Jesus, my mind is buzzing. I have ideas on what I want to do around the house, what I want to write about, what I want to do when I go back to work on Monday, food I want to cook for the BBQ next weekend, what I'm going to wear when I finally change out of my Star Wars pajamas.
I'm literally twitching. I want to run and walk and swim and do all kinds of exercise I usually try my best to avoid. I swear to god I could paint the entire house today, build a gazebo, pull the sneaky blackberry bushes out by their invisible roots and then run around the block.
In January, I went to the doctor. I told her I wasn't myself. I told her I was quiet and distant and cold on the inside. I told her I didn't think my medication was working. She told me to go to a psychiatrist. I tried.
A little.
I looked online at a few shrinks in the area and then when no one looked like someone I would want to talk to I gave up. It's not easy to take that step when you are feeling like you'll never walk again.
I guess I had a follow up appointment with my doc to see how things were going with the psych I was supposed to find, but I forgot about it. It's not easy to remember commitments and follow through on them when you can't seem to care about anything.
In April, I was put in charge of a project at work that changed me. Because of my role, I was able to look at my career path differently and finally admit to myself that I was headed the right way. I immersed myself in the project, desperate for success. And things happened, as they do, to delay a feeling of accomplishment. Halfway through the project, I injured my back. Or rather, the disks in my low back finally made it known they needed attention. My body got delayed too.
In early May I started physical therapy (physical torture).
Now, on the last day of June, I feel better. I feel the energy described above just itching to get out.
But I can't expel it. I need to rest my back and take it slow. I know this because I've tested it.
On Monday of this week, I moved some tables. They were very light, round tables that slid across a carpeted floor with ease. I felt fine. I did not strain or push too hard. When I finally felt (too soon) the slightest hint of pain, I stopped. I iced my back. I hobbled slowly around the office, dodging looks of sympathy and 'are you ok' glances. And I knew, I wasn't healed. Wasn't even close.
On Tuesday, I went back to my doctor. I told her I'd been in pain for 3 months. Pain that has limited me to do anything and has allowed all the weight I'd lost come back to disfigure the confidence I'd begun to build. I told her I felt that I was always taking 1 step forward, 2 steps back....in my mind's health, my body's health...I told her I wasn't healed.
We talked about the psychiatrist I was supposed to see and why I didn't. We talked about the weight I'd gained and why I wish I hadn't. We talked about the energy soaking pain that my back and mind took turns gathering and how to make it stop.
She suggested a new medication. I ignored the 'fuck, another pill?' feeling and started taking it the next day. My fog lifted. I was singing along to the radio again (sad songs but something at least) and was writing some great stuff at work. I felt good (almost) the rest of the week. I stayed up late and watched my shows, slept (sort of) and got up with no responsibilities waiting.
This morning, right now, my fingers are flying across the keys, writing about how I can't stop or go. My mind is still thinking about what I'm going to do next but my body won't let me. I'm limited.
I'm not entirely healed.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Battle
Self care is hard. And it's different for everyone. Sometimes it's hard to tell if you're practicing self care or being self destructive. It's exhausting.
Self care isn't fair. It means you have to say no to things that you want to do because deep down, it's the right step for yourself. It means exploring feelings that hurt to try and understand.
Self care is not selfish. It's necessary to survive.
Getting to that point can be a difficult journey. It was for me. And my god it took a long time. Actually, I'm still on it.
I was probably 25ish when I finally faced some childhood demons. With the help of a therapist, I learned that it wasn't my fault, that I was still able to be loved, that I might feel broken, but that I could heal. It wasn't easy to believe.
When you've felt undesirable, ugly, broken, or empty for most of your life, learning you can feel otherwise is overwhelming in its freedom. I battled with some intense feelings. I didn't think I deserved to feel any differently so I couldn't accept it was possible.
Self care is easy to procrastinate. When you're in a place that you're used to, why change? The anxiety can be too much.
It was for me once. I held the bottle of pills. I had the thoughts. A friend stepped in--I was lucky.
I am lucky. I have a support system to help me push forward towards new and more challenging aspects of self care. But it has to start with me. I have to accept that I can even begin to try. And it's hard. It's so hard. It's like going against everything you've been taught, felt, experienced.
When you learn that the things you were taught, felt or experienced were not aspects of care...that's when it gets really hard. You have choices. You can act, you can ignore. You can dwell, you can practice letting go. You can hide, you can confront. You can do anything in between. This is when self care and self destruction sometimes dance.
My feeling is that if you're battling some inner demons, you need to do the best things for yourself to help win. Sometimes though, the things that feel good are not the best things for you to do in order to heal. Drugs and alcohol are easy solutions, numbing agents. Like a child that's hiding in plain sight, "you can't see me!" Maybe they've masked the demon, for a little while but you know they're there. Food was my numbing agent. I ate because it was the only thing that I enjoyed--and it wasn't broccoli and salads. I ate terribly, all the time, and still struggle with it sometimes. I smoked a LOT of pot. I drank too for a little while. I did whatever I could to feel better. I cried a lot and eventually realized what I was doing wasn't helping. I wasn't better. The numbing agents were just cover ups. I fell into a spiral of helplessness.
Once you know you're not ok, things get scary. The fear of not being able to get over the past, to heal from it is overwhelming. It means I had to finally confront the demons and begin to truly fight. I was terrified. But for me, that was the first step. I didn't realize it at the time but looking back, I can see that's where it started. The self care.
One of the first things I did was tell my parents about a childhood trauma I'd kept hidden. I wasn't sure how I wanted or needed them to respond but I told them anyway. I did it for me. I had to let some of the demons out and let them die in honest air. I practiced self care by sharing my story and it was excruciating.
