep at night. My legs are antsy. I get bored SO easily. My body also has a couple of issues typical for medicine that makes you feel better, but it's worth it.
I'm so happy. I'm SO happy my psychiatrist thought of this treatment and diagnosis. I'm learning so much, and I feel so much better. I don't really get too depressed at all, you know? It's amazing! I feel amazing! I just wish I'd found this sooner. Thank you. It's a miracle!!!
I didn't realize how dissociated I was. I watched as my life happened, but I wasn't in any sort of control. I didn't realize how powerless I was over my mind. I thought feeling things everyday as if they happened yesterday was normal. For instance, I still lived in 2012. It was impossible for me to not drag up Stephen's infidelity and "chew" on it all day every day. Just let it gnaw at me. The feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, and deep, unrelenting sadness took over, and I would be miserable (Keeping in mind, we were only dating at the time, and he's a much different, better person now). It was so masochistic. So disproportionate. It wasn't even a choice. Of course I'd want freedom. I wanted to forget, but couldn't. Now, when it ever does come to mind, I have a choice to not think more of it. The raw, searing pain is gone, and it's just something that happened years ago. It's in the past - where it belongs. It really is just a thought, and not something I've unintentionally breathed life into to torment me for the rest of the day. I have control. I have power. I have peace. Finally. And that's just the most prominent example! I don't think of slights or negative interpretations of things people have said or done. I don't cycle the "whys" and "what ifs" behind them. I can let things go! I'm free!
My marriage, obviously, is happier. I don't get annoyed at nothing anymore. My choices no longer feel like they have life and death consequences. It's okay to not have things "just so". People are more tolerable. My life is in my hands (for the most part). It's a whole new world at my fingertips! I can think, I can feel, and I can react on my own terms.
For the most part.
There has to be a catch, and my (very affordable) price to pay is a dulled imagination. Things have less color in my mind. It doesn't feel as realistic. Sleep is not as deep. I don't have to sleep as much (a good thing)! In fact, I feel restless often. It's hard to go to sleep at night. My legs are antsy. I get bored SO easily. My body also has a couple of issues typical for medicine that makes you feel better, but it's worth it.
I'm so happy. I'm SO happy my psychiatrist thought of this treatment and diagnosis. I'm learning so much, and I feel so much better. I don't really get too depressed at all, you know? It's amazing! I feel amazing! I just wish I'd found this sooner. Thank you. It's a miracle!!!
Friday, September 30, 2016
BPD
Maybe labels are bad?
I'm already having trouble trying to further validate or throw away the diagnosis. Accuracy is so important and, with such a stigmatized disorder, I really want to make sure it fits before really embracing it. People keep saying that "everyone experiences BPD differently" (there's even a clinically-respected "Quiet BPD" type). And while I sometimes feel like it fits well enough, I sometimes feel like I'm missing key elements.
There are 9 criteria listed in the DSM. For a professional to heavily consider diagnosis, you have to meet 5 or more of those criteria. They are:
Frantic efforts to avoid being abandoned by friends and family.
Unstable personal relationships that alternate between idealization—“I’m so in love!”—and devaluation—“I hate her.” This is also sometimes known as "splitting."
Distorted and unstable self-image, which affects moods, values, opinions, goals and relationships.
Impulsive behaviors that can have dangerous outcomes, such as excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse or reckless driving.
Suicidal and self-harming behavior.
Periods of intense depressed mood, irritability or anxiety lasting a few hours to a few days.
Chronic feelings of boredom or emptiness.
Inappropriate, intense or uncontrollable anger—often followed by shame and guilt.
Dissociative feelings—disconnecting from your thoughts or sense of identity, or “out of body” type of feelings—and stress-related paranoid thoughts. Severe cases of stress can also lead to brief psychotic episodes.
#1: Yes. As far as my conscious knows, I don't have this at all. I know my family wouldn't abandon me. Though I wonder if the reason I don't endeavor to make friends is because I don't want to be rejected. Then again, I've always thought it was because it's a lot of "work" to keep friends, and "hanging out" is really scary and tiring for me. Then again with friends and others, it feels impossible to be completely myself, though I want it so badly. Maybe my brain won't allow it, in order to protect from me being rejected. Like...maybe I'm not even consciously aware of this going on. EDIT: After a lot more education, it turns out that I definitely have this. I read a story about a BPD patient who felt the same exact way I do about weddings/people getting married. Turns out, we don't like getting replaced. It is abandonment/rejection for us. And my theory of pushing people away to avoid rejection is a very common theme. Again, I feel childish for this, but it's just nice to learn more about what really makes me tick. Everything is beginning to make more sense. I'll post again soon.
#2: Yes? At first this made sense to me. With many people, it felt like I would dislike them and then like or even love them again after a single gesture and vice versa. But it never went to a degree where I'd literally hate or be purposely vindictive toward anyone. I'm not sure if hate is necessary though (annoyance or dislike is sometimes used). But "black and white thinking" is definitely no. No one and no situation is either all good or all bad. EDIT: After talking with Stephen, and researching more about what "splitting" actually is, we decided I do this. It's embarrassing and seemingly childish, but knowing it's a common defense mechanism helps.
#3: No. I have a consistently poor self-image, and I know who I am.
#4: Yes. Long stories, but it should be clear that drugs and promiscuity are not part of them.
#5: Yes.
#6: Yes, but... I worry it's my other things. But then Sandra said that having this doesn't mean I don't have the other things. There are definitely swings and irritability, but...I don't know!
#7: Yes, but... what if it's my other things? I'm almost constantly bored, but I just thought it's because no one likes what I like and we don't talk about what I like ever. And I obviously feel empty.
#8: Yes.
#9: Yes. Except for the sense of identity option. That's never been an issue.
So I'm confused. The first three symptoms (the only ones I'm unsure of or defintiely don't have) seem very distinguishing and important. I'm a bit worried about the stigma attached. These symptoms seem so childish. And I feel childish that I even experience them. And a lot of people with BPD in popular articles seem like very manipulative, messed up people (I have little sympathy for people who sleep with married people). But we'll keep going with the treatment and see if it helps.
I'm already having trouble trying to further validate or throw away the diagnosis. Accuracy is so important and, with such a stigmatized disorder, I really want to make sure it fits before really embracing it. People keep saying that "everyone experiences BPD differently" (there's even a clinically-respected "Quiet BPD" type). And while I sometimes feel like it fits well enough, I sometimes feel like I'm missing key elements.
There are 9 criteria listed in the DSM. For a professional to heavily consider diagnosis, you have to meet 5 or more of those criteria. They are:
#1: Yes. As far as my conscious knows, I don't have this at all. I know my family wouldn't abandon me. Though I wonder if the reason I don't endeavor to make friends is because I don't want to be rejected. Then again, I've always thought it was because it's a lot of "work" to keep friends, and "hanging out" is really scary and tiring for me. Then again with friends and others, it feels impossible to be completely myself, though I want it so badly. Maybe my brain won't allow it, in order to protect from me being rejected. Like...maybe I'm not even consciously aware of this going on. EDIT: After a lot more education, it turns out that I definitely have this. I read a story about a BPD patient who felt the same exact way I do about weddings/people getting married. Turns out, we don't like getting replaced. It is abandonment/rejection for us. And my theory of pushing people away to avoid rejection is a very common theme. Again, I feel childish for this, but it's just nice to learn more about what really makes me tick. Everything is beginning to make more sense. I'll post again soon.
#2: Yes? At first this made sense to me. With many people, it felt like I would dislike them and then like or even love them again after a single gesture and vice versa. But it never went to a degree where I'd literally hate or be purposely vindictive toward anyone. I'm not sure if hate is necessary though (annoyance or dislike is sometimes used). But "black and white thinking" is definitely no. No one and no situation is either all good or all bad. EDIT: After talking with Stephen, and researching more about what "splitting" actually is, we decided I do this. It's embarrassing and seemingly childish, but knowing it's a common defense mechanism helps.
#3: No. I have a consistently poor self-image, and I know who I am.
#4: Yes. Long stories, but it should be clear that drugs and promiscuity are not part of them.
#5: Yes.
#6: Yes, but... I worry it's my other things. But then Sandra said that having this doesn't mean I don't have the other things. There are definitely swings and irritability, but...I don't know!
#7: Yes, but... what if it's my other things? I'm almost constantly bored, but I just thought it's because no one likes what I like and we don't talk about what I like ever. And I obviously feel empty.
#8: Yes.
#9: Yes. Except for the sense of identity option. That's never been an issue.
So I'm confused. The first three symptoms (the only ones I'm unsure of or defintiely don't have) seem very distinguishing and important. I'm a bit worried about the stigma attached. These symptoms seem so childish. And I feel childish that I even experience them. And a lot of people with BPD in popular articles seem like very manipulative, messed up people (I have little sympathy for people who sleep with married people). But we'll keep going with the treatment and see if it helps.
Thursday, September 29, 2016
New Diagnosis
I'm excited and anxious at the same time!
Today, I was supposed to get my Buspirone doubled and an antidepressant (yay). I wasn't looking forward to it, but was happy to get more Buspirone! It really helps with general anxiety symptoms. Sandra is a blessing. She seems to know everything. Nearly every medicine she's prescribed has worked really well for me. So today, when I was telling her some experiences I had this week, she asked: Do you know anything about BPD?
Not really. I'd heard of it in social work class, but...yeah. She prescribed an anti-psychotic as I told her more. She got out her DSM and we went through it. Yeah. Borderline Personality Disorder. I had more than 5 of the 9 symptoms needed to make a diagnosis. And now I'm looking at it myself. It makes sense. Lots of things are beginning to make a lot of sense. Of course, it has a very high co-morbidity of depression and anxiety disorders.
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.
I think we found the final puzzle piece.
I'm seriously going to cry. I'm so grateful there is a chance at normalcy now that we've finally figured out what's going on.
Today, I was supposed to get my Buspirone doubled and an antidepressant (yay). I wasn't looking forward to it, but was happy to get more Buspirone! It really helps with general anxiety symptoms. Sandra is a blessing. She seems to know everything. Nearly every medicine she's prescribed has worked really well for me. So today, when I was telling her some experiences I had this week, she asked: Do you know anything about BPD?
