This is a Really Real Mental Health post.
This is a Really Real Health post.
TW: Mention of weight, exercise, and food choices, but in a body accepting way.
I haven’t written a long post in a couple of weeks.
Short posts detailing my current day to day stuff have been ongoing.
It’s a different way of communicating.
But less cathartic.
When I’m doing well I don’t feel the need to write the long, soul spilling posts that have become such a coping tool for me.
And I am doing well.
I’m slowly figuring out what is mood and mental health related, and what is habit learned by months and months of being depressed.
I’m working on not judging myself for either.
A couple of weeks ago I got on a scale to see if I was above the weight limit for something.
It’s frustrating that many things aren’t built for someone my size.
But, the truth is, I am bigger than many things allow for, and I’m accepting that it isn’t my fault.
I am allowed to exist as I am, and it’s sad that there are things that won’t accommodate me.
I’ve started speaking up. Letting professional offices, especially those in medical settings, know that they should consider having some seating without arms, seating that will accommodate all body types.
But anyway,
I got on the scale again recently, and realized that even with making conscious food choices, and moving intentionally, I haven’t lost any weight.
And honestly, I felt okay with that.
I’m moving around easier, I’m enjoying the things my body can do for me.
I’m working on stretching and strengthening the muscles and joints that help me get from place to place. I’m working on gaining more mobility,
more stamina.
Some days I’m still sleeping more than I would like.
My mood seems a bit better, and I’m more productive on the days that I sleep less,
but I can’t always get myself out of bed in the morning,
even when I go to sleep early.
And that’s okay.
I’m a constant work in progress.
Pushing myself gently to do a little more than I think I can.
But loving myself either way.
And when I can’t love myself as I am,
I accept myself as I am.
I remind myself of all of the things I have survived and overcome.
I remember that my body does amazing things for me.
Movement helps with that.
Especially yoga,
it helps me get in touch with my body and my mind.
It helps me push just a little bit further.
Also, the videos I’m following remind me that it’s okay to modify things in ways that fit my body and my ability that day.
They remind me that it’s okay to need props and items that help.
They remind me that every body is different,
every body has different abilities.
And that every body takes up space.
At the end,
in my Savasana pose,
they remind me to take up as much space as I want.
To open my body and feel comfortable, instead of shrinking myself.
It pertains to mental health as well.
So often we try to shrink our emotions and our symptoms.
We try to fit into a box created by the world.
Right now I’m feeling that I’m not disabled,
but that I’m differently abled.
Not everyone can open up and share their struggles the way I do.
Not everyone can see their vulnerability as a strength.
Not everyone can change lives by speaking their truth.
Well, that isn’t quite true.
Everyone will change lives if they speak their truth.
But speaking our truth is hard.
Accepting our truth is hard.
Accepting ourselves is hard.
Accepting myself is hard.
But I’m doing it.
And lately,
more than accepting me as I am
I’m loving me,
for who I am,
and for what I have to offer.
It may not be the type of productivity that this capitalistic world sees as valuable.
But I’m learning,
because of those around me,
that value isn’t just monetary.
Dissociation
Day 19
This is a Really Real Mental Health post.
Two steps forward.
One step back.
I cancelled almost everything today.
I showed up late to PHP, and was thankful when we ended both groups early.
I cancelled meeting up with a friend.
I cancelled my doctors appointment.
I barely made it out to the store to pick up a medication I had run out of.
Part of it is that I’m flaring right now.
Every joint hurts.
A burning pain that makes me want to cry.
But I don’t.
Honestly, I look just like I look any other day.
I just,
deal with it.
Silently.
But inside I’m screaming.
And, it was also depression.
I could feel it gripping at me, holding me back.
Holding me down in bed this morning.
Holding me back from leaving the house.
Some days it’s releasing its grip enough to let me function almost normally.
Whatever that is.
But today it held firm.
I pushed through some this afternoon.
Staring at my design software I stopped scrolling Facebook long enough to work on some cards.
I kept having to push every step of the way.
I would make a few edits and find myself mindlessly scrolling again.
I would cut a few pages and catch myself mindlessly reading post after post.
Eventually I’d get them put together.
I managed to make 12 cards today.
I was wading through the thickest mud though.
Even writing this,
I’m forcing myself to stay on track.
I keep getting distracted by everything.
Zoning off into the distance.
Two steps forward.
One step back.
I’ll move forward again tomorrow.
Not Again
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
TW: Talk of suicidal thoughts with plan, also mention of weight. After writing this I feel safe.
About 10 days ago they put me back on a medication that in large doses could kill me.
When I first got the 30 day supply, I knew immediately that I needed to lock most of it up.
But I never did.
And each time I would take one, I’d think “I need to give most of this to Wonder Woman to put away.”
