I first want to say that Becca's idea to start a blog is so so awesome. I know that these sort of things that bring awareness and support will be beneficial beyond measure, to the reciepient and the author.
My name is Deanna and I am so excited to be a contributor for Becca's blog. My whole life ever since I could remember, I knew I was different. I felt like I was this little stress machine. And while other kids were so care free, I was wrapped in my own ball of torment and turmoil. Back then though, I thought everyone felt this way. I thought everyone had the anxiety I did. So I just learned to mask it and carry on as if nothing was wrong.
I didn't know things were really wrong until I was the age of 19 (I will be 28 this October). A few years prior to being 19, I was being impulsive with my decisions and just being plain stupid. Not a typical teenage girl, but a girl who was losing her grip with reality and didn't know it yet. My crazed state took me as far as to a different country, where I made decisions that forever have impacted my life. And it wasn't till I was 19, all alone in this foreign country where I felt like I could fly. The feeling is intoxicating but slowly poisons you as well. I can remember the boundless energy, the weightloss from not feeling the need to eat, to days of no sleep, endless talking and pretty much thinking that I was supremely awesome. I think back on those moments and I am so grateful to be alive and that no serious harm came to me. Only bad decisions that maybe people judge me for but I know now what was going on. And that wasn't me. And never was.
So, it has taken me some getting used to, being bi polar that is. I am also a handful of other things but bi polar is the most prominent. I deal with it everyday, for the rest of my life. But now I don't think of it as a crutch. Now its something I am aware of, just like someone with anything else that they're born with. Sometimes, well maybe a lot of the times, I feel like people don't understand. How could I blame them though? You can't really understand unless you go through those things personally. So in the end, you just need to worry about you.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
How could I be loved, if she can't love me?
Despite where I've been, I've never been shy on what has happened or what/how I have dealt with occurrences in my past and present. Yet, being open can be misinterpreted as playing the victim; wanting sympathy handed to me. I have, and will, always tell my story in hopes that it will help someone conquer their fears and embrace their past. If it hadn't been for my past, I might not be the strong, determined woman I am now.
I have not quite been diagnosed with any one disorder for certain, except for PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I say this because I was so highly medicated as a teenager, which created awful side effects and presented itself as a myriad of disorders.
To be able to understand where I have been and what I deal with, I first have to give a bit of background on myself, which might seem extensive (and I apologize in advance) but is the only way I can think that anyone can truly grasp my perspective.
As a young child, I can't remember any problems with my life until about 3rd or 4th grade. I was a happy camper, no big problems; I just didn't see my mother often and I didn't know my father, never met him. When I was about 9, I didn't clean my room to my mother's liking and she told me to pack my bags I was going to an orphanage because she didn't want me anymore. She didn't hold to that, but it was a dramatic turning point in my life, but I just didn't know it yet. She was on a plethora of medications, mostly narcotics, for a back problem that would eventually put her out of regular work for the rest of the time that I had known her. She became more aggressive and just plain fucking mean as the days passed. She started dating a man who gave me the creeps and told me he was moving in with us after her first surgery on her back, and I refused. She told me I had no fucking say and to just shut up.
After this first boyfriend moved in, I was emotionally neglected more and more every day. This boyfriend's son loved to beat me up, and it soon became a family pastime. Mom, boyfriend, boyfriend's son would all take turns. Then the boyfriend's son started to molest me, and I didn't say anything to anyone hoping I was just mistaken by what was going on; health class taught me differently my 5th grade year. Finally I started to protest when he was doing it in front of my mother and his father (mom's boyfriend), my mother would watch in a pill stupor and just laugh, then egg him on. They would just throw me down on the stairs and lay on top of me so I couldn't breathe, whip me with whatever item was closest and most painful, or just throw things at me repeatedly.
One of my birthdays, we headed down to South Carolina to enjoy the beach in the summer. I don't remember anything happy, it was all erased when I watched my mom's boyfriend beat her senseless and bloody, threatening to kill me if I called the cops. Mom and I packed up and left, the entire trip back to the DC metro area was filled with how fucking stupid I was and how this was all my fault. I was not the daughter anyone would want and I was so useless and I have ruined my mother's entire life. It was shortly after this that I started cutting myself.