Not really. I'd heard of it in social work class, but...yeah. She prescribed an anti-psychotic as I told her more. She got out her DSM and we went through it. Yeah. Borderline Personality Disorder. I had more than 5 of the 9 symptoms needed to make a diagnosis. And now I'm looking at it myself. It makes sense. Lots of things are beginning to make a lot of sense. Of course, it has a very high co-morbidity of depression and anxiety disorders.
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.
I think we found the final puzzle piece.
I'm seriously going to cry. I'm so grateful there is a chance at normalcy now that we've finally figured out what's going on.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
(Barely) hanging on
It's been tough, but I'm trying to be tough right back.
Don't tell anyone, but someone skipped two classes this week. I know, but I'm drowning in my own thoughts. They're killing me, and getting heavier and louder. I need help. I made an appointment to see the psychiatrist as soon as school started. My back is hurting more and more. I CANNOT stop eating. Can't sleep because I'm obsessing. Worrying. Distracting myself.
My heart is breaking. I even had a nightmare about "her" again, but this was the first one that didn't end in us becoming friends, it ended in more hurt. It messed up my whole day. I knew what every detail symbolized. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever completely get over it. Why is that responsibility mine? I didn't do anything wrong. Why did he even tell me?
This life isn't meant for me, it's not a good fit. That's what this all feels like, trying to fit a triangle-shaped block into a circular hole. I don't know what to do anymore.
Don't tell anyone, but someone skipped two classes this week. I know, but I'm drowning in my own thoughts. They're killing me, and getting heavier and louder. I need help. I made an appointment to see the psychiatrist as soon as school started. My back is hurting more and more. I CANNOT stop eating. Can't sleep because I'm obsessing. Worrying. Distracting myself.
My heart is breaking. I even had a nightmare about "her" again, but this was the first one that didn't end in us becoming friends, it ended in more hurt. It messed up my whole day. I knew what every detail symbolized. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever completely get over it. Why is that responsibility mine? I didn't do anything wrong. Why did he even tell me?
This life isn't meant for me, it's not a good fit. That's what this all feels like, trying to fit a triangle-shaped block into a circular hole. I don't know what to do anymore.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
A message in the dark
So Stephen has a great job. They give him free food, free drinks, and free shirts on the regular. They went a little beyond recently, when they bought every employee (+1) tickets to the new Star Trek movie.
Wow! We were pretty stoked. We had a couple of weeks to look forward to the movie. Stephen got half the day off, I dressed, he got a haircut, and off we were.
As fate (or dumb gps) would have it, we were a few minutes late. Less than five. Nothing was amiss as we strolled into the dark theatre. We grabbed some complementary popcorn, and headed to our seats.
Ascending the stairs, a dormant feeling yawned and rubbed it's sleepy eyes. Fear. It distinguishes itself from the normal discomfort of being in public. It's SO dark. I can only see tiny LED lights on the sides of the rows of seats. Row A, B, C... we're in row J? As we climb higher and higher, the room seems darker and darker. The fear stirs and stretches it's limber arms, but it goes ignored.
Finally, the letter 'J' peered through the darkness like a beacon. I look up from the ground. Our seats are in the middle of the row - the row filled with people who just got comfy, who want to watch the movie that JUST started. I guess previews are a thing of the past? Fear slowly slides the covers off. "It's fine," I lie. "We're just gonna have to be annoying for a couple of seconds as we find our seats. Not a big deal." I don't look forward to navigating legs and purses in the pitch black, but I push myself...right up to the first pair of legs.
Suddenly, fear has me by the throat, and I can only feel panic. Oh my gosh, I can't breathe! Someone has pushed all the air from my lungs. I need to get out of here! I turn around, and carefully fly down the barely-lit stairs. Tears well up in my eyes, but I can't tell if it's from fear, embarrassment, disappointment, or all three.
I manage to find a bench in the hallway, where I breathe as deeply as possible without drawing attention. I try to stifle my tears, and vigorously wipe away the ones I can't. My head hangs in shame and disappointment and fear slowly, reluctantly releases it's grip.
Stephen eventually realizes I haven't gone for drinks. He materializes, sympathy in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks. I managed to blubber out that I was sorry and that, fear's red finger marks still hot on my neck, I didn't want to go back in there. He consoled me for 20 or 30 minutes as we went back and forth on what to do next. I just wanted to retreat home. He wanted to see the movie, but not without me.
It was around this time that I was hit with an unexpected thought, a message in a bottle that had been sloshing around in the subconscious sea of my brain. "God didn't curse me with this so I'd be unhappy and crumble beneath it's weight."
Of course, I'd been connecting this one incident to every incident in my life and just general, overall reclusive state. How miserable it is. How I just wish I could be free - to be myself, have a job I'd love, to go out to movies or church and just have some control. This message pertained to everything.
I wasn't going to crumble. Fear won't have this victory. Not entirely. I agreed to go back in the theatre, but only if we found seats on the end of the row. Stephen found some in the perfect place, we got some soda, and we enjoyed the remainder of the film.
Wow! We were pretty stoked. We had a couple of weeks to look forward to the movie. Stephen got half the day off, I dressed, he got a haircut, and off we were.
As fate (or dumb gps) would have it, we were a few minutes late. Less than five. Nothing was amiss as we strolled into the dark theatre. We grabbed some complementary popcorn, and headed to our seats.
Ascending the stairs, a dormant feeling yawned and rubbed it's sleepy eyes. Fear. It distinguishes itself from the normal discomfort of being in public. It's SO dark. I can only see tiny LED lights on the sides of the rows of seats. Row A, B, C... we're in row J? As we climb higher and higher, the room seems darker and darker. The fear stirs and stretches it's limber arms, but it goes ignored.
Finally, the letter 'J' peered through the darkness like a beacon. I look up from the ground. Our seats are in the middle of the row - the row filled with people who just got comfy, who want to watch the movie that JUST started. I guess previews are a thing of the past? Fear slowly slides the covers off. "It's fine," I lie. "We're just gonna have to be annoying for a couple of seconds as we find our seats. Not a big deal." I don't look forward to navigating legs and purses in the pitch black, but I push myself...right up to the first pair of legs.
Suddenly, fear has me by the throat, and I can only feel panic. Oh my gosh, I can't breathe! Someone has pushed all the air from my lungs. I need to get out of here! I turn around, and carefully fly down the barely-lit stairs. Tears well up in my eyes, but I can't tell if it's from fear, embarrassment, disappointment, or all three.
I manage to find a bench in the hallway, where I breathe as deeply as possible without drawing attention. I try to stifle my tears, and vigorously wipe away the ones I can't. My head hangs in shame and disappointment and fear slowly, reluctantly releases it's grip.
Stephen eventually realizes I haven't gone for drinks. He materializes, sympathy in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks. I managed to blubber out that I was sorry and that, fear's red finger marks still hot on my neck, I didn't want to go back in there. He consoled me for 20 or 30 minutes as we went back and forth on what to do next. I just wanted to retreat home. He wanted to see the movie, but not without me.
It was around this time that I was hit with an unexpected thought, a message in a bottle that had been sloshing around in the subconscious sea of my brain. "God didn't curse me with this so I'd be unhappy and crumble beneath it's weight."
Of course, I'd been connecting this one incident to every incident in my life and just general, overall reclusive state. How miserable it is. How I just wish I could be free - to be myself, have a job I'd love, to go out to movies or church and just have some control. This message pertained to everything.
I wasn't going to crumble. Fear won't have this victory. Not entirely. I agreed to go back in the theatre, but only if we found seats on the end of the row. Stephen found some in the perfect place, we got some soda, and we enjoyed the remainder of the film.
Friday, July 22, 2016
Grateful (a blah blah blah post)
I don't know why (sometimes I wonder if I'm actually bipolar II), but I felt good today. I did some dishes, made dinner, and cleaned half the stove! For some reason, I'm thinking of going back to college, too. I guess possibility is inspiring.
Recently, I took two personality assessments. The Ipip-Neo, and a holland career quiz thingy by Truity. The Ipip-Neo is a professional test to measure neuroticism. I got the HIGHEST SCORE POSSIBLE (99, and then almost perfect 99s in every subcategory)! That was *shocking* to me. I thought I'd get average, tops.
Then, the holland career test. The highest score was "Thinker" type, with "Helper" and "Creator" also high. The others ("Builder", "Organizer", and "Persuader") were scored as low.
Well...the only things of interest that matched my categories were psychologist, sociologist, social worker, and epidemiologist. Interestingly, EMT, Surgical Technician, and Massage Therapist include "Builder" (along with at least one category I scored high in), and funeral service worker included "Organizer" AND "Persuader". It makes me wonder if I haven't had success because I've been chasing jobs that aren't cut out for me. Not to mention "Helper" jobs are iffy with my social phobia - they like to help people.
I know I've considered it before, but I think I'd LOVE to be an epidemiologist. And social work is awesome.
Ugh! I don't know!!! But I'm excited for possibility again. I'm ready to try again.
Recently, I took two personality assessments. The Ipip-Neo, and a holland career quiz thingy by Truity. The Ipip-Neo is a professional test to measure neuroticism. I got the HIGHEST SCORE POSSIBLE (99, and then almost perfect 99s in every subcategory)! That was *shocking* to me. I thought I'd get average, tops.
Then, the holland career test. The highest score was "Thinker" type, with "Helper" and "Creator" also high. The others ("Builder", "Organizer", and "Persuader") were scored as low.
Well...the only things of interest that matched my categories were psychologist, sociologist, social worker, and epidemiologist. Interestingly, EMT, Surgical Technician, and Massage Therapist include "Builder" (along with at least one category I scored high in), and funeral service worker included "Organizer" AND "Persuader". It makes me wonder if I haven't had success because I've been chasing jobs that aren't cut out for me. Not to mention "Helper" jobs are iffy with my social phobia - they like to help people.
I know I've considered it before, but I think I'd LOVE to be an epidemiologist. And social work is awesome.
Ugh! I don't know!!! But I'm excited for possibility again. I'm ready to try again.
Taste this bitter fruit
Guys. Life is good.
