On Edge

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I just took an Ativan for the first time in I’m not sure how long.

I had an anxiety attack at the after party this evening but I didn’t take one then.

Probably because I never think of them when I’m in the middle of something like that. I’m just thinking of getting the fuck out of whatever situation I’m in.

In that case the situation was ending up at a table full of people I didn’t know because the choice was unknown people or sitting at a high top table, and I have a hard time sitting on those chairs.

#fatpeopleproblems

So I had an anxiety attack and walked out.  Eventually someone I know happened upon me and talked to me long enough that I calmed down and was able to go back in.

I felt like an ass.

But, I didn’t take an Ativan then.

I made it through the after party.

I got a coffee that looked really, really, good.

Because apparently I like making myself more anxious.

And because maybe I’m a dumb ass.

So the whole ride home my anxiety showed up as paranoia. I could see car accidents with every move Wonder Woman made.

And the whole ride home my anxiety showed up as anger. I started finding reasons to be upset. Started thinking up things that could bother me.

I was silently seething while knowing if I opened my mouth a bunch of undeserved rage was going to spill forth.

But I couldn’t reach my purse, so I couldn’t take an Ativan then.

I just kept quiet for the hour ride home, ruminating over all of the things that don’t typically bother me but become perfect targets for my brain to zero in on when I need a reason to be angry.

But when we came into the house I saw all of the things I’ve left undone and started directing the anger towards myself.

The dishes in the kitchen are piled from the sink to the stove. Dinner dishes from last night were just pushed aside so that I could make more dishes this morning.

The trash can is full, with a second brought in for backup.

My kitchen has a mountain of dishes.

My kitchen has a mountain of trash.

I directed the anger inwards and felt myself ready to explode in all directions. I envisioned dishes flying. I could feel a scream building in my lungs.

I just took an Ativan for the first time in I’m not sure how long.

Today was a long day.

Question of the Day: Personal Olympics

Today’s question is:

If you could turn any activity into an Olympic sport, what would you have a good chance at winning a medal for?

I really would make this easier on myself if I picked questions that I could answer without too much introspection.

If it didn’t have to be an activity, I would pick resilience because I have gotten back on my metaphorical feet more times than I can count, but the question asks specifically for an activity.

Hmm.

Seriously, it’s like, 10 minutes later and I’m still thinking about this.

Part of the problem is that I’m determined not to pick something that’s a veiled put down. I’m not going to go for the quick and dirty ones like “napping” or “procrastination” or some other thing that isn’t really a skill. (Although I wish I had the ability to really nap instead of cat nap.)

I want to pick something I’m actually good at, because I do have talents and I deserve to pat myself on the back for them.

I have a hard time with that concept.

I spend far too much time putting myself down and belittling my strengths.

Oooooh, I’ve got it!

Being a homemaker.

I could win an Olympic medal for being a homemaker.

But not because I have the cleanest house (believe me, I don’t, it’s a cluttered clusterfuck most of the time), or because dinner is like something from a 5 star restaurant, or because the laundry baskets are always empty.

I could win a medal because I enjoy it and because I’m always striving to take care of the people I love through taking care of our environment, and feeding us amazing food, and making sure we have clean clothes to wear.

I could win a medal because it’s the way I show love, and I have so much love to show.

Awwww, I got all mushy-gushy lovey-dovey.

So, what about you? Think outside of the box and try not to put yourself down.

If you could turn any activity into an Olympic sport, what would you have a good chance at winning a medal for?

 

I Guess You’re Just What I Needed

women on roller skates

Photo by 42 North on Pexels.com

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’m feeling much much better.

I’m back to wanting to live and thrive and not hanging on just to survive.

I got an 84 on my final exam and that mixed with the perfect score on my main essay in the class means I think I pulled off an A. Now I get a month off before summer semester starts.

The real game changer was going to officiate roller derby last night.

Leading up to it I was thinking about backing out because my brain was just too foggy and too depressed. But Wonder Woman is head NSO and I really didn’t want to let her (and everyone else, but especially her) down, so I pushed through.

And I’m glad I did.

Everyone there is so supportive there.

Whether they read my posts or not, so many of them tell me they are happy to see me, they say hi, they make me feel included.

I may not put on skates but I feel like I’m an important part of something.

It’s nice to feel included.

I’m proud of myself for how well I got through this particular depressive/suicidal episode. I spent a lot of time in bed, but I also kept moving forward with things that had to be done. I kept cooking, I kept things from becoming too disastrous around the house, I didn’t cancel plans.

I kept doing things that made me feel productive.

Not that it would make me less of a person if I had let more slip, it is an illness after all, and I can only do the best I can do.

But this time I did my best, and my best was pretty damn good.