I can't say why I started cutting, or why I didn't stop, but it gave me control. All the words of how ugly, stupid, useless I was or how no one would ever want me or love me because it was impossible was reflected on my skin. Perhaps it was one last ditch effort to get my mother's attention and affection.
When we moved several counties over into my grandparents' home at the end of my 7th grade year due to a classmate making death threats to me, I think that is truly when shit hit the fan. I don't know what happened, if my mom was jealous with my closeness with my grandparents who had me while she worked when I was younger, or who would listen to me and tell me stories; but I just lost myself completely down a deep black hole. I would then attempt suicide over 50 times in various ways, be hospitalized 24 times in mental health institutions, sever my relationships with friends and family who didn't want to hear me or couldn't understand me. The family part was the hardest, my mother is a fan-fucking-tastic manipulator, she can practically make you think the grass isn't green, if it benefits her somehow. The schools, the police officers, the friend's parents... they all refused to believe my stories of molestation and abusive turmoil that I had endured up to that point because my mother would have some fancy story on how I was unwell in the head. The police officers even told me, "She is your mother, she can beat you any way she wants as long as I don't see bruises right now and she says that it was an appropriate punishment" and "there's no physical proof of the molestation, so we can't do anything about it, plus your mom says you're lying." I felt more alone and more depressed than ever, leading to more therapists. I had one that told me, "How does it feel to know that you have ruined your mother's life and that you're a loser?" I no longer had faith in humanity or the justice system anymore. But I always ran back to my mother because I just longed for her approval and affection, hoping she'd give it to me one day.
I had ran away countless times, jumped out of (slow) moving cars, anything I could do to get away from the hatred she took out on me. A few days before Christmas of 2002, I had left home after her telling me she was taking away Christmas because I cut my hair and just being simply vile; I was scared of her, at any minute she could snap. I attempted to call my aunt, just to let her know I was alright but wasn't able to handle anymore of my mother. As I briskly walked across the 8 lane highway, at a stop light, the light turned green and a car going 20-30 miles over the speed limit (approx. 65-75 mph) struck me. I was catapulted into the air and onto the asphalt head, legs, head legs, etc. This is such a huge part of my PTSD, the trauma sank in much later. I tried to get up in the middle of the intersection while I was almost ran over by several cars. I faded in and out of consciousness and later awoke to see my mother and her crocodile tears telling multiple people of how I was out of control, etc. I had fractured the ball in my hip socket, tore my MCL and my PCL in my right knee, separated and shattered my pelvis, not to mention the extensive nerve damage the impact had on me. I was in a wheelchair on and off for a year, crutches for two, and nothing was ever repaired like it should have been. I was left with a pelvis that would constantly, and to this day, fracture from sitting down too hard in a chair or a knee that pops out of socket and needs to be shoved back in. Now my spine is deteriorating from all the harsh problems I've endured from the accident alone, and that does absolutely nothing for my self-worth or self-esteem.
As I got older, I found myself in bad situations and bad relationships. I was left to live on the streets, torn between the two people I truly have always called my parents (my maternal grandparents) and my mother. Living on the streets for years, I was raped 8 times by three men in a 6 month time span, and I just loathed myself that much more. I didn't feel like what I felt was depression, and in fact I still don't sometimes, because I was just in such a shitty situation.... wouldn't anyone feel this way?
I fell for the wrong man, and immediately thought I needed to marry him. He was abusive and lazy and finally after years of being with him, and living on the streets, I left to be on my own. I ended up getting pregnant (after thinking I wasn't able to have children) and was with a man who wouldn't let me eat, took all of my cash, beat me trying to give me a miscarriage... Finally, I had to crawl back to my mother. She took all of my money and controlled everything I did and ate and who my friends were.. despite that I was 21. This continued on through another abusive relationship where I ended up in the hospital with a sprained neck, wrist and knee. We finally moved to Utah, I thought "gee this will be it, a fresh new start with my mom." I was never more wrong. I was controlled even more, abused even more and I was so broken and destroyed I hated myself I didn't think I was a good enough mother for my daughter. I wanted to kill myself so my daughter didn't have to deal with my crying every night any more. Again, who wouldn't hate life if they were in my shoes right? Everyone said "well, just get out of the situation!" But I had no idea where to go with no friends, no money, a toddler and no home, thousands of miles away from the home I knew so well, Virginia.
