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.
Positive Affirmations
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.
Authentically Me.
This is a Really Real Identity Post.
A few months ago I wrote Defining Myself, an identity crisis post where I was having a hard time figuring out what to write in a dating profile. I wrote out all of the things I’m not or didn’t do wholeheartedly, but it was hard to describe who I am. A few people on Facebook told me I should put just what I wrote.
I never did.
But lately a few people have told me how amazing it is that I’m not afraid to be my authentic self.
I was taken aback every time I heard that.
I hadn’t described what I do as being my authentic self, and I definitely was, and am afraid.
I just wear the clothes that appeal to me. I dye my hair the colors that I love. I write my story and share my truth because it’s cathartic, and also because it educates and helps me commiserate with other people.
It took me hearing other people say it for me to realize I am authentically and (mostly) unapologetically me.
I still don’t know how to describe who I am, but I’m realizing I do live my truth.
There’s a meme that floats around “Be so authentic that it inspires others to be themselves.” Or something like that. I have a hard time believing that is who I am.
But others tell me that they are learning to speak their truth and live their truth because they see me doing it.
And I have to admit, the more I live my truth, the bigger and brighter my smile gets.
I’m still anxious, almost constantly. Way more anxious than I think a lot of people realize. Being true to myself is hard in a world that doesn’t quite get people like me.
There’s another meme, “Speak your truth and see who sticks around. Those are the people who get a spot in your blanket fort.” I posted that once and was privately told that they didn’t get the point in sharing that, because, duh. (I’m paraphrasing.) I explained that for most of my life I didn’t realize that was how this worked.
I was worried about fitting in with everyone, being liked by everyone, not standing out and blending into the crowd so I wasn’t really seen.
I’m just now, within the last 3 years, realizing that life is too short to be anything but who I am.
It really sucks that it took her death to make me realize this.
But now I’m surrounded by people who get me and want to be around the real me. I am surrounded by more and more people. I have a supportive group of friends that is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I’m not like this to inspire others. I’m like this because hiding, blending in, and being anyone other than myself was part of a slow suicide that happened for years.
That said, I do appreciate hearing the stories of people who beginning to live their own truth. It takes bravery to stop blending in.
I’m glad I get to be a part of that.
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!
Partially There
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
A year ago today I finished the Partial Hospitalization Program. I just read the post I wrote upon leaving. The post where I was unsure, not ready, didn’t think I could make it without the daily routine to back me up. I was still fighting through a mixed mood episode, still dealing with sleep problems, still not quite stable but a lot better than when I started.
I was about to start a Psych Rehabilitation Program, which was a dismal failure and not where I was meant to be at all.
I had started looking into DBT, but couldn’t start there until I let go of my feeling that I needed a more frequent program.
I hadn’t come to terms with my intrusive suicidal thoughts. I still felt I had to make them go away completely. I hadn’t realized that I could coexist with them and learn to live safely in spite of them. Learn to label them as thoughts and let them be, not let them control me. I hadn’t accepted that they will likely be a part of my illness and my life forever.
I hadn’t learned that mindfulness is more than just meditation. I hadn’t learned the countless skills that DBT has taught me.
That PHP stay was really good for me, I learned a lot and developed a few friendships that I still have today (I wish we had more time to talk and hang out).
I also ended up with my psychiatrist, who is amazing. (It’s so difficult to find amazing providers when you’re on government insurance.)
And I have come so far since then.
I have had some mixed mood episodes since the one that landed me in PHP, but nothing that has lasted as long. Some suicidal episodes but they have lasted less than a day (from what I can recall).
I’m glad I do this, writing out my thoughts and posting them. I’m glad they show up every year so I can see how far I’ve come.
I don’t think growing is something that ever stops happening, but I feel like I’m a little bit further along. I feel like, since Partial, I’ve gotten closer to where I want to be. Like maybe. . .
I’m partially there.
What if I fall?
This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
Today I signed up for 4 fall classes.
The whole time I was questioning the rationality of this judgement. I was doubting my mental state. I was wondering if it was more than I could handle. I was thinking of my past track record. I was pondering the chances of following through.
I was checking for any signs of a manic episode. Making sure my mental health wasn’t making commitments for me.
I know I have a busy fall coming up.
I should be able to schedule bariatric surgery for sometime in October or November.
I should be able to start working part time after I heal from surgery.
I will still have DBT and therapy and my other appointments and followups.
I will still need time for me. Time for self care. Time for fun. Time to make a life worth living.
So I mentally check and check again. Am I manic, am I rushing things, am I making this decision for the wrong reasons. Should I check with someone else and get them to make the decision for me. Maybe I’m not qualified to make decisions for myself.
Maybe I can’t handle this.
Maybe I can’t.
This is what it’s like. I question and second guess and never trust my own instincts. I never feel like I’m capable. I wait for the next time I’m going to fuck it all up. I wonder if I’m setting myself up for failure.
I don’t trust in myself because I’ve let myself down so many times before. Even though I haven’t had a full, long lasting hypomanic episode in quite some time, I fear that I’m making decisions based on grandiose opinions of my abilities.
But maybe I’m not. Maybe this is reasonable. Maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. Maybe I’m far more capable than I believe I am.
Maybe I just need to try.
“What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”
― Erin Hanson
Question of the Day: Be Proud
Today’s question is:
What are you proud of yourself for this week?
I’m giving myself a gold star for going to the gym 6 days this week! It’s been a long while since I’ve made that commitment to myself and followed through.
Go ME!
How about you?
What are you proud of yourself for this week?
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?
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.
Really Real Blog 