It was a really dark place, but I was able to see it for what it was, a blip on the radar instead of a permanent place I was stuck in forever. I was able to see my thoughts as thoughts, for the most part. As much as I didn’t want to, I was able to sit with it without fighting against it and making it worse.

That’s really it, I rode it out and didn’t make it worse. I even did things to make it better which is just icing on the cake.

I’m fighting some anxiety today about a party I’m supposed to go to this evening. It’s a skating party and after my last concussion I won’t put on skates again anytime soon. I am anxious that I’ll be the only one sitting out. But I want to go to support my friend who is graduating and to hang out with the friends I do know. It’s important to me to be there.

Plus, anxiety keeps getting in the way of me attending stuff like this and it doesn’t get to have that control today.

Yeah, I’m feeling much much better.

Oh no . . . That’s today.

scientific calculator ii

Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Mentally, I still feel like shit.

But a little less like shit then I felt yesterday, so that’s a plus, I guess.

The difference between, I really want to die

and

I just don’t want to live.

And for those who have never been here, there’s a distinctive difference.

Today is a good day for that difference, because today I have a final exam to go take for my health class.

A final exam that I may not have shown up for yesterday, but today I’ll at least show up.

I all but aced my English class.  Two points shy of a perfect score.  I’m still waiting on a few grades to come back from health, but I think I’ll pull at least a b, depends on how I do on this final that I didn’t study for.

Yesterday was rough. I spent most of the day in bed with covers over my head. I got up to cook but didn’t clean and my sink is overflowing with dishes.

We had dill pickle chicken wings for dinner which were both amazing and time consuming. Even though I baked them, my house smells like fried food, which is kind of annoying.

When I’m depressed like that I’m also super triggery, although I hate the word trigger. But the wrong sound from a video game or the wrong scene in a movie will go straight through me and I’ll need to run and hide, or I’ll want to fight back against it. But I can’t find my words to ask Wonder Woman to turn the TV down or that I can’t handle that movie right now. Sometimes I’ll put headphones in so that I’m not a bother, so that I can just zone out into my own world at the computer.

Other times I run away to the bedroom, into my safe space. Under my down comforter with the covers pulled up over my head. Just enough light filters through that it’s not completely dark in there. The sound is muffled like when there’s a few feet of snow outside.

I feel safe.

I always quietly hope that Wonder Woman will eventually come and check on me even if I can’t quite tell her all of what is wrong.

She is part of my safe space.

I also hate that I just walk away without telling her that I’m going. Words are hard when I feel like that. I want to shrink into my own skin.

I don’t want to admit that I need to hide from the world and speaking it out loud makes it too real.

Makes it too noticeable.

Makes me feel like I’m over reacting.

Like I’m being a drama queen.

But today is better. Today the sounds aren’t quite as loud and I don’t need to run.

Today I don’t want to die.

I’m just not quite sure I’m ready to live.

Blanket Fort

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

TW: Suicdal Thoughts. Guns. Possibly disturbing descriptions.

I spent most of yesterday evening in bed, under my blankets.

Wide awake, but shutting the world out.

Suicidal thoughts swirling around, like stars in the galaxy.

I had plans and means but couldn’t hold onto a thought long enough to have the drive to put anything into action.

I guess my scatter brain saved me from becoming any real danger to myself.

Either way it was uncomfortable and I was afraid to get out of bed because then the means would be too accessible.

And when I’d lose track of my suicidal thoughts I didn’t want to get out of bed because I was just to defeated to move.

I kept hearing a gun shot going off in my head.

Not that I have access to guns, I know better, but I just kept hearing the sound reverberating in my head.

It’s what happens when the thoughts get bad. It’s been the same since middle school. The thoughts would get bad and I knew there was a loaded gun in my dad’s night stand drawer and I could hear it going off in my head.

And I’d fight against letting it happen.

I wonder what it feels like when the barrel is pressed against your skull?

I wonder what it sounds like when the gun goes off?

Does it sound different when the vibrations are right there up close?

Do you even have time to hear it?

I wonder if I would screw that up too and live and just be a burden on everyone around me.

It really is better that I don’t have access to guns.

And the thing is, I’m not actually having a horrible morning. I woke up, I measured out my food and logged it in a new program I’m trying. I’m planning on being all crafty and making shit in a little bit.

But still, the dark thoughts are just swirling around.

I’d kinda rather be dead.

I wish it was a therapy day, not that therapy is a quick fix but I always feel safer when she reassures me that these thoughts aren’t going to kill me. That I don’t need to be locked away to be safe from myself. That this isn’t a crisis.

It feels like a crisis but also doesn’t.

They are just there, quietly hanging over my shoulder.

I feel like I can almost have a conversation with them.

“Hey, what’s up? Please don’t let the cat out as you come and go.”

Quiet Voice of Defeat

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post, but also a Really Real Health Post.

CW: Talk of weight and food.