It's hard most of the time. It's exciting, unpredictable, and full of absolute bullsh*t. A trainwreck. And then, there are those few moments, days, or weeks between, when the storm finally pauses and time stands still. You get a moment to breathe, and realize that you have so much to take in and give back.
Thank goodness change is constant.
Nothing wretches your soul forever. The good times don't last, so we make them memories. Hope is a state of mind, not a result of situation. Life is bitter so we can become better, and warriors are baptized by fire.
It's hard most of the time. It's exciting, unpredictable, and full of absolute bullsh*t. A trainwreck. And then, there are those few moments, days, or weeks between, when the storm finally pauses and time stands still. You get a moment to breathe, and realize that you have so much to take in and give back.
Thank goodness change is constant.
Nothing wretches your soul forever. The good times don't last, so we make them memories. Hope is a state of mind, not a result of situation. Life is bitter so we can become better, and warriors are baptized by fire.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
If I didn't have a mental illness.
I was diagnosed in 2014, by a professional, with social phobia and major depressive disorder (with some hypervigilance). Later, a separate professional said I also have agoraphobia. He's a therapist, so I'm not sure he can diagnose.
Anyway, recently there was a huge fight that involved several members of my family. I heard something they've never mentioned before. They said I use my illnesses as a crutch. Later, one said I didn't even have one at all.
I'm not sure how to feel. I'm sad, of course, but they don't really know what it's like. They don't know what I go through, so they don't understand what they're saying. It also has occured to me that there's always been some level of jealousy there. They must think others are more patient with me or have sympathy for me. No. I don't use it as an excuse for anything, and no one feels bad for me or cuts me a break. People are happy for me when I do hard things - Like everyone else. Just turns out most everything is harder.
I digress. It got me thinking what my life would be like without mental illness. As a caveat, this is the first time I've ever done this (because it's just not helpful), but I have some things in mind.
On the most basic level, I'd have much more energy. Both of my illnesses cause fatigue. As you can imagine, constant physical tension from the phobia combined with the absolutely draining drag of depression PLUS my PKD is just a lot to work against. I knew I was tired, but I didn't realize how truly exhausted I was until the depression let up 9 months ago. Honestly, I didn't know people could feel that good. It was no wonder to me how people could look down on those with depression. They just have NO idea.
I'd have more motivation. It's hard to express how unmotivated a depressed person is. When mine was at it's worst, I didn't even care about criminal justice anymore - and that is my LIFE! I was sitting in the last criminal justice class I'd have to take for an associate's, and I just couldn't care less. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to die. Life is so incredibly colorless, dull, hard, predictable, and meaningless. All you'd ever feel was just...nothing. Nothing made you happy, or even anything. You just feel absolutely nothing - all the time.
It started my second year in middle school. The first year, I blossomed. This was my prime. I was overly outgoing, loud, happy, friendly. I got student of the week (or whatever) award from my P.E. teacher. P.E teacher!!! - so you know I I was doing something right. I enjoyed this year. I made so many friends and no bullies.
This, apparently, is normal. I crashed the second year. For some reason, I began to feel a strain when I spoke to others. I care so much about other people, but I began getting overly- concerned. I'd analyze every interaction: did I say this right? Did I give the wrong impression? Are they sad now?. I began feeling like I was in charge of everyone else. Like I had to make them happy. I started to feel like a failure if I wasn't being funny enough. I started to get paranoid. Everything I did began to feel awkward. It was getting harder and harder to be carefree. Because of these changes, I started wondering who I was. I started to be very hard on myself (what my therapist calls: self -flagillating). I had to balance who I thought I was with these new, unwelcome feelings. It only got worse from there.
I barely got through highschool. I remember throwing up my breakfast as we arrived on the first day of sophomore year. I frequently ditched class. I just didn't care about much. I felt so uncomfortable all the time.
Because of this, my grades were bad. Because my grades were bad, I couldn't be a volunteer at the space center - something I'd always wanted to do. Something I loved. My only sanctuary at the time. This was the first thing my illnesses denied me. I was unable to use my AP Music class as college credit because my OTHER grades were bad. I wanted to have an internship in the geology section of a nearby museum. I couldn't do that, either. Because I changed so much, I must've seemed fake. I tried very hard to pretend to be who I thought I was, and that was stressful. I lost a lot of friends, and had a hard time relating to anyone.
I was on clonazepam and zoloft when I went to Snow. I still struggled a lot, but somehow made great friends. I even made friends with the kitchen staff at the school. I had awesome grades. I was seeing the therapist in charge the school's mental health program. Then things got bad again.
I lost my first job after only a month. I learned what a real panic attack was. I had two. Turns out, waitressing is considered the #1 worst job for someone like me. I was devastated and embarrassed as I sobbed, gasped, and shook in the kitchen, everyone staring, wondering what was wrong.
It wasn't long afterward that I had to drop out of school. I didn't attend my day classes enough to get good grades. I needed more sleep than others because I was so exhausted. I had no friends. Maybe the pills weren't doing enough?
The unchecked disappointment for these failures made me cut myself for the first time - with hair thinning shears.
I took a break and dated and married Stephen. I was naively happy, so I stopped taking the pills. The next year was hell on Earth as I struggled every day not to kill myself. I managed to get another job at Maverik that lasted 2 months. I cried in the back room when no one was there. I tried so many new pills. I found out I have PKD - another thing that alienated me from others.
I tried CNA school in Fall 2013. I was very keen on the book material, but it was hard for me to even speak, let alone get 100 vitals. I pushed myself very hard, and made it to clinicals. Here, I'd truly fail. I ran away in tears - off the premesis - because I lost sight of my partner. I was terrified of being alone there. I somehow made it through my second clinical, but never made up for the first. Emptying a colostomy bag was the easier than speaking.
I was getting tired of being a slacktivist, so I took a volunteer course for a local shelter. I struggled there, too. We were in a small room, and there were always personal questions, but it was a great program. I was proud of myself for taking it. They even had too many volunteers, but they picked ME! I was so happy.
But I was also scared. Our last day was at the shelter. I was so worried I'd sleep through an alarm that I just couldn't sleep at all. Literally. So I got to the location, and barely stayed awake through the 8 hour training. I was home free until the end, when they decided to play trust/group games. I truly suffered through the first 2, but the last one, 10 minutes before the training was supposed to end, I lost my cool.
I broke away from the group, consoling myself and telling myself it wasn't a big deal and NO ONE cares, but I couldn't keep the embarrassed tears back. It was too late. I slinked to the bathroom and blotted away, it was embarrassing. I was mad at myself for crying, and for "giving up". "Now I can't volunteer. You were so close! Why did you let this happen? "
My tears turned into a full-on breakdown as I slipped out of the bathroom and gathered my things to make a quick escape. The director approached me and I tried to explain my "situation" through inconsolable blubbering. "Can I still volunteer?" I managed to eek out. She said "of course." and opened the gate so I could leave. She contacted me a few months later to see if I still wanted to volunteer, but I told her I couldn't because I would'nt have been a good role model at the time (I had fresh cuts on my arm).
Later that year, I was doing very poorly in school. I was seeing a school counselor who offered to write notes for my teachers. I was seeing the school psychiatrist too, and she was worried. We tried a ton of pills. I failed basically all my classes and got C's in criminal justice!!!
I dropped out again at my therapist's advice. Is this the third time? I don't know. I go to therapy once a week for over a year, and I kinda felt ready to try again. I got a temporary job for Valentine's day that went well. I quit a puppy delivery job within a month of having it. I got another, perfect job (working with almost all solely Spanish speakers) that I quit within a month because I was getting huge mouth ulcers and falling way behind in school. School that I was later technically dismissed from due to not being able to "easily work with strangers". This hurts a lot, because I tried very hard to hide my discomfort.
People don't realize how deeply this affects us. My throat closes up to the point that I can hardly speak. When unmedicated, I'd blush and shake. I was mostly worried about others seeing how uncomfortable I was and then they'd be uncomfortable. You hate this part of yourself SO much, you want to do these simple things (like just talking and being yourself), but your body won't let you - even it your mind wants it. You feel so stupid.
My wedding was a nightmare, because I stood in front of people the whole time.
Obviously, I'd have better relationships with everyone, especially my friends and in-laws. I'd have saved a lot of stress and heartache for me and others if I wasn't so afraid/uncomfortable. I never see my girl friends. Never. And I love them so much.
Nobody understands me, and I'm not saying that like a preteen girl, nobody truly understands me, or how my brain works, or why I do anything I do, or say anything I say. I get accused of a lot of things, and I get vilified for a LOT by others (especially my in-laws) and it's because they don't understand me. Thanks to work on their behalf, things have gotten better between us, but it wouldn't have happened in the first place if I wasn't who I am.
So, long story short, I would be able to hold a steady job, I'd probably have been sealed to Stephen by now, I'd have a CNA certification and volunteer at a domestic violence shelter. I may have been a forensic nurse by now. I may have had a bachelors in social work or criminal justice by now. I'd certainly be a licensed EMT. My relationship with my in-laws wouldn't be strained from complete misunderstanding and hurt. My wedding probably wouldn't have sucked as much. I know I'd be much happier, healthier (hello sexual dysfunction!), richer, and much more fulfilled in life.
But why not just have a crutch? I need people to feel bad for me! Gimme the crutch. I'll take it.
*sarcasm
Anyway, recently there was a huge fight that involved several members of my family. I heard something they've never mentioned before. They said I use my illnesses as a crutch. Later, one said I didn't even have one at all.
I'm not sure how to feel. I'm sad, of course, but they don't really know what it's like. They don't know what I go through, so they don't understand what they're saying. It also has occured to me that there's always been some level of jealousy there. They must think others are more patient with me or have sympathy for me. No. I don't use it as an excuse for anything, and no one feels bad for me or cuts me a break. People are happy for me when I do hard things - Like everyone else. Just turns out most everything is harder.
I digress. It got me thinking what my life would be like without mental illness. As a caveat, this is the first time I've ever done this (because it's just not helpful), but I have some things in mind.
On the most basic level, I'd have much more energy. Both of my illnesses cause fatigue. As you can imagine, constant physical tension from the phobia combined with the absolutely draining drag of depression PLUS my PKD is just a lot to work against. I knew I was tired, but I didn't realize how truly exhausted I was until the depression let up 9 months ago. Honestly, I didn't know people could feel that good. It was no wonder to me how people could look down on those with depression. They just have NO idea.
