August 6, 2013

Unexpected Friendship

Someone just said something to me I never thought I'd hear- in fact, I never could have even dreamed this sentence up if I had tried.  I was talking to one of my best friends about how we met and became friends and she said this:  "When I saw your scars, I knew I could be friends with you."  I immediately burst into tears.  I have always thought of my scars as something that people might be able to someday accept if they got to know me well enough.  I have on rare occasion had fellow self-injurers connect with me because of my scars, but those connections tend to be tenuous and fleeting.  I never in a million years dreamed that my scars could be part of the start of a friendship with someone who had no scars of her own.  So to all of you out there who struggle with something that makes you feel unlovable, I humbly assert that you are WRONG.  Nobody is unlovable.  Nothing can make you unlovable.  You deserve love, and you will find it.

June 23, 2013

Panicking about panic...



                Yesterday I had the worst panic attack I've ever had.  Nothing in particular triggered it.  In fact, it started while I was in the Garden of Gethsemane* having some quiet time with a good friend.  My chest got so tight I could hardly breathe.  I've never had a panic attack even remotely that bad before, and I've had some doozies.  It was terrifying.  Luckily, I had Xanax, but still.  I only take Xanax in emergencies, so I put off taking it until it was pretty bad.  It took at least half an hour before I could breathe normally again.  And half an hour is a long time to wait to be able to breathe again.  

                So this morning when I went to have breakfast in the cafeteria, everything was hilarious.  Because like I said, I don't really take Xanax.  So my friends sat around helplessly while I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair.  It was so much better than not being able to breathe, but still very disconcerting.  

                All day today, my chest would start to get a little tight, and I'd start to panic.  Luckily I have good friends who kept checking up on me throughout the day and talked me down when I felt horrible.  I took a nap before dinner because my body was still feeling really off, and when I woke up, I was so depressed I could hardly head upstairs to eat. I picked at my food and didn't participate in conversations.  After dinner, I tried to curl up in my bed, but I started to freak out again.  Luckily my friend came and found me and took care of me.  I'm really grateful for her.  And I'm aware this post is disjointed and poorly written, but I just had to get it out of my head and onto the page. 
*I am studying abroad in Jerusalem this summer.  SO AWESOME.

Panicking about panic...

                Yesterday I had the worst panic attack I've ever had.  Nothing in particular triggered it.  In fact, it started while I was in the Garden of Gethsemane* having some quiet time with a good friend.  My chest got so tight I could hardly breathe.  I've never had a panic attack even remotely that bad before, and I've had some doozies.  It was terrifying.  Luckily, I had Xanax, but still.  I only take Xanax in emergencies, so I put off taking it until it was pretty bad.  It took at least half an hour before I could breathe normally again.  And half an hour is a long time to wait to be able to breathe again.  
                So this morning when I went to have breakfast in the cafeteria, everything was hilarious.  Because like I said, I don't really take Xanax.  So my friends sat around helplessly while I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair.  It was so much better than not being able to breathe, but still very disconcerting.  
                All day today, my chest would start to get a little tight, and I'd start to panic.  Luckily I have good friends who kept checking up on me throughout the day and talked me down when I felt horrible.  I took a nap before dinner because my body was still feeling really off, and when I woke up, I was so depressed I could hardly head upstairs to eat. I picked at my food and didn't participate in conversations.  After dinner, I tried to curl up in my bed, but I started to freak out again.  Luckily my friend came and found me and took care of me.  I'm really grateful for her.  And I'm aware this post is disjointed and poorly written, but I just had to get it out of my head and onto the page. 
*I am studying abroad in Jerusalem this summer.  SO AWESOME.

April 10, 2013

Depressing, Hard Day

      Today I decided it was too much to get out of bed.  So I didn't.  When I finally did at 5pm, I ran into a friend in the parking lot who told me that his brother had just shot himself and was still alive but unlikely to make it.  Then I went to an early dinner with a friend who told me she had just been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  Then I got home and my friend texted me that his brother had just passed away.  And my heart broke.  So I went back to bed for a few hours.  Because it was a hard day before all the suffering.  It was a hard day on which I accomplished absolutely nothing I needed to do (which always makes hard days harder).  I don't even know why it was a hard day (before all the bad- I know why it was hard after that).  I have a lot to do and I've been stressed, but I still need to get out of bed.  Oh wait...  I have depression.  That's right.  Even when I'm feeling mostly awesome, I have bad days.  That is a fact of my life.  It's mostly fine.  I'm mostly fine.  Today was just mostly suck.  Until I finally peeled myself out of bed again to spend some time with a wonderful guy.  That was good.  Because I didn't want to get out of bed at all, but I did anyways.  And I felt a LOT better for awhile.  Now that I'm home again, my brain is feeling disjointed, much like this post.  But it's ok.  I think I'll be able to get out of bed tomorrow. 

RIP Luke.  My prayers are with you and your family.

February 28, 2013

Breaking?



            I can feel it happening.  I can feel myself breaking*.  And I find myself wondering- What sort of a break are we in for this time?  How bad will it be?  How long will it last?  How deep will it go?  How much of me will crumble in around the sharply defined cracked edges?  Can Humpty Dumpty be put back together again?  And then my mind wanders off in another direction.  Is it better to try and hold the edges together as I’m breaking?  To try to minimize the damage?  Or is it just better to let it go and save my effort for the putting it back together process?  Because let’s face it- I have a finite amount of effort in this imperfect body of mine, and when it’s spent, it’s over.  I’m done.  

*I may not actually be breaking.  I may just be getting over being sick and be terrified out of my mind that I won't be able to get back into the swing of life.  Honestly, whether or not I make it to school tomorrow will be a big determining factor in whether or not I break.  I've missed a week, though.  So I'm scared.

February 21, 2013

Depression- Things are Looking Up.



            Sometimes once you’ve stepped out into the light and your eyes have become accustomed to the brightness, it’s easy to forget just how dark it was back in the tunnel.  But this time, I want to remember.  This time I want to hold on.  Not enough to drag me back there.  Not enough that I can’t venture too far from the mouth of the cave.  Just enough that I can hold onto the compassion I’ve developed for my fellow sufferers.  I want to remember that it is dark and scary and painful almost beyond imagination.  And I want to stand as a beacon, shining out the message that you can move on beyond the tunnel of endless hell and depression.  You can be happy again. 
            Of all the people I know who have depression, and there are a lot of them, I think I may have it the worst.  Or if not the worst, then certainly in the worst five percent.  What I’m trying to say is that I have a pretty good grasp of how appallingly unpleasant depression is.  I get it.  I’m not one of those people who gets a little sad from time to time.  I am one of those people for whom depression becomes my world.  I lose the ability to maintain friendships.  I lose the ability to get out of bed and go to school.  I lose the ability to think clearly.  But it always ends.
            Inevitably, after a long period of depression (the most recent lasting well over a year), I work my tail off in therapy and I keep meeting with my psychiatrist and eventually things level out again.  Eventually we find the magic combination of meds.  Eventually I find happy again.  And when I find it, sometimes it’s even a little too happy for a while.  Because my brain has been so programmed to accept the suck that when the suck is gone, it gets a little over-zealous in its production of feel-good and everything is hilarious and wonderful.  It’s not like a bipolar kind of wonderful, it’s just a little more wonderful than is strictly necessary.  And frankly, I’ll take it. 
            Things will level out again.  I will be “normal” again.  And so will you.  Keep fighting.  It’s worth it.  Life is worth it.
Thank you for coming. I hope you get something out of this. I hope you learn about yourself. I hope you get help if you need it or give it if you can.