But I never did.
And sometime last week the thought shifted. Instead of “I need to give it to her to put away” it became “This really is enough to do the job quickly and quietly.”
And every time I took one, the thought of taking the whole bottle crossed my mind.
Again.
And Again.
And Again.
I wasn’t even suicidal. It was just an intrusive thought.
Until today.
Until the moment where the switch flipped.
I’ve slept a lot today. I woke up super early so when I finished work I took a nap.
And when I finished my late lunch I took a nap.
And then I ate again and napped again.
I woke up from that nap and while laying there, a thought train started.
“I’m letting myself down because I can’t walk tonight. I’m so fat right now and losing this is going to be really hard. But at least I’m thinking it’s possible instead of wanting to kill myself over it. It’s kind of nice to be able to think about being fat and not immediately want to die over it. I’m glad I’m in a good place right now. I’d rather be fat and alive than skinny and dead.”
“But those pills are right there, and it would be so easy.”
“And Wonder Woman is busy for the next few hours.”
“And life is just so very hard right now.”
“And look at how much weight you’ve gained in such a short period of time, you’re repeating the same pattern all over again.”
“And those pills are right there.”
“And you’d just go to sleep.”
“You’d die quietly just like Parker.”
And I got out of bed just in time to see Wonder Woman go in and shut the door for her meeting.
“Those pills are right there.”
I knew I needed to say something. Shine a light into all of the dark spaces. Open my mouth and shut these thoughts up.
“Those pills are right there.”
I took Siah out and checked the mail. I hopped on Facebook, opening message windows and closing them, willing myself to reach out, if not to say that I needed help, just to check on someone else and start talking to someone.
“Those pills are right there.”
Those pills are still right there. But writing about it has helped a lot. I shined some light into these dark spaces. I feel safer now.
So quick it can go from “I’m fine” to “I’m not fine.”
So quick it can go from “I’m not fine” to “I’m fine.”
But that space in between is so very dark. So very very dark.
So Much Anxiety
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
I’m full of anxiety, mostly about work.
The kind of anxiety that makes me feel like I can’t breathe.
The kind of anxiety I remember from when I was a little kid.
That
“I fucked up”
anxiety.
Except I don’t think I’ve actually fucked anything up. Either way, I’m doing the best I can given the circumstances.
But I can’t shake this overwhelming feeling that
I
Fucked
Up.
It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except I’m waiting for someone to told me I singlehandedly destroyed it all.
But I’m not that powerful.
I can’t save it, and I can’t destroy it.
I can just keep doing what I’m doing. Pushing papers, writing posts, trying to learn things that I’ve never done before. Trying to keep doing the next right thing.
It’s not my place to save the world.
I’m not that powerful.
But this overwhelming anxiety is locking me in place. I can’t catch my breath, even when I slow down my breathing. Even when I focus on just sitting with the feelings and letting them pass through. Even when I try to remain rooted in this moment. Even when.
My chest is heavy. The ativan isn’t working.
This is SO HARD.
I still can’t believe I took a mental health day today, but I can’t imagine being able to focus on work in this state.
All I can hope is that I can get it back under wraps by tonight, because I have to go back to working sometime, and I don’t feel like this anxiety is going to end anytime soon.
I feel like it’s a part of this new normal we’re living in.
Writing that brought tears to my eyes.
This overwhelming feeling of panic could be here to stay while the world figures out how to exist like this. This discomfort could be a part of me for the foreseeable future.
That is hard shit. But if I can’t run from it, I have to learn how to exist with it. How to make it less debilitating.
I need it to stop raining so I can go for a walk.
I need to stop drinking so much caffeine, that isn’t helping for sure.
I guess it’s time to take another ativan while I figure out how to weave this discomfort into my life. How to exist around it and through it.
If it isn’t going away for awhile, I guess it’s time to make friendly with the weight on my shoulders, the pressure in my chest, the never ending thoughts in my brain.
Maybe it’s time that we coexist.
Hi, old friend, lets chat.
How Really Real Am I?
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
Therapy was hard today.
I mean, you all may not believe it, but I work my ASS off in therapy.
I wish there was a sarcasm font, of course I work my ass off in therapy. Therapy is a really really big part of my recovery. And today we covered some really really hard stuff and we landed on a really really big thing.
I don’t let people see who I am. Even the people who are closest to me don’t see the real me. And it’s not fair to them, or me.
I censor myself.
I squash myself.
I quiet myself.
I write a blog called Really Real, for fuck’s sake, and I am very far from my really real self. Even in my own home. I’m an abridged version of me. I’m a well thought out representation.
I’m afraid to take up too much space.
I’m afraid to take up too much time.
I’m afraid to take up too much energy.