I wish I could say that all the other demons just fell right out after that and that practicing self care became easy for me but that's not true. I still struggle. I doubt telling people things for fear of their reaction. I've been learning that individual past behaviors can help me with that but the truth is you never know how someone will respond.
Self care for me is strongly tied to communication. I try to be honest and open with people from the start. I pay attention to how they respond to others so I can learn how to talk to them in a way that works for me, in a way that won't aggravate a demon. I talk to my therapist, and I write about my feelings until I can find the right way to express them aloud. Sometimes they never go from the paper, but I've still communicated them. I've released them.
Self care is hard. And it's different for everyone. It's exhausting and sometimes disappointing and challenging and painful at times too. But it's for me. I will keep fighting the demons, even if they're never gone, they will not control me.
Self care isn't fair. It means you have to say no to things that you want to do because deep down, it's the right step for yourself. It means exploring feelings that hurt to try and understand.
Self care is not selfish. It's necessary to survive.
Getting to that point can be a difficult journey. It was for me. And my god it took a long time. Actually, I'm still on it.
I was probably 25ish when I finally faced some childhood demons. With the help of a therapist, I learned that it wasn't my fault, that I was still able to be loved, that I might feel broken, but that I could heal. It wasn't easy to believe.
When you've felt undesirable, ugly, broken, or empty for most of your life, learning you can feel otherwise is overwhelming in its freedom. I battled with some intense feelings. I didn't think I deserved to feel any differently so I couldn't accept it was possible.
Self care is easy to procrastinate. When you're in a place that you're used to, why change? The anxiety can be too much.
It was for me once. I held the bottle of pills. I had the thoughts. A friend stepped in--I was lucky.
I am lucky. I have a support system to help me push forward towards new and more challenging aspects of self care. But it has to start with me. I have to accept that I can even begin to try. And it's hard. It's so hard. It's like going against everything you've been taught, felt, experienced.
When you learn that the things you were taught, felt or experienced were not aspects of care...that's when it gets really hard. You have choices. You can act, you can ignore. You can dwell, you can practice letting go. You can hide, you can confront. You can do anything in between. This is when self care and self destruction sometimes dance.
My feeling is that if you're battling some inner demons, you need to do the best things for yourself to help win. Sometimes though, the things that feel good are not the best things for you to do in order to heal. Drugs and alcohol are easy solutions, numbing agents. Like a child that's hiding in plain sight, "you can't see me!" Maybe they've masked the demon, for a little while but you know they're there. Food was my numbing agent. I ate because it was the only thing that I enjoyed--and it wasn't broccoli and salads. I ate terribly, all the time, and still struggle with it sometimes. I smoked a LOT of pot. I drank too for a little while. I did whatever I could to feel better. I cried a lot and eventually realized what I was doing wasn't helping. I wasn't better. The numbing agents were just cover ups. I fell into a spiral of helplessness.
Once you know you're not ok, things get scary. The fear of not being able to get over the past, to heal from it is overwhelming. It means I had to finally confront the demons and begin to truly fight. I was terrified. But for me, that was the first step. I didn't realize it at the time but looking back, I can see that's where it started. The self care.
One of the first things I did was tell my parents about a childhood trauma I'd kept hidden. I wasn't sure how I wanted or needed them to respond but I told them anyway. I did it for me. I had to let some of the demons out and let them die in honest air. I practiced self care by sharing my story and it was excruciating.
I wish I could say that all the other demons just fell right out after that and that practicing self care became easy for me but that's not true. I still struggle. I doubt telling people things for fear of their reaction. I've been learning that individual past behaviors can help me with that but the truth is you never know how someone will respond.
Self care for me is strongly tied to communication. I try to be honest and open with people from the start. I pay attention to how they respond to others so I can learn how to talk to them in a way that works for me, in a way that won't aggravate a demon. I talk to my therapist, and I write about my feelings until I can find the right way to express them aloud. Sometimes they never go from the paper, but I've still communicated them. I've released them.
Self care is hard. And it's different for everyone. It's exhausting and sometimes disappointing and challenging and painful at times too. But it's for me. I will keep fighting the demons, even if they're never gone, they will not control me.
Saturday, June 2, 2018
When I Forget
All I wanted was for someone to notice. I wanted someone to see that I was a good person, kind and thoughtful. That I wasn't like most people. Since I was small, I ached to be recognized for more than what I was.
I've learned how to do that for myself a little bit--though I forget sometimes. I've learned how to accept compliments and believe them--though I forget sometimes. I've learned that I don't need to have others' approval for me to approve of myself. I've learned that I'm a good person, kind, and thoughtful--though I forget sometimes.
The people that help me remember...they're my family. A beautiful circle of support that has grown stronger over the years. I am grateful for them and appreciate them more than words could ever express. It's a sentiment I often find myself reflecting on. The love they have for me is strong and powerful. Knowing it's there is sometimes the only thing that gets--especially I forget.
But I still want more. I want just one more to ask me how I am. To care about what I'm going through and support me when times are hard. I want to be able to call any time to talk about all the things I'm afraid of. The things I'm excited for. I still want more.
For years that wish felt selfish. How could I be sad or upset or confused about not having that from one person when I was surrounded with it by others? I felt childish, needy, weak...for years because I had that wish. It's been only recently that I've begun to understand that the difference between what I have and am so grateful for is not the same as what I'm still longing for.
I realized, no,accepted...I may never have my wish come true. Not because I don't deserve it because I do. Not because it's impossible to give because it is. But because maybe it doesn't matter. Not really. Because I have my family. I have support. I am not alone. It still hurts sometimes but that's kind of just life-wouldn't be real otherwise. But no...it doesn't matter. I don't need it anymore.
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