I'd have more motivation. It's hard to express how unmotivated a depressed person is. When mine was at it's worst, I didn't even care about criminal justice anymore - and that is my LIFE! I was sitting in the last criminal justice class I'd have to take for an associate's, and I just couldn't care less. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to die. Life is so incredibly colorless, dull, hard, predictable, and meaningless. All you'd ever feel was just...nothing. Nothing made you happy, or even anything. You just feel absolutely nothing - all the time.
It started my second year in middle school. The first year, I blossomed. This was my prime. I was overly outgoing, loud, happy, friendly. I got student of the week (or whatever) award from my P.E. teacher. P.E teacher!!! - so you know I I was doing something right. I enjoyed this year. I made so many friends and no bullies.
This, apparently, is normal. I crashed the second year. For some reason, I began to feel a strain when I spoke to others. I care so much about other people, but I began getting overly- concerned. I'd analyze every interaction: did I say this right? Did I give the wrong impression? Are they sad now?. I began feeling like I was in charge of everyone else. Like I had to make them happy. I started to feel like a failure if I wasn't being funny enough. I started to get paranoid. Everything I did began to feel awkward. It was getting harder and harder to be carefree. Because of these changes, I started wondering who I was. I started to be very hard on myself (what my therapist calls: self -flagillating). I had to balance who I thought I was with these new, unwelcome feelings. It only got worse from there.
I barely got through highschool. I remember throwing up my breakfast as we arrived on the first day of sophomore year. I frequently ditched class. I just didn't care about much. I felt so uncomfortable all the time.
Because of this, my grades were bad. Because my grades were bad, I couldn't be a volunteer at the space center - something I'd always wanted to do. Something I loved. My only sanctuary at the time. This was the first thing my illnesses denied me. I was unable to use my AP Music class as college credit because my OTHER grades were bad. I wanted to have an internship in the geology section of a nearby museum. I couldn't do that, either. Because I changed so much, I must've seemed fake. I tried very hard to pretend to be who I thought I was, and that was stressful. I lost a lot of friends, and had a hard time relating to anyone.
I was on clonazepam and zoloft when I went to Snow. I still struggled a lot, but somehow made great friends. I even made friends with the kitchen staff at the school. I had awesome grades. I was seeing the therapist in charge the school's mental health program. Then things got bad again.
I lost my first job after only a month. I learned what a real panic attack was. I had two. Turns out, waitressing is considered the #1 worst job for someone like me. I was devastated and embarrassed as I sobbed, gasped, and shook in the kitchen, everyone staring, wondering what was wrong.
It wasn't long afterward that I had to drop out of school. I didn't attend my day classes enough to get good grades. I needed more sleep than others because I was so exhausted. I had no friends. Maybe the pills weren't doing enough?
The unchecked disappointment for these failures made me cut myself for the first time - with hair thinning shears.
I took a break and dated and married Stephen. I was naively happy, so I stopped taking the pills. The next year was hell on Earth as I struggled every day not to kill myself. I managed to get another job at Maverik that lasted 2 months. I cried in the back room when no one was there. I tried so many new pills. I found out I have PKD - another thing that alienated me from others.
I tried CNA school in Fall 2013. I was very keen on the book material, but it was hard for me to even speak, let alone get 100 vitals. I pushed myself very hard, and made it to clinicals. Here, I'd truly fail. I ran away in tears - off the premesis - because I lost sight of my partner. I was terrified of being alone there. I somehow made it through my second clinical, but never made up for the first. Emptying a colostomy bag was the easier than speaking.
I was getting tired of being a slacktivist, so I took a volunteer course for a local shelter. I struggled there, too. We were in a small room, and there were always personal questions, but it was a great program. I was proud of myself for taking it. They even had too many volunteers, but they picked ME! I was so happy.
But I was also scared. Our last day was at the shelter. I was so worried I'd sleep through an alarm that I just couldn't sleep at all. Literally. So I got to the location, and barely stayed awake through the 8 hour training. I was home free until the end, when they decided to play trust/group games. I truly suffered through the first 2, but the last one, 10 minutes before the training was supposed to end, I lost my cool.
I broke away from the group, consoling myself and telling myself it wasn't a big deal and NO ONE cares, but I couldn't keep the embarrassed tears back. It was too late. I slinked to the bathroom and blotted away, it was embarrassing. I was mad at myself for crying, and for "giving up". "Now I can't volunteer. You were so close! Why did you let this happen? "
My tears turned into a full-on breakdown as I slipped out of the bathroom and gathered my things to make a quick escape. The director approached me and I tried to explain my "situation" through inconsolable blubbering. "Can I still volunteer?" I managed to eek out. She said "of course." and opened the gate so I could leave. She contacted me a few months later to see if I still wanted to volunteer, but I told her I couldn't because I would'nt have been a good role model at the time (I had fresh cuts on my arm).
Later that year, I was doing very poorly in school. I was seeing a school counselor who offered to write notes for my teachers. I was seeing the school psychiatrist too, and she was worried. We tried a ton of pills. I failed basically all my classes and got C's in criminal justice!!!
I dropped out again at my therapist's advice. Is this the third time? I don't know. I go to therapy once a week for over a year, and I kinda felt ready to try again. I got a temporary job for Valentine's day that went well. I quit a puppy delivery job within a month of having it. I got another, perfect job (working with almost all solely Spanish speakers) that I quit within a month because I was getting huge mouth ulcers and falling way behind in school. School that I was later technically dismissed from due to not being able to "easily work with strangers". This hurts a lot, because I tried very hard to hide my discomfort.
People don't realize how deeply this affects us. My throat closes up to the point that I can hardly speak. When unmedicated, I'd blush and shake. I was mostly worried about others seeing how uncomfortable I was and then they'd be uncomfortable. You hate this part of yourself SO much, you want to do these simple things (like just talking and being yourself), but your body won't let you - even it your mind wants it. You feel so stupid.
My wedding was a nightmare, because I stood in front of people the whole time.
Obviously, I'd have better relationships with everyone, especially my friends and in-laws. I'd have saved a lot of stress and heartache for me and others if I wasn't so afraid/uncomfortable. I never see my girl friends. Never. And I love them so much.
Nobody understands me, and I'm not saying that like a preteen girl, nobody truly understands me, or how my brain works, or why I do anything I do, or say anything I say. I get accused of a lot of things, and I get vilified for a LOT by others (especially my in-laws) and it's because they don't understand me. Thanks to work on their behalf, things have gotten better between us, but it wouldn't have happened in the first place if I wasn't who I am.
So, long story short, I would be able to hold a steady job, I'd probably have been sealed to Stephen by now, I'd have a CNA certification and volunteer at a domestic violence shelter. I may have been a forensic nurse by now. I may have had a bachelors in social work or criminal justice by now. I'd certainly be a licensed EMT. My relationship with my in-laws wouldn't be strained from complete misunderstanding and hurt. My wedding probably wouldn't have sucked as much. I know I'd be much happier, healthier (hello sexual dysfunction!), richer, and much more fulfilled in life.
But why not just have a crutch? I need people to feel bad for me! Gimme the crutch. I'll take it.
*sarcasm
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Been awhile
Things have been going on. Not great, but not necessarily bad.
The symptoms are coming back. Tim said it would happen. He said I'd have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I'm learning to be okay with my limitations.
#1: I don't have the energy, nor the patience, to get myself through math 1010. I tried watching some videos and stuff, it doesn't make any sense. I need a lot of extra time to work through my slow cognitive processing speed, and teachers don't teach. They just assume you were lazy, but smart enough to pick up on this stuff. Seems to be a common theme, but sometimes people are just slow. And mentally ill.
#2: So maybe I can't even get an associate's degree. That was my goal- just an AS or AAS. Emergency service, mortuary School, or nursing school (SANE or FNDI)...might just not happen anymore.
#3: Can't work typical 40 hour weeks. I tried it. I had a great job that was easy, mindless, and my co-workers spoke Spanish almost exclusively. It was a perfect job (other than not being that meaningful to me), and I STILL got mouth ulcers. 3 if them! In less than a month! It's too much for little 'ol me, I guess. Which sucks. I'll never make a lot of money.
#4: So what do I do? First, I want to see if I can handle EMT stuff with people. I loved it, but I want to see if I can handle the patients. Second, massage therapy would be fun. It's one thing I've always considered, but never tried. I at least want to do it as a hobby. Heck, I've even considered getting better at viola and teaching or recording. I don't know! All I do know is that I'm not like other people, and success isn't this cookie-cutter "bachelor's and babies" idea that's been pedaled all my life.
I could still try to get into the medicolegal field and follow my dreams by getting a tutor for math too. There are always options.
EDIT: maybe I even want to push hard for social work again (BSW). I loved that, but was too scared. Am I still too scared? I don't know. It's hard to try to figure myself out. Still. At age 24.
#5: It's okay to be different. It's also inconvenient and sometimes lonely to be different, but it's not inherently bad.
The symptoms are coming back. Tim said it would happen. He said I'd have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I'm learning to be okay with my limitations.
#1: I don't have the energy, nor the patience, to get myself through math 1010. I tried watching some videos and stuff, it doesn't make any sense. I need a lot of extra time to work through my slow cognitive processing speed, and teachers don't teach. They just assume you were lazy, but smart enough to pick up on this stuff. Seems to be a common theme, but sometimes people are just slow. And mentally ill.
#2: So maybe I can't even get an associate's degree. That was my goal- just an AS or AAS. Emergency service, mortuary School, or nursing school (SANE or FNDI)...might just not happen anymore.
#3: Can't work typical 40 hour weeks. I tried it. I had a great job that was easy, mindless, and my co-workers spoke Spanish almost exclusively. It was a perfect job (other than not being that meaningful to me), and I STILL got mouth ulcers. 3 if them! In less than a month! It's too much for little 'ol me, I guess. Which sucks. I'll never make a lot of money.