I’m afraid to be too much.
Too much.
Too much.
Too much.
Such a big theme in my life, that feeling of being too much.
As much as I share, as open as I am, as much of my story as I tell, I’m still not living an authentic life.
It’s not fair to the people around me. It’s not fair to the people closest to me. It’s not fair to the people who love me.
Because they deserve to know the full version of me.
Hell, they deserve to decide if that version of me is still someone they love.
Which I guess is where the fear comes from. Am I still lovable if I take up space. Am I still lovable if I say what’s on my mind. Am I still lovable if I don’t censor myself.
Am I still lovable if I start fully being me, for me, instead of trying to be the smallest version of my self?
If I stop monitoring the mood of the room and making sure I don’t disrupt it?
If I stop making sure I don’t make waves? If I stop tiptoeing around?
Is the real, authentic, me, lovable?
I don’t even know who I am under all of this censoring and squashing and quieting. I’ve done it my whole life. I have been too much since I was small, so I learned to bottle it up, hide it away, only let parts of myself out at a time.
Never be too much.
I think and overthink before I talk. Before I write. Before I move.
I think and overthink.
It’s exhausting.
What if I just say what I’m thinking? What if I just write what I feel? What if I just move how I want?
What if I stop overthinking so much?
What if I stop worrying about being too much?
What if I start being really real?
What if?
How Far I’ve Really Come
This starts as a Really Real Mental Health Post.
And ends as a Really Real Widow Post.
I can’t really believe how far I’ve come.
Each day that I work, I can’t believe I’m really doing this. I can’t believe I actually earned this money. I can’t believe how much earning this money really means. I can’t explain how good it feels.
Each problem I solve, each new task I conquer, and each fear I overcome, I’m amazed that this is who I am now. That this is what I am accomplishing.
I remember when I realized I couldn’t work anymore. I remember the shit storm that lead up to that moment. I remember the heartbreak that came along with applying for disability.
I remember.
At the worst of this, I couldn’t leave my house. I couldn’t be left alone.
I remember.
And the truth is, I will probably end up back in the hospital some day. I will probably do another round or three of the partial hospital program. I will have countless more hours of therapy.
But I’ve come so so far.
So far.
I can see myself going further. I can see myself working full time. I can see myself becoming more comfortable in my own skin. I can see myself getting better at ignoring the constant anxiety running through my head.
It’s a big deal that I can see a future with further recovery.
It’s a big deal that I’m seeing a future without disability.
Without being disabled.
And there’s another side to this.
I remember watching Parker push through her own struggles to go to work and support the three of us while she was barely making it emotionally and physically.
I remember.
I love my life and I know everything that has happened has brought me to where I am now.
But still, I wonder.
If I could have worked before. If I could have shared some of the load. If I could have helped more. If I could have taken some of the weight off of her shoulders.
Would she still be alive?
If we had the money to pay the bills. If we had the money to keep the lights on. If we had the money to avoid the eviction notices. If we had the money to keep food in the fridge.
Would she still be alive?
I’ve come so far, and I’m doing so well. And I know her death is a big part of what pushed me towards my recovery. I know that I wouldn’t be where I am if things hadn’t happened exactly as they have.
Every success, every bit of growth, with every push towards recovery, is served with a small side dish of sadness.
But I can’t really believe how far I’ve come.
And I can’t wait to see how far I go.
It’s Dark
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
It’s dark.
And not just the room I’m sitting in, the one only illuminated by the light of my screen.
It’s dark in my brain. Someone turned the lights out and I can’t see.
I just want to take something and go to sleep.
Disappear for a little while.
It hurts to hold myself upright in my computer chair.
I climb in bed, it’s safe there.
it’s warm there.
it’s dark there too.
I can’t tell if I fall asleep or just lay there in a mindless haze.
It’s raining, it’s cold, I can’t go for a walk.
I’m not sure that I would if I could.
It’s dark.
I just want to curl up on the floor where I don’t have to use the energy to hold myself up.
At least then I won’t be in my bed.
Is that really any better?
I wish I could find the reason for this. I wish I could find the switch and turn the lights back on. I wish the light from my screen didn’t hurt my eyes so much. I wish it wasn’t so uncomfortable in my own skin.
I wish I was me.
This isn’t me.
This is nothing, no one, no thing, no where. This is a lack of existence.
It’s dark.
It’s dark.
It’s so so very dark.
This year, this decade.
This is a Really Real “Life in Review” Post.
It’s the end of a year.
I figured, just like so many people do, I’d reflect on the past year of my life. Think about my accomplishments and what I’d like to take with me into next year.