One day I finally had enough I decided to try and talk to my mother instead of letting her verbally attack me in front of my daughter. I started walking away from the conversation and she kept talking while she was in the bathroom, I came back and asked her what she said and she said, "Never mind just forget it leave me alone." Knowing her,if I had, she would have thrown a fit saying I walked away from the conversation so I stayed asking her to talk to me, she came out and I wouldn't move until she agreed to talk to me she raised her arms to hit me, my daughter right next to me so I pushed her instinctively... she started beating me until I was black, blue, swollen and bloody. I was able to push her off of me once, and I punched her with my non dominant hand to get her to stop. My daughter was still next to me.. she pushed her.. The police said I was at fault when they finally came because of the fact that I didn't walk away, even though I was the one injured and she wasn't. I started it according to them, and my daughter was fine to stay with her. She has since convinced my family to have nothing to do with me (and always has).
I have gone from that, and living on the streets trying to make something of my life, to now and living in my very first 2 bedroom apartment, going back to college, working full time at a steady job I've had for a year and a half, I finally own my own things, have my own money... but I'm still so sad without my family. I still think, I can't be depressed, this is normal to be sad.. I struggle, I know it's part the PTSD, too. The flashbacks and the anxiety and fear, from everything.
The days that are the hardest are when I need a friend or a family member and I have no one, or when I need a "mom day" to myself to just recoup, or a babysitter, or just company. It's just nice sometimes to not feel alone. It's hard to get over depression when the wounds are still fresh and you're still so alone.
I have not quite been diagnosed with any one disorder for certain, except for PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I say this because I was so highly medicated as a teenager, which created awful side effects and presented itself as a myriad of disorders.
To be able to understand where I have been and what I deal with, I first have to give a bit of background on myself, which might seem extensive (and I apologize in advance) but is the only way I can think that anyone can truly grasp my perspective.
As a young child, I can't remember any problems with my life until about 3rd or 4th grade. I was a happy camper, no big problems; I just didn't see my mother often and I didn't know my father, never met him. When I was about 9, I didn't clean my room to my mother's liking and she told me to pack my bags I was going to an orphanage because she didn't want me anymore. She didn't hold to that, but it was a dramatic turning point in my life, but I just didn't know it yet. She was on a plethora of medications, mostly narcotics, for a back problem that would eventually put her out of regular work for the rest of the time that I had known her. She became more aggressive and just plain fucking mean as the days passed. She started dating a man who gave me the creeps and told me he was moving in with us after her first surgery on her back, and I refused. She told me I had no fucking say and to just shut up.
After this first boyfriend moved in, I was emotionally neglected more and more every day. This boyfriend's son loved to beat me up, and it soon became a family pastime. Mom, boyfriend, boyfriend's son would all take turns. Then the boyfriend's son started to molest me, and I didn't say anything to anyone hoping I was just mistaken by what was going on; health class taught me differently my 5th grade year. Finally I started to protest when he was doing it in front of my mother and his father (mom's boyfriend), my mother would watch in a pill stupor and just laugh, then egg him on. They would just throw me down on the stairs and lay on top of me so I couldn't breathe, whip me with whatever item was closest and most painful, or just throw things at me repeatedly.
One of my birthdays, we headed down to South Carolina to enjoy the beach in the summer. I don't remember anything happy, it was all erased when I watched my mom's boyfriend beat her senseless and bloody, threatening to kill me if I called the cops. Mom and I packed up and left, the entire trip back to the DC metro area was filled with how fucking stupid I was and how this was all my fault. I was not the daughter anyone would want and I was so useless and I have ruined my mother's entire life. It was shortly after this that I started cutting myself.
I can't say why I started cutting, or why I didn't stop, but it gave me control. All the words of how ugly, stupid, useless I was or how no one would ever want me or love me because it was impossible was reflected on my skin. Perhaps it was one last ditch effort to get my mother's attention and affection.
