Wednesday, February 29, 2012

part 98, or "i believe it now when people say i'm strong"


It’s been a pretty tough week. I’m glad it’s my spring break, and I don’t have to feel guilty about not going to school.

We went out of town last week – it was AMAZING. I didn’t twitch, I went out multiple times each day, I acted like a tourist – it was so, so, so nice.

I was ready to go home by the time we left that last day, but I had not expected how coming back here would affect me. I mean, I expected that I would be anxious and not happy about being back, but I had not expected to get knocked on my ass.

We got home on Thursday, and some family drama ensued, and I could not handle it. What happened wasn’t anything new – just regular parents and kids stuff, but I could not deal with it. At all. I left.

I tried to check into a hotel, but I had my dog with me and I couldn’t find a place that would take pets, so I went back home. I went to bed and I didn’t get up for two days.

All day Friday was a nightmare. I was crushed. Anytime I thought about being here and being so close to the people who hurt me, and the possibility of seeing any of them in passing, I cried. I desperately wanted some kind of parent to come over and give me a hug and enough money to move out of here.

It was kind of a serious episode, and I was very aware of that as I was experiencing it. I was actually really scared that I would have to go back to the hospital. I described the experience as “mental-hospital depressed,” and that I was “mental-hospital crying” all day.

Saturday I was surprised to find that I felt better, that things still sucked, but I could breathe again. I got out of bed some – I set a goal to unpack from our trip and to take a shower. I got the unpacking done, but not the shower. I felt pretty good about the unpacking, so I wasn’t too bummed about the not showering.

On Sunday, our neighbor friend came by, and I was talking to her about some stuff I wanted to get done on the house, and she was like, “oh, I can help you.” And she started pulling up the carpet, and I was like, “well, I guess we’re taking the carpet out today.”

She actually had to leave about twenty minutes after that, but I had already gotten some momentum. I put a bra on and changed out of my jammy pants and got to work. Jonny and the kids and I had the old carpet out and the new flooring down before it even got dark.

That felt really good. I even took a shower! It had been five days since I last showered, and I was getting kind of scared about it. It was really a relief to be clean and have on clean clothes (still jammies) and have the living room looking so nice with the new floor.

The past three days have been the same – staying in bed most of the day, getting up to eat and take care of some bills and things like that. I haven’t showered again, but that is my goal for today: shower and get my latest pile of garbage cleaned up and out of the house.

Also, therapy is today. I’m relieved to be going because I’ve been having such a hard time and I need it, but I haven’t left the house in six days – not even to get the mail – and I am already getting nauseous about going up there this afternoon. Maybe I will take my dog with me – I’ve done that before and it really made it easier to leave.

Yeah, that is definitely what I am going to do. So my goals today are to shower, clean up the garbage pile, and go to therapy. It’s a lot for one day, but I feel pretty confident about getting it done.

I have a meeting tomorrow, too, and I might not get to putting on makeup to go to therapy, but I definitely will before that meeting. Putting makeup on makes me feel so much better, and it’s a relief knowing that I have occasions other than being awake to dress up for. (by “dress up” I mean not pajamas)

I had been doing really well at school, keeping up with assignments and going every day, but I didn’t go at all the week before the vacation, or the week of the vacation, and now it is spring break, so that’s three weeks away. I’m working on getting excited about it – it’s a slow process, but I felt really happy when I was excited about going to school again.

Changing majors, while disappointing and stressful, has gotten me excited again about what I want to do in life. I have decided to follow my dreams. They aren’t lofty dreams, and the more I look forward and work toward them, the more real and accessible they seem. That’s pretty motivating.

I guess the past few weeks have been my opportunity to really test all the psychological safety nets I’ve been getting in place for the past five years. It was really scary going through that incapacitating depression episode last Friday, especially since I don’t dissociate nearly as much as I used to, and so experience it all much more intensely.

But I feel stronger just writing about it all. Also, I got some new shoes to walk in – I haven’t been on my five-mile walk in about a year. But my new tennies are super cute, and I think between them and my ipod, I am going to be able to do my walks again, and they are really, really, really good for my state of mind and body.

That will be nice.

For right now, though, I’m just going to get through right now. 

Saturday, February 18, 2012

part 97, or "i don't have the energy to come up with a title"


I’m tired of feeling trapped here, in this pristine, suburban corner of hell. When people say life is hard, they are talking about the waiting – the waiting and the powerlessness. It’s maddening.

My tricks to make myself feel better (a.k.a. coping mechanisms) are still working. I can still distract myself, and get to a bearable place in my mind so that I don’t go completely insane, or do anything to hurt myself or anyone else. It’s shitty that my baseline for how I’m doing is “I don’t want to hurt myself, or anyone else.”

This shit is just so fucking crazy. The violence I witnessed growing up is weighing down pretty hard. On the one hand, I am very relieved that I have gotten to a point where I know what happened was real. On the other hand, it really sucks to have gotten to a point where I know what happened was real.

I mean, it’s always been real, but there has been some room for the possibility that I am stark-raving-mad, which is the only alternative I can find to all of it being real. Unfortunately – and fortunately – the evidence of crazy is not good: I’ve been evaluated and treated by three different psychiatrists, a couple of psychologists, and any number of other mental health professionals.

They say I’m depressed, that I have a dissociative disorder, that I have post traumatic stress disorder, that I have an anxiety disorder, that I am agoraphobic; they agree that I am an addict and an alcoholic (I’ve been clean and sober for four ½ years, but they say once you’re an addict/alcoholic, you’re always an addict/alcoholic, and I believe them).

I’m also a hoarder. I hoard trash. Its not so bad these days – I have it limited to one small corner of one room, and I have gotten really good at purging it on a regular enough basis that I don’t automatically walk into a room and see a bunch of trash and think, “jesus christ, I’m a hoarder, too. I’m dirty and gross.” There is a very minimal amount of shame attached to it at this point – it’s actually one of my easiest disorders to regulate.

I think I might be leaving out a couple of items on the mental health list of disorders, but I feel confident that I’ve made my point – I’ve got a lot of mental health problems.

Not one of the problems includes hallucinations, delusions, or pathological lying. So, yeah. It’s real.

The shit that happened to me is real.