A peak into my life

I don't remember how old I was when my depression started, but I was fairly young. I've been playing Russian Roulette with anti depressants for as long as I can remember, just having them shot at me in hopes that one would work. I've been hospitalized. I've been in group homes. I've been in group therapy. I've been in outpatient therapy for years now. And yet, I'm still fucked up in the head.

I feel overwhelming hopelessness. Does it ever get better than this? Is this the life I'm destined to live? Let me tell you, life with depression is sucked. I have confirmed GAD, ED-NOS, PTSD, and Major Depression. If that looks like alphabet soup to you, that's general anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder, and an eating disorder. I also have OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder. I'm currently on two medications. And they're not helping. I'm in therapy. And it's not helping.

What more can I do? What more do I do? Let me give you a peak at what it's like. Let me give you an insight of what it's like. It's like you're trying to reach out your hand for help, and you can see someone, something, anything in the distance, but it's just barely out of grasp. You reach and you reach and you try to grab onto that something - that hope, that thing in the distance you're hanging on for, but it's just out of grasp. You can't cling it. You can't grasp onto it. And you're feebly trying to hold onto it, but instead you're just grasping at thin air.

It's like you're standing in the middle of a crowded room. People all around you, but you're ignored. You're invisible. No one sees you. No one sees the pain you're hiding. The grief, the sorrow, the agony, the heartbreak.

You weep and you cry, alone. You're broken. The pieces of the Lego kit don't make the castle, it makes a broken puzzle. You try so hard to be whole, you try so hard to be COMPLETE, but something is missing. Something just isn't there. You want it to be, oh, you want it to be, but it's not.

You're empty. Completely empty. You try to find things to fill you up - cutting, drinking, video games, movies, school, but nothing fills it. Instead, you become even more empty. Even more withdrawn. Even more depressed. Everything falls apart. Everything falls at your feet. You try so hard, so hard to hold it together, but you can't.

You panic over everything. You freak over everything. You count things. You arrange things. You make things just so. You replay everything over and over in your head. Rewind the video tape, start it over. You check things constantly, because what if you didn't lock that door? What if you didn't turn off that oven? You taunt yourself with every possible thing that could go wrong, and you're driving yourself nuts inside your own head.

Suicide sounds appealing. Not because you want to die, but because living is just too much. At times, it's at the point where you don't want to live but you don't want to die. You just want to cease to exist. To pull into a cocoon, and rest and rest and rest. You want everything to go on around you, while you're just hiding from the world. But at the same time, you want to be out in that world you're hiding from. You want to be free from your thoughts and your chains and your baggage and your bondage and your past.

Sleep isn't even a rest, sleep isn't even a solace. Nightmares taught you, you struggle to fall asleep, you struggle to stay asleep. Tossing and turning, fear and panic. This is your every night. This is your life. This is how you are.

 And this is what life with my mental health is life. This is just a small peak. I could go longer, but I doubt anyone gives a shit enough to read it. This is how I have to function. And I hate it. I hate every moment of it.

She'd tell him about her dreams, he'd just shoot 'em down

About eight years ago, my life was in shambles. The church backstabbed me, I lost my faith, and everything fell apart. I was deeply involved in self injury, I was deeply depressed, I was trapped in an eating disorder I'm still trapped in eight years later. Eight years ago, I lost my faith, I lost my hope, I lost my friends, I lost everything.

It's funny, in a way - I think often that children of abuse victims are orphans in a way. Not in the way the world typically views orphaned but in many ways, my father is already dead to me. I haven't spoken to him in eight years and I have no desire to ever again. I have no desire to ever set foot in that church again after what they did to me. Heck, for years I had no desire to have anything to do with the church at all.

But eight years later, I'm rebuilding. I'm rebuilding hope, I'm rebuilding grace. Eight years later, I'm finding my own sense of family, my own sense of church. I'm even majoring in ministry  though my current plan is to be a hospital chaplain and not a typical church minister. It's crazy to see where the past eight years have brought me.