#4: So what do I do? First, I want to see if I can handle EMT stuff with people. I loved it, but I want to see if I can handle the patients. Second, massage therapy would be fun. It's one thing I've always considered, but never tried. I at least want to do it as a hobby. Heck, I've even considered getting better at viola and teaching or recording. I don't know! All I do know is that I'm not like other people, and success isn't this cookie-cutter "bachelor's and babies" idea that's been pedaled all my life.
I could still try to get into the medicolegal field and follow my dreams by getting a tutor for math too. There are always options.
EDIT: maybe I even want to push hard for social work again (BSW). I loved that, but was too scared. Am I still too scared? I don't know. It's hard to try to figure myself out. Still. At age 24.
#5: It's okay to be different. It's also inconvenient and sometimes lonely to be different, but it's not inherently bad.
Friday, April 29, 2016
My heart is in pieces. Just shredded. I'm not sure why, but the physical symptoms of depression are leaking back in. The thoughts are coming back. Nightmares. I don't know what to do other than recognize it and talk about it so it doesn't consume me again.
I wonder a lot if God just wants this. Like the plan was for me to cut this short.
I wonder a lot if God just wants this. Like the plan was for me to cut this short.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Others? *Ranty
Sometimes I wonder if I have such a hard time around others because of them. My natural reaction is to blame myself for most things. So, for the decade plus that I've been suffering this affliction called social phobia, I've blamed myself.
For years, it was: "Why am I so stupid?" "What's wrong with me?" "Why am I letting myself get scared?" "I'm such a loser, only losers would let this run their lives." After months of therapy and hard work, it changed to: "No one is out to hurt me." "I'm safe. I'm fine." "Calm down." While it barely helps, it was the best I could do, because most people think social phobia is just worrying what others think too much. While that is the most common cause, there is a small percentage where the cause is physiological. This has to be me, because everyone calls me weird, and I'm okay with that. I think a lot more people would like me if I could be myself - I'm not worried about their opinion of me, I worry they think I'm what my anxiety makes me present: quiet, nervous, and hypervigilant. The physical reaction happens long before there are thoughts, before I have a chance to intervene.
Anyway, that was my conclusion, though my therapist contested that there was always a thought first. I guess it's a divisive theory. There was just no way. I care a lot how people feel in general, but not what they think of me. Again, I think people would like me!
So that was where we left it. We couldn't agree on the underlying cause, so it was impossible to work on. Maybe he just thought I was in such denial, that I wasn't ready. He asked once if someone had rejected me and said I was weird when I was young. Yes! Everyone! Always! I still think about it and there isn't a time that particularly sticks out to me. I was bullied ruthlessly about my hair and pigeon toes, but I'm largely unaffected by that now (my hair still sucks, and I do have pigeon toes!).
Sorry about the rant. My point is that I was always "weird". When I was little, nice "popular" girls included me. Even through highschool (at the height of unattractiveness), I was included in pretty much every group.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
However, I did remember people treating me differently. Just people. It's difficult to explain, but I remember a specific time when I went to a football game by myself. I was early (always ruefully early), so no one was there. I sat in a great place. People filed in, and the benches filled. I notice people start to look around with slight desperation for any space. That's when I looked around and noticed no one sitting around me. Not a soul. There was literally an empty moat going 3 feet out around me. Of course I moved, and it filled.
This happened a lot in college. The seats near me would always fill last. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was putting out a bad vibe or I smelled bad. Maybe no one wanted to be seen by me.
People just ignore me in situations where, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. They look at me weird, they treat me weird...not even meaning to, I imagine. They react more slowly to things I say. I say things other people say, and they just react as if I said something awkward.
Maybe it's not me, maybe it's other people. Maybe the reason people make me so uncomfortable is because I just feel like I can't do anything right by them. People always "read" me and my intentions wrong, especially when they're trying. This is especially annoying because I'm so open about every aspect of my life.
Or maybe that's just part of it. Maybe they sense my physiological discomfort and it makes them act differently toward me. That makes sense.
So this will never go away, but practice and exposure helps me tolerate the discomfort better. It always hurts to be ignored, but it happens all the time. I should be used to it. There is so much that makes me different (not special, just different) from others, I should just get used to the odd treatment.
For years, it was: "Why am I so stupid?" "What's wrong with me?" "Why am I letting myself get scared?" "I'm such a loser, only losers would let this run their lives." After months of therapy and hard work, it changed to: "No one is out to hurt me." "I'm safe. I'm fine." "Calm down." While it barely helps, it was the best I could do, because most people think social phobia is just worrying what others think too much. While that is the most common cause, there is a small percentage where the cause is physiological. This has to be me, because everyone calls me weird, and I'm okay with that. I think a lot more people would like me if I could be myself - I'm not worried about their opinion of me, I worry they think I'm what my anxiety makes me present: quiet, nervous, and hypervigilant. The physical reaction happens long before there are thoughts, before I have a chance to intervene.
Anyway, that was my conclusion, though my therapist contested that there was always a thought first. I guess it's a divisive theory. There was just no way. I care a lot how people feel in general, but not what they think of me. Again, I think people would like me!
So that was where we left it. We couldn't agree on the underlying cause, so it was impossible to work on. Maybe he just thought I was in such denial, that I wasn't ready. He asked once if someone had rejected me and said I was weird when I was young. Yes! Everyone! Always! I still think about it and there isn't a time that particularly sticks out to me. I was bullied ruthlessly about my hair and pigeon toes, but I'm largely unaffected by that now (my hair still sucks, and I do have pigeon toes!).
Sorry about the rant. My point is that I was always "weird". When I was little, nice "popular" girls included me. Even through highschool (at the height of unattractiveness), I was included in pretty much every group.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
However, I did remember people treating me differently. Just people. It's difficult to explain, but I remember a specific time when I went to a football game by myself. I was early (always ruefully early), so no one was there. I sat in a great place. People filed in, and the benches filled. I notice people start to look around with slight desperation for any space. That's when I looked around and noticed no one sitting around me. Not a soul. There was literally an empty moat going 3 feet out around me. Of course I moved, and it filled.
This happened a lot in college. The seats near me would always fill last. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was putting out a bad vibe or I smelled bad. Maybe no one wanted to be seen by me.
People just ignore me in situations where, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. They look at me weird, they treat me weird...not even meaning to, I imagine. They react more slowly to things I say. I say things other people say, and they just react as if I said something awkward.
Maybe it's not me, maybe it's other people. Maybe the reason people make me so uncomfortable is because I just feel like I can't do anything right by them. People always "read" me and my intentions wrong, especially when they're trying. This is especially annoying because I'm so open about every aspect of my life.
Or maybe that's just part of it. Maybe they sense my physiological discomfort and it makes them act differently toward me. That makes sense.
So this will never go away, but practice and exposure helps me tolerate the discomfort better. It always hurts to be ignored, but it happens all the time. I should be used to it. There is so much that makes me different (not special, just different) from others, I should just get used to the odd treatment.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
It happened
Today was our last session. My insurance ran out. But it was getting about that time. My depression was better, the social phobia is being treated, and I had a forward trajectory. He was sure I'd quit my job after our last session. He was right.
Job is gone. I quit. Leaving sucked because everyone was so nice. It was such a wonderful job.
Anyway, we talked about all the tools he has given, he gave some more advice about dealing with suicidal thoughts, and I did the best I could at thanking him for everything.
I didn't know it would be our last session, but it's probably for the best. If I could, he'd be my friend. But that's unethical, so...just had to cut it off there. He says we might see eachother around. "Stranger things have happened" he says. But I doubt it.
It's hard to say goodbye to someone like that. It feels like he died. He means the world to me, and now I can't see him again. This hurts a lot.
But again, it had to happen sometime. And I knew it was coming. At the end, he said he expected to hear good things about me. I plan to make that happen.
Job is gone. I quit. Leaving sucked because everyone was so nice. It was such a wonderful job.
Anyway, we talked about all the tools he has given, he gave some more advice about dealing with suicidal thoughts, and I did the best I could at thanking him for everything.
I didn't know it would be our last session, but it's probably for the best. If I could, he'd be my friend. But that's unethical, so...just had to cut it off there. He says we might see eachother around. "Stranger things have happened" he says. But I doubt it.
It's hard to say goodbye to someone like that. It feels like he died. He means the world to me, and now I can't see him again. This hurts a lot.
But again, it had to happen sometime. And I knew it was coming. At the end, he said he expected to hear good things about me. I plan to make that happen.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Getting worse!!
It's getting worse again.
I don't even know what to do.
Things have been monstrously stressful lately. This is the busiest I've ever been in my life, so I can understand a healthy dose of stress, but I got a mouth ulcer, my weight is skyrocketing, and some of my old depressive symptoms are back. I sit at work and, despite blasting classic hip hop, can't stop thinking about all these discrepancies and painful misunderstandings from the past.
People judging me or completely misreading my intentions or actions.
I was planning a party for my husband, and I asked who he wanted to invite. He didn't mention his brother, and I suggested he ask to be nice (we both assumed his new wife would have something planned). We were surprised to learn that she had no plans for his birthday. I assumed this meant she'd be out of town. And, of course, his brother didn't say or allude to anything. So I invited him.
Mistake of a lifetime.
Apparently, this meant that I was purposely excluding his wife from a birthday party for both my husband and his brother (it was just Stephen's). I was being hurtful. Of course, still no one said anything to me, they just kept it to themselves to be mad at me for until it came out later.
That still bothers me. I don't know if it will ever not.
I was gossiped about my actions after getting cheated on. ME, of all three people involved.
Just a LOT of things like that from people who don't know me. They were mean to me from the beginning. Not unwelcoming, just legitimately mean. They'd all call me self-absorbed despite a major in social work, domestic violence shelter volunteer training, etc. Everything they knew about me (which extended only to Facebook) contradicted self-centeredness. Yet everyone loved to call me that.
I think about how easy it would be to just end it again. It's easier to fixate on something else when my mind wanders here, but I'm just tired of feeling this way. Feeling pressure everywhere I turn. I can't be myself and, even if I could, I would probably have to look at someone a certain amount or say things a certain way. Like they're constantly watching and judging me. I can't handle that.