When we moved several counties over into my grandparents' home at the end of my 7th grade year due to a classmate making death threats to me, I think that is truly when shit hit the fan. I don't know what happened, if my mom was jealous with my closeness with my grandparents who had me while she worked when I was younger, or who would listen to me and tell me stories; but I just lost myself completely down a deep black hole. I would then attempt suicide over 50 times in various ways, be hospitalized 24 times in mental health institutions, sever my relationships with friends and family who didn't want to hear me or couldn't understand me. The family part was the hardest, my mother is a fan-fucking-tastic manipulator, she can practically make you think the grass isn't green, if it benefits her somehow. The schools, the police officers, the friend's parents... they all refused to believe my stories of molestation and abusive turmoil that I had endured up to that point because my mother would have some fancy story on how I was unwell in the head. The police officers even told me, "She is your mother, she can beat you any way she wants as long as I don't see bruises right now and she says that it was an appropriate punishment" and "there's no physical proof of the molestation, so we can't do anything about it, plus your mom says you're lying." I felt more alone and more depressed than ever, leading to more therapists. I had one that told me, "How does it feel to know that you have ruined your mother's life and that you're a loser?" I no longer had faith in humanity or the justice system anymore. But I always ran back to my mother because I just longed for her approval and affection, hoping she'd give it to me one day.
I had ran away countless times, jumped out of (slow) moving cars, anything I could do to get away from the hatred she took out on me. A few days before Christmas of 2002, I had left home after her telling me she was taking away Christmas because I cut my hair and just being simply vile; I was scared of her, at any minute she could snap. I attempted to call my aunt, just to let her know I was alright but wasn't able to handle anymore of my mother. As I briskly walked across the 8 lane highway, at a stop light, the light turned green and a car going 20-30 miles over the speed limit (approx. 65-75 mph) struck me. I was catapulted into the air and onto the asphalt head, legs, head legs, etc. This is such a huge part of my PTSD, the trauma sank in much later. I tried to get up in the middle of the intersection while I was almost ran over by several cars. I faded in and out of consciousness and later awoke to see my mother and her crocodile tears telling multiple people of how I was out of control, etc. I had fractured the ball in my hip socket, tore my MCL and my PCL in my right knee, separated and shattered my pelvis, not to mention the extensive nerve damage the impact had on me. I was in a wheelchair on and off for a year, crutches for two, and nothing was ever repaired like it should have been. I was left with a pelvis that would constantly, and to this day, fracture from sitting down too hard in a chair or a knee that pops out of socket and needs to be shoved back in. Now my spine is deteriorating from all the harsh problems I've endured from the accident alone, and that does absolutely nothing for my self-worth or self-esteem.
As I got older, I found myself in bad situations and bad relationships. I was left to live on the streets, torn between the two people I truly have always called my parents (my maternal grandparents) and my mother. Living on the streets for years, I was raped 8 times by three men in a 6 month time span, and I just loathed myself that much more. I didn't feel like what I felt was depression, and in fact I still don't sometimes, because I was just in such a shitty situation.... wouldn't anyone feel this way?
I fell for the wrong man, and immediately thought I needed to marry him. He was abusive and lazy and finally after years of being with him, and living on the streets, I left to be on my own. I ended up getting pregnant (after thinking I wasn't able to have children) and was with a man who wouldn't let me eat, took all of my cash, beat me trying to give me a miscarriage... Finally, I had to crawl back to my mother. She took all of my money and controlled everything I did and ate and who my friends were.. despite that I was 21. This continued on through another abusive relationship where I ended up in the hospital with a sprained neck, wrist and knee. We finally moved to Utah, I thought "gee this will be it, a fresh new start with my mom." I was never more wrong. I was controlled even more, abused even more and I was so broken and destroyed I hated myself I didn't think I was a good enough mother for my daughter. I wanted to kill myself so my daughter didn't have to deal with my crying every night any more. Again, who wouldn't hate life if they were in my shoes right? Everyone said "well, just get out of the situation!" But I had no idea where to go with no friends, no money, a toddler and no home, thousands of miles away from the home I knew so well, Virginia.