With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly

By the yard it's hard, by the inch, what a cinch

When I was a child, I was in Patch the Pirate Club, as well as had a couple Patch the Pirate cassettes. Simply put, Patch the Pirate is a MAJOR NAME in Children's Christian Music, especially in the fundamentalist Christian sect. Patch aims to teach values, not only of faith, but also of morals and character. I actually know songs about loving broccoli and cleaning my plate, about not being a wiggle worm, and many other things that really call for another blog entry. But there are a few songs that have stuck out with me, so here is the first I'm going to write about. I may write others, I may not.




"When mountains tower ragged and high,
rise to the challenge, look to the sky
Trust in the Lord, and start to climb,
Reach for the goal one step at a time

Little by little, inch by inch
By the yard it's hard, by the inch what a cinch
Never stare up the stairs but step up the steps
Little by little, inch by inch."

I think this is a powerful message and absolutely profound in a simple children's song. When I think of mental illness recovery, be it from depression, an eating disorder, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, self injury... when I think of recovery, so often it IS a mountain towering, ragged and high. It's overwhelming when we first look at it. But when we step back and take it little by little, inch by inch, it's so much easier. Recovery doesn't happen overnight. I don't know how much longer I'll be in treatment. Months? Years? It's unknown at this point in recovery. But I do know I take it little by little.

If it means when my eating disorder is in full force, and all I eat for the day is a sandwich and drink some tea, that's little by little. Each day, I can add a bit more food, be it a side, be it another sandwich if sandwiches are my current "safe" food, etc. If my depression is in full force and I don't want to leave the apartment, much less my bed, I can take it little by little. Be it just getting up, taking a shower, and getting dressed. I don't necessarily have to go DO anything, but taking the step to get up is a progress. And that's the thing - progress is a process. It's something we do little by little, inch by inch.

I think that it's important to know that recovery happens. It's possible. But sometimes, it's overwhelming. Sometimes I feel like finding the right medication combination is never going to happen. Sometimes I feel like therapy is going nowhere, sometimes I feel like progress is being made, sometimes I feel like I'm backsliding and for each step I've taken, I've gone back twelve.

But that's not the point. The point is I'm trying. The point is I'm living. The point is that every time I make a good life choice, however small, however insignificant it seems at the time, it's a step toward recovery, even if it's just an inch, even if it's not even quite an inch yet.

The point is I'm moving. The point is I'm getting there. The point is, little by little, I'm working my way towards there. I'm "reaching for the goal, one step at a time." And by taking lots of little steps, maybe one day, I'll overcome. And yes, I'll reach that goal one step at a time.

These secrets are walls that keep us alone

Sometimes I wish I were someone other than me
Fighting to make the mirror happy - Bethany Dillon

I hate it. I hate how every day is a battle. I hate how  every frick-fracking meal is a battle. Even one BITE is a battle. It's a fight. It's a war. It's an all out battlezone against myself. I didn't chose this, though some days I wish I had because then I could just chose for it all to be over. Some days I wish it was more of a choice, because then I could just chose not to be this way. Chose not to live in this hellhole. Chose not to live in this torment inside my head for every meal, every bite, every time.

And soon, obsessing over food and meals and bites becomes not enough. Certain foods can't touch each other. Certain foods can. Certain foods are okay to eat. Others aren't (gluten allergy not withstanding). And the obsession and control spreads out. Certain numbers are okay. Others aren't. And everything becomes a downward spiral of control and spins wildly out of control. And I can't just snap out of it. I can't just stop being anal. I can't just cowboy up.

How I wish I could! How I wish I could just get over it. How I wish I could just start eating again. How I wish it was just that simple! I want it to be like that. I want it to be like that. I wish I could eat without my head tormenting me. I wish I could eat without such torment, such inner anguish. I hate it, I hate every bit of it.

I don't want to be like this. At times, I find myself thinking that I wish I hadn't chosen to have an eating disorder then I want to whack myself upside the head because who the hell does? No one chooses to have an eating disorder. It's a psychological illness, just like depression or anxiety or a post traumatic stress disorder. And it's not my fault. I can chose to get help and chose to overcome it, but it doesn't change the fact it makes every day a struggle, every minute a fight.

And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for the fact that I was dealt this deck, on top of my medical problems, on top of my trauma past, on top of everything else. I hate myself for who I am today, even though none of it is my fault and it isn't rational, I still hate so deeply although I know it isn't right. Kinda screwed up but I guess it's part of the cycle, part of how it goes.