But my mother-in-law apologized for everything she did fairly recently. We cleared a bunch of things up. I want to say everything is forgiven, since it's on me now. She's done her part. But there is one thing I can't quite understand or forgive: my wedding. Most of that wasn't even her. A lot of it was my dad making us stand in front of everyone the entire night. A lot of it was everyone yelling at me and telling me Stephen was a scrub for not having a phone or car. A big part was Stephen's dad calling every day the few days before to ask Stephen to reconsider. But the biggest deal was an invitation she wrote to her family. It was mean, it was passive-aggressive and bitter. It didn't have my name in it. That I can't understand. She said it wasn't about me, but it was my name that was missing. No one wished us well. I know how that family feels about me, and I don't want to be around them. But I don't want my mother-in-law to think that I didn't appreciate her effort.
I don't know what to do. Sometimes I wish I didn't marry Stephen at all. Honestly. I love him and he makes me happy, but there is a lot of sorrow that the happiness is trying to make up for.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Other than that, I feel a ton of stress about future decisions, and I don't really have time to research them or obsess, which is apparently something I need to feel secure. Some things I've learned/questioned:
Can I ever work 40 hours a week? I'm doing it now, and it's so miserable. I hate getting up everyday to surround myself with people - even people who hardly speak English! I just feel like I need a break, some rest. I can't keep this up and live a healthy life. I'm stressed TF out. I'm run TF down. My body is going nuts. Could I ever do it? If I got a job I loved?
Things fall apart at home. There are dishes in the sink that have been there for over a week. Stephen doesn't take baths or groom as often as he should. Millie's litter gets neglected. The house gets cluttered and/or messy. It stresses me out, but everyone else is okay...should I quit work to keep up my wifely duties?
Should I get my paramedic, or AEMT? Since I'm probably gonna be having babies soonish, should I bother wasting another $10,000 to get my paramedic? Would I ever be able to use it? After babies, my kidneys might go haywire. Other health issues. Who knows? Or I could get my AEMT and stop there and work. But again, will I be able to work? I think I would like the schedule more because they're 12-24 hour shifts 2-3 times a week. Especially if I were just an E.R. technician, that wouldn't be too stressful, right? And the work would certainly be meaningful!
I don't know. In the perfect world, I would be able to handle my current schedule with my ultra-accelerated schooling so that I could have my own money and feel worthwhile and see Stephen at 4pm every day! But...I really can't. I feel like I'm running around with mangled legs. I'm trying to do everything, so I end up doing well at nothing.
And it's weird, but I think about having a baby now and I get excited. Sometimes. I don't know if it's my biological clock ticking, inspiration/guidance, or something else...
I don't even know what to do.
Things have been monstrously stressful lately. This is the busiest I've ever been in my life, so I can understand a healthy dose of stress, but I got a mouth ulcer, my weight is skyrocketing, and some of my old depressive symptoms are back. I sit at work and, despite blasting classic hip hop, can't stop thinking about all these discrepancies and painful misunderstandings from the past.
People judging me or completely misreading my intentions or actions.
I was planning a party for my husband, and I asked who he wanted to invite. He didn't mention his brother, and I suggested he ask to be nice (we both assumed his new wife would have something planned). We were surprised to learn that she had no plans for his birthday. I assumed this meant she'd be out of town. And, of course, his brother didn't say or allude to anything. So I invited him.
Mistake of a lifetime.
Apparently, this meant that I was purposely excluding his wife from a birthday party for both my husband and his brother (it was just Stephen's). I was being hurtful. Of course, still no one said anything to me, they just kept it to themselves to be mad at me for until it came out later.
That still bothers me. I don't know if it will ever not.
I was gossiped about my actions after getting cheated on. ME, of all three people involved.
Just a LOT of things like that from people who don't know me. They were mean to me from the beginning. Not unwelcoming, just legitimately mean. They'd all call me self-absorbed despite a major in social work, domestic violence shelter volunteer training, etc. Everything they knew about me (which extended only to Facebook) contradicted self-centeredness. Yet everyone loved to call me that.
I think about how easy it would be to just end it again. It's easier to fixate on something else when my mind wanders here, but I'm just tired of feeling this way. Feeling pressure everywhere I turn. I can't be myself and, even if I could, I would probably have to look at someone a certain amount or say things a certain way. Like they're constantly watching and judging me. I can't handle that.
But my mother-in-law apologized for everything she did fairly recently. We cleared a bunch of things up. I want to say everything is forgiven, since it's on me now. She's done her part. But there is one thing I can't quite understand or forgive: my wedding. Most of that wasn't even her. A lot of it was my dad making us stand in front of everyone the entire night. A lot of it was everyone yelling at me and telling me Stephen was a scrub for not having a phone or car. A big part was Stephen's dad calling every day the few days before to ask Stephen to reconsider. But the biggest deal was an invitation she wrote to her family. It was mean, it was passive-aggressive and bitter. It didn't have my name in it. That I can't understand. She said it wasn't about me, but it was my name that was missing. No one wished us well. I know how that family feels about me, and I don't want to be around them. But I don't want my mother-in-law to think that I didn't appreciate her effort.
I don't know what to do. Sometimes I wish I didn't marry Stephen at all. Honestly. I love him and he makes me happy, but there is a lot of sorrow that the happiness is trying to make up for.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Other than that, I feel a ton of stress about future decisions, and I don't really have time to research them or obsess, which is apparently something I need to feel secure. Some things I've learned/questioned:
Can I ever work 40 hours a week? I'm doing it now, and it's so miserable. I hate getting up everyday to surround myself with people - even people who hardly speak English! I just feel like I need a break, some rest. I can't keep this up and live a healthy life. I'm stressed TF out. I'm run TF down. My body is going nuts. Could I ever do it? If I got a job I loved?
Things fall apart at home. There are dishes in the sink that have been there for over a week. Stephen doesn't take baths or groom as often as he should. Millie's litter gets neglected. The house gets cluttered and/or messy. It stresses me out, but everyone else is okay...should I quit work to keep up my wifely duties?
Should I get my paramedic, or AEMT? Since I'm probably gonna be having babies soonish, should I bother wasting another $10,000 to get my paramedic? Would I ever be able to use it? After babies, my kidneys might go haywire. Other health issues. Who knows? Or I could get my AEMT and stop there and work. But again, will I be able to work? I think I would like the schedule more because they're 12-24 hour shifts 2-3 times a week. Especially if I were just an E.R. technician, that wouldn't be too stressful, right? And the work would certainly be meaningful!
I don't know. In the perfect world, I would be able to handle my current schedule with my ultra-accelerated schooling so that I could have my own money and feel worthwhile and see Stephen at 4pm every day! But...I really can't. I feel like I'm running around with mangled legs. I'm trying to do everything, so I end up doing well at nothing.
And it's weird, but I think about having a baby now and I get excited. Sometimes. I don't know if it's my biological clock ticking, inspiration/guidance, or something else...
Friday, April 15, 2016
Depression
Despite having chronic depression for nearly a decade, I've been learning a lot about it lately. Regarding this, I've uncovered a flaw in my thinking.
Maybe it's just the circle I run in, but it seems like everyone and their dog has "depression and anxiety". Honestly, it's beyknd irritating to me because the two don't seem to be mutually exclusive. As if you must have one to have the other. And I examine these people and their lives, and it just rarely added up. They had active relationships with friends, a social life, success (academic and/or career). They had hobbies and activities they liked to do. They didn't really seem like me at all, and it would make me mad. They can't say they have these things and live a normal life, it makes us look bad!
But not all depression is the same.
I was comparing everyone to me: if their "illnesses" weren't as bad as mine or, somehow, worse, they weren't actually depressed. Certainly, they didn't "have anxiety" (such an annoying and non-specific phrase). The problems with that are A) my depression was severe. Moderate and mild depression are real and should be validated. B) there are other types and levels of depression.
Even in my own life, my depression was not always severe. High school was a nightmare. I'd ditch classes at every opportunity, I was alone most of the time, I didn't really hang out with friends, and I experienced constant digestive distress, but I was still able to make it to school late. I had hopes for the future, and I enjoyed viola. At the time, I adjusted. I thought it was bad and that it couldn't get worse, but it did.
After high school and through college, the depression worsened and destroyed me. I lost a lot of weight, my digestion was obliterated, I didn't enjoy viola or anything anymore, and I could not possibly feel good. Ever. I spent literally every second hoping I would die. That a car sound crash into me, a silent brain aneurysm would bleed the organ of distress dry, or that I could gather the courage to finally shoot myself without incident. I couldn't hold a job or do well in school, even if I had enough energy to try. I had NO energy. That lasted a little over 4 years.
So, in my decade of suffering, only the last years of it were truly severe. Yet I can't validate anyone with anything less than that?
When someone claims depression, my first reaction is to be critical and somewhat offended. And, while this serious diagnosis is thrown around like a frisbee, it'spossible likely other people have it - whether mild, moderate, severe, chronic, episodic, or situational.
That said, I think this is a vastly over-diagnosed issue. All you have to do for a prescription from a general practitioner is say you're sad and have feelings if guilt. I've done it very easily for lexapro and zoloft. Therefore, I don't take most people who haven't been to an actual psychiatrist seriously.
I think (and I have absolutely no research behind this) we're just much less resilient than we were years ago. Back then, hardship was an everyday experience. Nothing came easy, everything required work (making soap, fetching water, etc.), and death and disease were commonplace. Everything is easier and more accessible now. Diseases are cured, babies don't die as much, and neither do the old.
We have it good, yet antidepressants fly off the shelves. I really think we're just used to things coming easily to us that we can't really cope when they don't. It's because of this that I have a really hard time accepting depression for people who have just broken up with someone, or who had to leave a beloved program at school, or who gets home from a mission and is no longer "worshipped" by members. All of these situations are an adjustment, and will of course make someone reasonably sad, but not depressed. That's offensive to me, and to everyone else who can't get taken seriously because people don't know what real depression looks like.
I get bothered because there are still people who don't even believe it's real. I get similarly bothered by someone who will cry "depression" anytime a hardship comes their way. The latter, I believe, causes the former. That's why people need to be much more careful using that word. We all could stand to be a bit more resilient.
That said, crap happens. Real crap. Some people are "blessed" with tons of it in a single lifetime. And, when combined with unfortunate genetics, unfortunate consequences follow. Not every clinically depressed person had a ton of bad things happen to them. Enough, but it doesn't always take much. Conversely, not every non-depressed person has had it easy. Not by a long shot. That could be genetics or resilience.