One day I finally had enough I decided to try and talk to my mother instead of letting her verbally attack me in front of my daughter. I started walking away from the conversation and she kept talking while she was in the bathroom, I came back and asked her what she said and she said, "Never mind just forget it leave me alone." Knowing her,if I had, she would have thrown a fit saying I walked away from the conversation so I stayed asking her to talk to me, she came out and I wouldn't move until she agreed to talk to me she raised her arms to hit me, my daughter right next to me so I pushed her instinctively... she started beating me until I was black, blue, swollen and bloody. I was able to push her off of me once, and I punched her with my non dominant hand to get her to stop. My daughter was still next to me.. she pushed her.. The police said I was at fault when they finally came because of the fact that I didn't walk away, even though I was the one injured and she wasn't. I started it according to them, and my daughter was fine to stay with her. She has since convinced my family to have nothing to do with me (and always has).
I have gone from that, and living on the streets trying to make something of my life, to now and living in my very first 2 bedroom apartment, going back to college, working full time at a steady job I've had for a year and a half, I finally own my own things, have my own money... but I'm still so sad without my family. I still think, I can't be depressed, this is normal to be sad.. I struggle, I know it's part the PTSD, too. The flashbacks and the anxiety and fear, from everything.
The days that are the hardest are when I need a friend or a family member and I have no one, or when I need a "mom day" to myself to just recoup, or a babysitter, or just company. It's just nice sometimes to not feel alone. It's hard to get over depression when the wounds are still fresh and you're still so alone.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Untitled.
This is a poem I wrote when I was in the calm of the storm--able to view the bedlam of my emotions all at once. I guess this poem has two meanings to me, both concerning my life being diagnosed with bipolar disorder: One is about the repercussions of my relationship failures that I experienced throughout a lot of my life. I was so hungry for love and attention, but when reality caught up with me I realized I was just a siren chained to the rocks, beckoning others on with my beauty. My other meaning has to do with how bipolar disorder makes me feel so much--intoxicated even--and although it gives me "powers", all I want is to breathe it out, to rid myself of the air of insanity. All I want is freedom from the illness that brings me so much unquenchable desires.
Soooo yeah.
Soooo yeah.
Waiting for sleep, I shut my eyes tightly to keep
the starry tears from floating away into the night,
upward into the darkness that envelops my restless senses.
I inhale, breathing in the crispness of my curse--
a method of the soul; a rich intake of
unquenchable wishes and miraculous destiny.
I drink it in, filled again with passions beyond fathom;
lustful and desirable like a Siren chained to her sins,
I exhale love-songs to enchant and ensnare, crooning to the heart,
beckoning to go into arms that will never hold requited love.
But like the falling sun I must return my splendor--gone is the starlight
dazzling ‘cross my face;
gone are the sprinkles of moonlight behind my eyes,
I am nothing—an empty shell with thistled and empty arms,
a heart that howls with unbridled passion.
I inhale, and the intoxication becomes me,
laced with the drunkenness of mania I stumble down the stairs
into madness.
Darkness.
I only wish to leave you,
forget you,
encounter dreams in which your presence is absent.
I yearn to be free from the
too-much
too-often,
and too-alive.
The truth of my existence.
I no longer miss the curves of desire that wrap around my naked being,
the ache of others to have my eyes sadistically turn them away.
I wish nothing more but to return to a clearer haven,
to flee from the horrors of my desolated caverns.
I must depart from the dreadful smile that shadows my every touch,
the one that captivates the world but drives its owner mad,
for I know she will never let go.
I will begin a canvas with a softer stroke, a clearer
brush to dress the wounds. A portrait still untouched by darkness.
I have this journey in my hands—a palette with paint not yet muddled and torn by my own disaster.
And for the last time, I exhale you.
Do any of you guys have creative outlets? I LOVE writing, playing music, and drawing/painting. What do you guys enjoy doing?
Monday, February 17, 2014
Brain Trees
Now, i have never been diagnosed with anything, but I do know what it's like to be mentally unhealthy. I have spent most of my life literally hating myself and wishing I was dead. I have started to dread doing things because of this insecurity and self loathing.
I have recently discovered an amazing book called "Secret Lies." She talks about how thoughts are like trees in our brains. The more we think about and dwell on thoughts the bigger the tree grows and the stronger its roots are. These thoughts dominate our mind, even if they are not true. My mind plays tricks on the things I hear and adds to the words people say. Even though I know I am smart, beautiful, talented, etc. those trees aren't as strong as the ones telling me I'm fat, ugly, lazy, insignificant, etc.