The quiet voice is back. The one that tells me it would be so much easier to just end it all.

Wednesdays are hard and even with my sister in town yesterday it was a long hard day. I came home after she left and climbed in bed without saying goodnight to Wonder Woman and pulled the covers up over my head.

I was irrationally angry over things that we just haven’t had time for.

Or maybe we haven’t made the time.

But either way I wanted to lash out and I wasn’t in a place to have a rational conversation so I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head and didn’t even stir when Wonder Woman came to bed hours later.

But that’s not why the voice is back.

I had a doctors appointment today and realized I’m looking for a quick fix when there isn’t one. I’m not willing to do the work right now because I feel like I have to work extra hard for minimal results and it’s just not fair.

When I was riding the wave of mania for almost a year it was hard work but at the same time it was easy. And there was all this external validation because in the midst of the hardest thing I’d ever been through I was making all these strides towards self improvement on so many different fronts.

Including losing weight.

But now I’m not manic, and now it is just hard work without all of the positive feedback and without even having anything to show for it.

I’m back in another weight loss surgery program and this one knows the problems I had with the last surgeon so I doubt I’ll have the same problem. Except the last time I was all about working the program and losing weight leading up to it, and really into how successful I was going to be pre and post surgery.

I gave a fuck and it showed.

This time I don’t really give a fuck. I just know I can’t keep living like this, and this is one program that won’t give me the amount of shit the last program gave me. It’s why I chose this program, it has minimal requirements.

See, I know surgery isn’t a quick fix. I know surgery is just a tool and if I don’t do the work it won’t work. I know it isn’t the easy way out.

And I also know that right now my heart isn’t in it.

And my heart isn’t in it because even while I was working so fucking hard, I just started gaining the weight back because I’m fighting against PCOS and I’m fighting against medications.

I don’t even know where to start with my food intake. There are so many things that need to change and I’m so overwhelmed about how to change them. I keep saying I’m going to do this or that differently but there are so many different areas that I end up not following through with any of them.

I’ve quit doing cardio at the gym because what’s the point of working myself to the point of exhaustion on the machines when I’m not getting a single benefit. I still go for strength training a few days a week because I feel the difference with that when I stop, I still walk a mile or two a few nights a week because walking made a huge difference in my life when I started, but even that I’m not all that consistent with.

I worked my ass off . . . and gained 25 lbs due to a medication change. Once that stabilized I kept working my ass off and my weight didn’t change. Now I’ve slacked way off for the last month and my weight didn’t change.

It makes me feel like the effort is useless.

I’m supposed to go for 4 more monthly nutrition appointments and then I can schedule surgery, but if I can’t get my heart into this, there’s no point in scheduling a surgery date.

Depression and poor self image are playing into this big time.

I care about how difficult my weight makes my life, but I hate my body so doing loving and caring things for it is difficult.

Self sabotage via food.

I’ve been here before, for a lot of years. Mania and post traumatic growth made it easy to overcome this cycle but it’s possible to overcome it even without that.

I need to get my heart back in the game.

I need to make changes.

Shining light on all my dark splotches

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I just left therapy where we talked a lot about body image and why I am no longer able to be body positive like I once was.

I am pissed off at the body I inhabit.  I hate the skin that I am in.

At one point I worked out and I felt stronger, I lost weight, I felt I had control and was able to change the shape of this body of mine.

Now I have no control.

Medications have taken that control from me.

The same medication that reduced my suicidal thoughts has increased my weight and changed the distribution of my weight so that my abdomen is larger.

I am pissed off at the body I inhabit.  I hate the skin I am in.

I have an auto-inflammatory condition called hidradenitis suppurativa.

It causes painful abscesses, wounds, and tracts to develop in hair follicles and sweat glands in my underarms, breasts and groin.  When they heal they leave behind scar tissue.

My body is attacking itself.

I am pissed off at the body I inhabit. I hate the skin I am in.

Parker once asked me if I had to tell people I had HS. She was affirming that it was something to be ashamed of, something to hide.

I am afraid of sex, afraid of being seen naked because I’m fat and covered in sores and scar tissue. I can’t imagine that anyone, even Wonder Woman, would want to look at me. I hide my body. I have to fight against my own brain whenever I undress in front of her.

I am pissed off at the body I inhabit. I hate the skin I am in.

Even clothed I hate looking at myself in the mirror, my clothes no longer fit correctly, I’ve had to buy larger shirts. All I can see is my rolls and my fat. I see the parts of me that don’t fit in seats correctly.

“You’re pull up two chairs kinda big” is what my father once said.

I am pissed off at the body I inhabit. I hate the skin I am in.

I miss the days when I felt strong. I miss feeling beautiful.

I want to love the body I inhabit. Why can’t I love the skin I am in?

Maybe shining light on all of these dark thoughts is the beginning to loving myself again.