Either way, I think my point was to be careful judging both the depressed and non-depressed. Don't throw that word around, please. It furthers stigma and misunderstanding.Lastly, it's not "cool" to be mentally ill. No one gives you a break for it. People judge you (even other mentally ill people, see?). It's not fun. There's nothing sexy or compassion-earning about it.
Maybe it's just the circle I run in, but it seems like everyone and their dog has "depression and anxiety". Honestly, it's beyknd irritating to me because the two don't seem to be mutually exclusive. As if you must have one to have the other. And I examine these people and their lives, and it just rarely added up. They had active relationships with friends, a social life, success (academic and/or career). They had hobbies and activities they liked to do. They didn't really seem like me at all, and it would make me mad. They can't say they have these things and live a normal life, it makes us look bad!
But not all depression is the same.
I was comparing everyone to me: if their "illnesses" weren't as bad as mine or, somehow, worse, they weren't actually depressed. Certainly, they didn't "have anxiety" (such an annoying and non-specific phrase). The problems with that are A) my depression was severe. Moderate and mild depression are real and should be validated. B) there are other types and levels of depression.
Even in my own life, my depression was not always severe. High school was a nightmare. I'd ditch classes at every opportunity, I was alone most of the time, I didn't really hang out with friends, and I experienced constant digestive distress, but I was still able to make it to school late. I had hopes for the future, and I enjoyed viola. At the time, I adjusted. I thought it was bad and that it couldn't get worse, but it did.
After high school and through college, the depression worsened and destroyed me. I lost a lot of weight, my digestion was obliterated, I didn't enjoy viola or anything anymore, and I could not possibly feel good. Ever. I spent literally every second hoping I would die. That a car sound crash into me, a silent brain aneurysm would bleed the organ of distress dry, or that I could gather the courage to finally shoot myself without incident. I couldn't hold a job or do well in school, even if I had enough energy to try. I had NO energy. That lasted a little over 4 years.
So, in my decade of suffering, only the last years of it were truly severe. Yet I can't validate anyone with anything less than that?
When someone claims depression, my first reaction is to be critical and somewhat offended. And, while this serious diagnosis is thrown around like a frisbee, it's
That said, I think this is a vastly over-diagnosed issue. All you have to do for a prescription from a general practitioner is say you're sad and have feelings if guilt. I've done it very easily for lexapro and zoloft. Therefore, I don't take most people who haven't been to an actual psychiatrist seriously.
I think (and I have absolutely no research behind this) we're just much less resilient than we were years ago. Back then, hardship was an everyday experience. Nothing came easy, everything required work (making soap, fetching water, etc.), and death and disease were commonplace. Everything is easier and more accessible now. Diseases are cured, babies don't die as much, and neither do the old.
We have it good, yet antidepressants fly off the shelves. I really think we're just used to things coming easily to us that we can't really cope when they don't. It's because of this that I have a really hard time accepting depression for people who have just broken up with someone, or who had to leave a beloved program at school, or who gets home from a mission and is no longer "worshipped" by members. All of these situations are an adjustment, and will of course make someone reasonably sad, but not depressed. That's offensive to me, and to everyone else who can't get taken seriously because people don't know what real depression looks like.
I get bothered because there are still people who don't even believe it's real. I get similarly bothered by someone who will cry "depression" anytime a hardship comes their way. The latter, I believe, causes the former. That's why people need to be much more careful using that word. We all could stand to be a bit more resilient.
That said, crap happens. Real crap. Some people are "blessed" with tons of it in a single lifetime. And, when combined with unfortunate genetics, unfortunate consequences follow. Not every clinically depressed person had a ton of bad things happen to them. Enough, but it doesn't always take much. Conversely, not every non-depressed person has had it easy. Not by a long shot. That could be genetics or resilience.
Either way, I think my point was to be careful judging both the depressed and non-depressed. Don't throw that word around, please. It furthers stigma and misunderstanding.Lastly, it's not "cool" to be mentally ill. No one gives you a break for it. People judge you (even other mentally ill people, see?). It's not fun. There's nothing sexy or compassion-earning about it.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Full-time
It's blurry.
I'm in a training program right now and it's kicking my butt! It's hard to do school and full-time work. Very hard. Even though I found a great job, I wish I'd waited to find one. This is my future, and the job is just a temporary provider.
Anyway, having all this going on has given me a small taste of the downsides of full-time work. My house is in constant disarray, my husband begins to look unkempt, dishes pile up, and my stress manifests as arguments with my husband. I'm less happy, despite having less worry about money.
Because everything is beginning to fall apart, I worry if I should even try to get a career anymore. Me having a life causes tumult in my home now, what if we had kids? Just one kid? They'd be so neglected! And, if I ever do become a parent, I want to be a good one.
On top of that, I'm experiencing acute stress on a daily basis. My stomach is getting noticeably bigger because of the cortisol. For some reason, perhaps because I'm so aroused from stress, I experience extreme vaginal discharge. It's freaking me out, honestly.
My job itself isn't stressful, I just worry about getting there on time and there are people present. They don't even hardly speak English. I am alone most of the time. And yet, I'm still THAT stressed out. Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. That worries me too.
If we were to ever have kids, it just seems like any more investment in my career is useless. I can't really handle both.
That just makes me very sad.
I'm in a training program right now and it's kicking my butt! It's hard to do school and full-time work. Very hard. Even though I found a great job, I wish I'd waited to find one. This is my future, and the job is just a temporary provider.
Anyway, having all this going on has given me a small taste of the downsides of full-time work. My house is in constant disarray, my husband begins to look unkempt, dishes pile up, and my stress manifests as arguments with my husband. I'm less happy, despite having less worry about money.
Because everything is beginning to fall apart, I worry if I should even try to get a career anymore. Me having a life causes tumult in my home now, what if we had kids? Just one kid? They'd be so neglected! And, if I ever do become a parent, I want to be a good one.
On top of that, I'm experiencing acute stress on a daily basis. My stomach is getting noticeably bigger because of the cortisol. For some reason, perhaps because I'm so aroused from stress, I experience extreme vaginal discharge. It's freaking me out, honestly.
My job itself isn't stressful, I just worry about getting there on time and there are people present. They don't even hardly speak English. I am alone most of the time. And yet, I'm still THAT stressed out. Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. That worries me too.
If we were to ever have kids, it just seems like any more investment in my career is useless. I can't really handle both.
That just makes me very sad.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Intrapersonal
At first glance, being intrapersonally intelligent is stupid. It's generally the last in the list of intelligences. Probably because it's rare, perhaps more likely because it's the least useful. Honestly. It's easy to see how naturalistic intelligence can help with farming and food, logistic/mathematical intelligence with engineering and science, spacial intelligence with art and creation, linguistic intelligence with practically everything...
They are all so obviously useful and beneficial to others. Intrapersonal? Not so much. What is so good about being in-tune with and knowing your own self? How does that help anyone?
My conclusion (a half-baked one) is that we can be examples, at least, and very empathetic at best. Introspection is the star quality in intrapersonally intelligent people. It's second-nature to reflect and disect our feelings, thoughts, motivations, strengths, and weaknesses. Generally, this breeds ethical behavior and motivations along with self-regulation.
From Udemy blog's Jesamine's article on intrapersonal intelligence:
They are all so obviously useful and beneficial to others. Intrapersonal? Not so much. What is so good about being in-tune with and knowing your own self? How does that help anyone?
My conclusion (a half-baked one) is that we can be examples, at least, and very empathetic at best. Introspection is the star quality in intrapersonally intelligent people. It's second-nature to reflect and disect our feelings, thoughts, motivations, strengths, and weaknesses. Generally, this breeds ethical behavior and motivations along with self-regulation.
From Udemy blog's Jesamine's article on intrapersonal intelligence:
Introspection
Introspection is the deliberate act of looking inward in order to gain insight into the nature of one’s own thoughts or feelings. An introspective person wants to understand why he or she thinks, feel,s or acts in a certain way, not as a means of justification, but rather as a means to better understand what might be working “behind the scenes”. If he or she uncovers jealousy or envy, then that will further be explored. Where does the jealousy come from? Why am I envious? If fear is discovered, then he or she will want to go to the roots of that fear in order to find out where it started. A person who has explored his or her inner depths in such a way develops an entirely different level of ethical awareness, one that goes far beyond the simplicity of a conventional ethical system."
Reading this has helped me understand why I annoy my MIL so much when I ask why she does/has done certain things. From whay I've been reading, it's just not normal for people to analyze their actions so deeply. They don't sit there for hours thinking about the patterns and motivations behind them. It may also be why she thinks I'm selfish. Thinking about myself all the time certainly does seem selfish!
But it has it's place. Introspection and self-awareness are important. Most of all, I think it fosters empathy and exploration of the feelings of others. We're naturally equipped to ask the deeper questions, we just need to help others apply it to themselves.
All said, it's still the most self-serving of all the intelligences, and I'm not proud it's the most prevalent in my persona, but it's there.
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
My therapist
I don't know how much longer I have with my therapist, but I'm already devastated. Ending therapy isn't a choice, but insurance only lasts so long. We've had a little over 50 sessions now. I've gotten so much better. He gave me hope, he made me feel like a worthwhile person instead of a chronic screw-up. He let me be myself, and helped me find my best self. He gave me a chance at a new life and happiness. I never thought I wouldn't look forward to dying. He, in more ways than one, saved my life.
I don't want to let go of such an important person in my life. I'm not ready for this. I can't stop crying.
I want him to see me succeed. I want him to know what he's done for me. I want him to be proud. I also worry I'll need him when I go back to school and get another job. All the hard things are coming up, what if I need help?
I don't know. It just feels like I'm losing such an important person in my life. How can I thank him? How do you say goodbye to someone like that?
I don't want to let go of such an important person in my life. I'm not ready for this. I can't stop crying.
I want him to see me succeed. I want him to know what he's done for me. I want him to be proud. I also worry I'll need him when I go back to school and get another job. All the hard things are coming up, what if I need help?
I don't know. It just feels like I'm losing such an important person in my life. How can I thank him? How do you say goodbye to someone like that?