It is a process, but I'm working through it. I spend time everyday thinking positively, trying to grow my little tree, trying to diminish the negative tree. I am getting better at realizing when I am going down a dark road, and when my negativity is getting the best of me. I am starting to realize the correlation between my good days and the days I exercise.
If you are struggling through something I encourage you to spend time growing your happy, positive tree and get some weed killer for that nasty negative tree! And work out! Exercise really does help!! :)
Friday, February 7, 2014
Here I stand, and here I'll stay.
Hey lovely friends and strangers. This is a new kind of blog. This is not a diary; this is not my mundane thoughts on events or people, or my adventures and relationships.
This blog was created as a healing process, one that we can all share and hopefully hold on to when we are in the darkness of insanity. This is a place where I can fill the emptiness that I feel as a person who suffers emotionally and mentally, and hopefully it will help some of you fill the hollowness as well.
This blog is a brave step for me--for all of us. I am embarrassed by my disorders. I always have been. I've always felt (and was told) that I was being "too dramatic", or that I would grow out of it. But I didn't. It's embarrassing to talk about, because I don't want my family or friends treating me ANY different than before (at least, the ones that didn't know). I am still a strong person, and I deserve to be treated that way.
I'm going to be honest, guys. It's not cool to be actually crazy. People joke about being "lol so bipolar" or "omg my anxiety", and honestly, I make those jokes occasionally. But mental disorders are a huge deal. It is terrifying. It's not a broken arm that heals, or a sickness that eventually gets better. I will live with my disorders for the rest of my life. I will pass this on to my children.
I was diagnosed with ADD and acute depression when I was in middle school, after I had what I refer to as my first serious (like, quasi-life threatening), episode. I was always a moody child. A weird one. After years of being on different medications, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II in high school and was getting treatment. In college I made a bunch of terrible decisions with relationships and my life. It got scary. I don't want people freaking out (because I love my family and don't want them freaking out), but my episodes got really serious and many times they were life-threatening. Now I'm treated for ADD, BII, and anxiety, and things are great. I'm more stable than before. I have an anchor--my wonderful husband and family--and my episodes are not as drastic. I'm finding out how to treat myself through writing and exercise and love.
I get episodes of guilt from things I have done in the past. I don't think people understand what happens when you go into an episode (whether manic or depressive). And it's literally impossible to explain to people that sometimes you can't control your actions or decisions.
See, it's not fun guys. It's not fun to constantly feel everything at once. I get scared when I'm happy, because I know that it won't last. I get scared when I'm really happy, because I know that means I'm about to make terrible decisions. I feel sad about my happiness and then I feel empty because all of my emotions are drained by about 4 p.m.
Some days I get the weirdest anxiety. Like, I get really really really really bad anxiety about almost everything. Walking across campus because I walk like an idiot. Sitting at a table by myself. I get anxiety about tripping and chipping my tooth. EVERY TIME I USE STAIRS I KNOW I'M GOING TO TRIP AND CHIP MY TOOTH OPEN AND THEN HAVE CHIPPED HOMELESS PEOPLE TEETH FOREVER. Driving. Ordering food at restaurants. Stoplights and stop signs. Looking at people for too long. Asking someone a question. ANSWERING QUESTIONS IN CLASS. Going to the gym. Sweating (I have hyperhydrosis lol). Loud noises. Big crowds. Just...doing anything makes me nervous and my brain goes numb. I dry heave before I take (mostly math) tests because if I eat I know I'll throw up. Talking to girls makes me super anxious (I don't even...).
This isn't just "oh I get nervous", I seriously can't function. My brain shuts down and I get shaky and I sweat everywhere and my blood circulation gets horrifyingly bad (if my hands are purple, you can bet I'm in a battle with my brain). I get anxiety about talking about anxiety. Like right now. I want to crawl in a hole, but I'm trooping on. Don't even get me started about school or money or the future.
I get anxiety writing in a journal. I don't even.
So now that I've depleted my attention in writing this post, I hope that this can give you some insight in what this blog will be about. I swear it won't just be me complaining about my problems. I just want to be explicit with what's going on so that others can read this and understand that my life is not perfect. I have the perfect husband, of course, but the life inside my brain is a mess. I am pretty and fun and smart on the outside, but inside my mind is crawling with darkness and shame and guilt.