This year I started giving myself permission to take up space. Physically, verbally, emotionally. I realized that I was allowed the space that I need. Some of the time I was able to hold the mindset that everyone who thinks otherwise can fuck off. I want to get better at that mindset next year and stop trying to shrink myself to suit others.
This year I survived one of my more intense series of suicidal thoughts. I got myself help. I saw that I have a huge community of people who support me, both virtually and locally. I want to be better connected with that community.
I learned that even though I feel like I’m outside of a group, it doesn’t mean I actually am.
I found joy in sending snail mail. Making well over 100 cards in the past 3 months has been so wonderful, and even better was knowing that it put a smile on someone’s face. I want to keep going, and maybe start selling my work.
I think one of the biggest things I learned this year is that it’s okay for things to be stable. It’s not the calm before the storm, it’s just the calm, and life can really be this way without worrying about what comes next. I want to carry comfort with stability going forward.
I learned to live in the moment. That fully accepting what is happening is the first step to finding solutions. Fighting against a problem only takes energy away from solving it. I learned that not being okay, is perfectly okay. That as long as you don’t make a problem worse, you’re doing the right things – you can always build from there. I learned that it’s okay to ask for what I need, that it doesn’t always mean fighting.
It’s the end of a year. One of the better years of my life.
It’s the end of a decade.
It’s hard to wrap up the past decade because there’s a giant split down the middle. The before and the after.
In the before, there was a lot of love, and a lot of trauma, and a lot of resilience, and a lot of struggle.
In the after there’s a lot of growth, a lot of falling (metaphorically and physically), a lot of healing, and a lot of pain.
It’s the end of a decade. The hardest in my life.
I wrote a big long thing trying to list out the good and the bad of the last decade, but honestly, that’s not all that helpful. The past decade (and the ones before that) got me to where I am now, and now is what matters.
Now is where I want to spend my time.
L-I-G! (Life Is Good!)
This is a Really Real Life Post.
Being able to be myself is nothing short of amazing.
I mean, yeah, being wholeheartedly me means I deal with some really bad depression and suicidal ideation. It means I spend days inpatient and weeks in partial sometimes. It means there are some really shitty times.
But it also means I get to be open and out there and vulnerable. I get to wear my wild skirts and bright hair. I get to tell my story in a way that helps others (and helps me at the same time). I get to laugh and cry and let my dorky hang out.
I get to spend time with people who are just my kinda people, instead of struggling to fit in with the people who aren’t.
I’m learning how important all of this is.
I trip down the sidewalk, I fall face first down the stairs, I spill food down my shirt, all on a regular basis. But that’s just part of my charm, even the bruises, scars, and messed up shirts.
I am anxious and moody and sometimes my memory is all kinds of shit. But I keep moving forward no matter what life throws at me.
I’m falling in love with my authentic self.
My imperfect, beautiful, self.
I wish I could see things from this perspective all of the time. I wish depression didn’t creep in and pull me under. Make me nervous and afraid. Make me sad and apathetic. I wish life was all roses and bright smiles.
But even my mental illness is part of who I am. It’s part of what makes me, me. It’s part of what makes me beautiful.
Even though sometimes I’m a beautiful mess.
I’m learning to accept all of me.
And that’s pretty fucking amazing.
I can’t wait to see who I’m becoming.
The best is yet to come.
(Someone save this post and send it to me next time I’m falling apart, please.)
Share your story, Speak your truth.
This is a Really Real Mental Health post.
Lately, I see a lot of people getting Really Real about mental health. Part of it is who I surround myself with, part of it is that people are pulling of the veil and deciding to be truthful about who they are.
Now, I know not everyone can, or wants to do this.
But I’m so happy when I see people who do.
Parker didn’t exactly hide her mental illness, but at the same time she was afraid to speak up when it mattered most. It had, and in some ways still has, this underlying notion that mental illness is a weakness.
I remember the first time I was told to pull myself up by my bootstraps. The first time, not, by far, the only time.
It’s nice to see friends who are talking more openly. Talking about their triumphs and struggles.
Some of my favorite posts are the “I’m having a rough day, please send me memes” posts. I occasionally reach out in the same way and it’s so nice to see everyone kind of come together to shower me with love and laughs. It’s what we need! Community and support make this road a lot easier to travel.
Even better are the posts that show us we aren’t alone in this struggle. We may not have the same diagnoses or life situations, but the underlying emotions are the same.
I’m super lucky that I have an amazing support system (spanning multiple countries) but I got that support system by speaking up. By being real. By speaking my story and sharing my truth.
By being vulnerable.
Vulnerability isn’t a weakness. Vulnerability is strength. It’s how you build community, it’s how you reach out for support.
I’m glad that I see more people being real and raw and open and I wanted to globally say how much I appreciate that.
Share your story. Speak your truth.
Be vulnerable!
Really Real Blog 