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Keeping it up
Things are moving right along in Vanessa world. It's absolutely horrifying - every. single. step - but it has to be done. Answering the door, answering the phone, being outside my house, holding decent conversations... All the stuff of nightmares. It needs to happen as frequently as possible so I can break the bonds of this disabling force in my life. It has to happen, and I finally have the energy and drive to accomplish something like that (now that the depression has mysteriously disappeared).
That being said, I'm healthy enough to go back to school! I applied today. I'm still going after the field of death investigation, but I'm doing a different program than anything I've done before. Another new start, and I'm determined to make it my last. It needs to be a secret, because I've jinxed and embarrassed myself enough! Unfortunately, people are always asking what you're up to when you're my age, so that's going to be difficult to dodge.
Anyway, this has been a bunch of self- indulgent frivolity. I'm just excited!
That being said, I'm healthy enough to go back to school! I applied today. I'm still going after the field of death investigation, but I'm doing a different program than anything I've done before. Another new start, and I'm determined to make it my last. It needs to be a secret, because I've jinxed and embarrassed myself enough! Unfortunately, people are always asking what you're up to when you're my age, so that's going to be difficult to dodge.
Anyway, this has been a bunch of self- indulgent frivolity. I'm just excited!
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Church things.
Toward the end of last year, as I was getting healthier, I found it easier to go to church. My attendance improved from "rare" to "often". Church was still largely uncomfortable at best. My skin crawled, and I found it hard to concentrate on talks because of it. There was no blood, but plenty of sweat and tears on the road to righteousness.
I just felt better about myself when I'd spend some time at church on Sunday. Like I fed a compulsion. Soon, it was time to do tithing settlements. It wasn't hard to admit that we hadn't paid tithing, but it was uncomfortable when I was told we could begin paying and be considered full tithe-payers. I don't like easy-way-outs when it comes to repentance. Still, it planted the idea that we should be real full tithe-payers.
Neither of us had ever had a positive experience paying tithing. You'd always hear about miraculous events happening to people who sacrificed for the sake of tithing...never happened to us. But we have had a distant want to be sealed for a couple of years, so we figured this would be just another rung on the ladder toward that.
Not so.
Ever since our first tithing payment, I've noticed a big difference in what most people would attribute as "luck". Seriously. So many small things that would always go wrong just started to go right. My life was plagued with things going wrong, or being harder than they needed to be. I got two jobs that I shouldn't have gotten at all. Two jobs I wouldn't have gotten. When I ask for help for the most trivial upsets, the upsets disappear! It's difficult to explain, but there has been quite the difference.
Stephen is getting his patriarchal blessing on Sunday. We saw the temple together. We're actually going places now. And, when we recently ran out of money, the bishop offered us food through the storehouse. We got so much fresh food, things we couldn't normally eat because of the price. It's been awesome, we're so grateful!
Anyway, my grandpa and I were talking about it, and he said that "your money is where your heart is." It's true. And it's about time our hearts were in the right place.
Since these changes, for some reason, I'm finally understanding the bigger picture of this life. It's to be happy, sure, but also to serve God. To basically prove ourselves, and prove that we will choose God. Don't you think?
Which leads me to my next point. For the first time, I'm feeling close to equal to men. Like we women actually are valuable. Not sure most LDS men are convinced, but I know God feels that way. For the first time, I feel alright sacrificing basically everything to make bodies for God's spirit children. I never really wanted kids. I still DON'T, but I am happy to serve in what ways I can.
So there's my learning experience. I just don't want to forget any of this. The numerous blessings from tithing, the kindness from our ward, and the acceptance of what my body is capable of (presumably).
Saturday, January 30, 2016
An old "friend"
Unfortunately, I feel I'm getting depressed again. About a week ago, I just woke up feeling like a ton of bricks. Just heavy and sluggish. SO tired. A level of fatigue I haven't felt in months. It hasn't let up at all since. My mind is slowly allowing more self- doubt in. Familiar biological dysfunctions are kicking in. I'm terrified it's coming back.
Tim is pushing extra hard for me to keep busy, probably to avoid dwelling on things. My motivation towards school is dwindling. I don't know if I should even bother anymore. I don't feel like I can push myself through school anymore. At least, I have doubts.
I don't want this to happen, so I'll do what I can to keep it away and try to get something for the biological issues.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Honesty
My life is an alienating, obnoxiously open book. I strive to be honest in all my dealings. Sometimes I suffer for it (in big, obvious ways and in small ways), but I still think it's worth it to be honest.
I think a lot of people are under the impression that, if you're honest, you'll be rewarded, or good things will/should happen. It's really unrealistic, and I blame movies and Disney for perpetuating that idea. The only guaranteed reward for being honest is knowing you did the right thing.
I remember the very incident that made me actively try to develope this bothrsome trait. When I was little, I was extremely intimidated by my dad. He was the disciplinarian, as are most fathers in our culture. I hated being in trouble, but it never occured to me to avoid it. Like most little kids, I'd lie. All the time. I'm still ashamed.
But anyway, one day, my sister and I were taking a bath. We had to be about 7 years old. For some dumb reason, I was at the sink, filling a bowl and pouring it over my head. Over and over, I did this while standing on a carpeted floor. Who has carpeting in their bathroom? My parents, that's who.
Soon enough, my dad came barging in, spanks ready to be delivered. He yelled, asking what we were doing. What were we thinking? He oddly took the time to explain to us what was happening to the soaked carpet (and floorboards) beneath my feet.
Normally, I'd try to give some dumb excuse or lie my face off, but I said: "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what I was doing." or something similar. That's when, instead of the inevitable, my dad calmed down, his wild eyes faded, and he said: "because you told the truth, you won't get spanked." or something similar.
Later, as my sister and I tucked into bed, she whispered to me: "what made you tell the truth?" I actually didn't know. And I still don't, but her asking me that filled me with what I can only describe as pride. And I didn't want that feeling to go away. Hence my ultra-annoying trait was born.
But today I was trying to figure out why I think it's so important to be honest and open, and why I wish everyone were more open. Why I'm so nosy. Why I feel SO weird when other people don't respond/ respond well to my honesty. I thought it was good to be honest. Is there really such a thing as too honest? Or too open? Why does it make people uncomfortable?
That's a series of questions I don't think I'll ever be able to answer, except for one. I know why I think it's important for people to be honest and open. Just think of how much better the world would be.
It's kind of difficult to imagine, but if everyone were more open about their lives, people would be able to empathize more. They'd be less worried about their own problems because they'd realize they aren't alone in them. There would be no facade that anyone is perfectly happy - and that's harder and harder to see, given social media. It's stigmatic to post anything negative.
And being honest is tricky, because honesty sometimes has to take a backseat to kindness. It's a balance - just like justice and mercy. There should be a balance of both. But I mean people should be more genuine, I guess. Like...I strongly feel that everyone wants the same thing, ultimately. Everyone realizes that we all make mistakes. So we should be honest with ourselves. How we feel. How others feel. If we can empathize more, we can forgive more.
It's pretty much common knowledge now, given the public's fascination with muderers, that we can easily treat others less humanely when we dehimanize and distance ourselves from them. Hearing peoples' struggles (as well as triumphs) more often would go a long way toward closing that distance and even making us all less lonely.
Anyway...I just really think we'd all be better off if we were waaaaay more open and honest. My uneducated 2 cents.
I think a lot of people are under the impression that, if you're honest, you'll be rewarded, or good things will/should happen. It's really unrealistic, and I blame movies and Disney for perpetuating that idea. The only guaranteed reward for being honest is knowing you did the right thing.
I remember the very incident that made me actively try to develope this bothrsome trait. When I was little, I was extremely intimidated by my dad. He was the disciplinarian, as are most fathers in our culture. I hated being in trouble, but it never occured to me to avoid it. Like most little kids, I'd lie. All the time. I'm still ashamed.
But anyway, one day, my sister and I were taking a bath. We had to be about 7 years old. For some dumb reason, I was at the sink, filling a bowl and pouring it over my head. Over and over, I did this while standing on a carpeted floor. Who has carpeting in their bathroom? My parents, that's who.
Soon enough, my dad came barging in, spanks ready to be delivered. He yelled, asking what we were doing. What were we thinking? He oddly took the time to explain to us what was happening to the soaked carpet (and floorboards) beneath my feet.
Normally, I'd try to give some dumb excuse or lie my face off, but I said: "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what I was doing." or something similar. That's when, instead of the inevitable, my dad calmed down, his wild eyes faded, and he said: "because you told the truth, you won't get spanked." or something similar.
Later, as my sister and I tucked into bed, she whispered to me: "what made you tell the truth?" I actually didn't know. And I still don't, but her asking me that filled me with what I can only describe as pride. And I didn't want that feeling to go away. Hence my ultra-annoying trait was born.
But today I was trying to figure out why I think it's so important to be honest and open, and why I wish everyone were more open. Why I'm so nosy. Why I feel SO weird when other people don't respond/ respond well to my honesty. I thought it was good to be honest. Is there really such a thing as too honest? Or too open? Why does it make people uncomfortable?
That's a series of questions I don't think I'll ever be able to answer, except for one. I know why I think it's important for people to be honest and open. Just think of how much better the world would be.
It's kind of difficult to imagine, but if everyone were more open about their lives, people would be able to empathize more. They'd be less worried about their own problems because they'd realize they aren't alone in them. There would be no facade that anyone is perfectly happy - and that's harder and harder to see, given social media. It's stigmatic to post anything negative.
And being honest is tricky, because honesty sometimes has to take a backseat to kindness. It's a balance - just like justice and mercy. There should be a balance of both. But I mean people should be more genuine, I guess. Like...I strongly feel that everyone wants the same thing, ultimately. Everyone realizes that we all make mistakes. So we should be honest with ourselves. How we feel. How others feel. If we can empathize more, we can forgive more.
It's pretty much common knowledge now, given the public's fascination with muderers, that we can easily treat others less humanely when we dehimanize and distance ourselves from them. Hearing peoples' struggles (as well as triumphs) more often would go a long way toward closing that distance and even making us all less lonely.
Anyway...I just really think we'd all be better off if we were waaaaay more open and honest. My uneducated 2 cents.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)