But, y'know, I also get happy sometimes too. My brain has happiness in it too. I love being happy.
Sanity isn't always what it's cracked up to be.
Sometimes sanity is just a siren's song, beckoning us into emotional mediocrity.
This blog was created as a healing process, one that we can all share and hopefully hold on to when we are in the darkness of insanity. This is a place where I can fill the emptiness that I feel as a person who suffers emotionally and mentally, and hopefully it will help some of you fill the hollowness as well.
This blog is a brave step for me--for all of us. I am embarrassed by my disorders. I always have been. I've always felt (and was told) that I was being "too dramatic", or that I would grow out of it. But I didn't. It's embarrassing to talk about, because I don't want my family or friends treating me ANY different than before (at least, the ones that didn't know). I am still a strong person, and I deserve to be treated that way.
I'm going to be honest, guys. It's not cool to be actually crazy. People joke about being "lol so bipolar" or "omg my anxiety", and honestly, I make those jokes occasionally. But mental disorders are a huge deal. It is terrifying. It's not a broken arm that heals, or a sickness that eventually gets better. I will live with my disorders for the rest of my life. I will pass this on to my children.
I was diagnosed with ADD and acute depression when I was in middle school, after I had what I refer to as my first serious (like, quasi-life threatening), episode. I was always a moody child. A weird one. After years of being on different medications, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II in high school and was getting treatment. In college I made a bunch of terrible decisions with relationships and my life. It got scary. I don't want people freaking out (because I love my family and don't want them freaking out), but my episodes got really serious and many times they were life-threatening. Now I'm treated for ADD, BII, and anxiety, and things are great. I'm more stable than before. I have an anchor--my wonderful husband and family--and my episodes are not as drastic. I'm finding out how to treat myself through writing and exercise and love.
I get episodes of guilt from things I have done in the past. I don't think people understand what happens when you go into an episode (whether manic or depressive). And it's literally impossible to explain to people that sometimes you can't control your actions or decisions.
See, it's not fun guys. It's not fun to constantly feel everything at once. I get scared when I'm happy, because I know that it won't last. I get scared when I'm really happy, because I know that means I'm about to make terrible decisions. I feel sad about my happiness and then I feel empty because all of my emotions are drained by about 4 p.m.
Some days I get the weirdest anxiety. Like, I get really really really really bad anxiety about almost everything. Walking across campus because I walk like an idiot. Sitting at a table by myself. I get anxiety about tripping and chipping my tooth. EVERY TIME I USE STAIRS I KNOW I'M GOING TO TRIP AND CHIP MY TOOTH OPEN AND THEN HAVE CHIPPED HOMELESS PEOPLE TEETH FOREVER. Driving. Ordering food at restaurants. Stoplights and stop signs. Looking at people for too long. Asking someone a question. ANSWERING QUESTIONS IN CLASS. Going to the gym. Sweating (I have hyperhydrosis lol). Loud noises. Big crowds. Just...doing anything makes me nervous and my brain goes numb. I dry heave before I take (mostly math) tests because if I eat I know I'll throw up. Talking to girls makes me super anxious (I don't even...).
This isn't just "oh I get nervous", I seriously can't function. My brain shuts down and I get shaky and I sweat everywhere and my blood circulation gets horrifyingly bad (if my hands are purple, you can bet I'm in a battle with my brain). I get anxiety about talking about anxiety. Like right now. I want to crawl in a hole, but I'm trooping on. Don't even get me started about school or money or the future.
I get anxiety writing in a journal. I don't even.
So now that I've depleted my attention in writing this post, I hope that this can give you some insight in what this blog will be about. I swear it won't just be me complaining about my problems. I just want to be explicit with what's going on so that others can read this and understand that my life is not perfect. I have the perfect husband, of course, but the life inside my brain is a mess. I am pretty and fun and smart on the outside, but inside my mind is crawling with darkness and shame and guilt.
But, y'know, I also get happy sometimes too. My brain has happiness in it too. I love being happy.
Sanity isn't always what it's cracked up to be.
Sometimes sanity is just a siren's song, beckoning us into emotional mediocrity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)