I hate who I am. I hate who I've become. I hate what these thoughts have done to me.

We all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony

This is what sick looks lik. This is what sick IS. I don't look it? You don't realize that my body is fighting itself. You don't realize that I'm allergic to four antibiotics,  an asthma medication that would make my life a lot easier, and a food allergy. You don't realize that I have an autoimmune disorder, a neurological disorder, rods in my back, an eating disorder, PTSD, anxiety, and a non verbal learning disorder. You don't realize that I have a balance disorder, that I have a crapload of medications surging though my body. I don't look it, but you know what? This is what disabled is. 

 You see people like me every day, everywhere. You see people with disabilities everywhere you turn. We are people, just like you, and we have feelings, too. I understand it can be awkward at times when you come across someone with disabilities, but never fear! I'm hear to help you out and avoid awkwardness. NOTE: These are tips from MY personal experience. Other people with disabilities may have different feelings and a different take on life.

1. Never, ever ask me "What happened?" or any variant there of. If you want to know more about my disabilities, there are better ways to phrase it. It's awkward for both of us when I explain it's lifelong, and it's chronic. Trust me, you're not going to get an epic skiing accident story.

Nothing like that, I promise. You may think it's making friendly conversation, but you're really not and just making everyone uncomfortable. Also, don't ask it while I'm clearly struggling to walk or with a door. I'm really not in any shape to answer you then, and you're more likely to get a slightly rude come back. It's rude to ask a stranger these type of question. Get to know me for me. And then ask your questions. I'm more than happy to talk about my disorders with you, as long as you are respectful.

2. For the love of peaches, NEVER ask me "can I ask you a personal question?" This is a good analogy:

It's never okay to ask a random woman if she's pregnant. Same way, it's never okay to ask me if I'm able to have sex, if people want to date 'someone like me', if my husband/spouse/siblings are also disabled. YOU DON'T KNOW ME. YOU JUST MET ME ON THE BUS. It is NOT the time or place to ask me a "personal question" because generally? They are rude and disrespectful, and I am a human being, just like you. You wouldn't ask someone without a obvious physical impairment these questions, so why the hell is it okay to ask me?

3. Don't give me your home remedies. Don't tell me such and such person.  Don't tell me how if I do x, y, z I'll do better.

Don't tell me if I do crossfit, if I go paleo, my health will get better. I've already given up gluten for health reasons. I don't need your 'quick fixes'. My doctors and I have gone through many of these things. It isn't helpful for you to throw this at me, despite your good intentions.

4. Oh my god, don't play the Jesus card. You will seriously incur my wrath if you do.

If you say or act like that, I will get angry and upset. I have prayed so many times. I've wept to God to heal me, and he hasn't, for whatever reason. God has a reason for leaving me disabled, and I've come to terms with it. Please don't tell me to just pray. Please don't tell me if I just trust God, he will heal me. He hasn't chosen to heal me, for whatever reason. I don't know what that reason is. I don't know why I was chosen for this path, and why I'm destined to live a life of physical pain. But you know what? It's just the way things are.

Now, I do sometimes want to have this reaction to people who are stupid about disabilities:

Really, I just wanted an excuse to use this picture

But you know what? We are people too. We are just like you. We laugh, we play, we cry, we sing. We weep, we rejoice, we bleed, we heal. We do things differently. But we all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony.

i need some distraction, oh beautiful release

i hate how i'm feeling lately.
i don't know that it's depression. i'm not sad. i'm not sad, no, not really. sadness isn't the quite the right word.  i mean yeah, i feel overwhelming sadness some days but it's not the overarching feeling. it's not the primary feeling. it's not the main thing i feel.
apathy? sure, i've given up caring about cleaning (really need to do that, my area of the apartment is godawful) and i've given up caring about life, the future, what happens to me. i have hopes and dreams but who am i fooling? they'll never happen. my health will never improve to the point where i'm able to hold down a job. i can barely handle school, what kind of idiot am i to think that i'll be able to have a future?
then, what? hopeless? i guess you could say that, but i don't even know if it's the right word. sad? depressed? none of these words seem quite right. lonely? scared? overwhelmed? i don't even know what words describe me anymore. if there are words. if there are any words.
i'm scared to see a doctor, scared to be honest. scared to let people see how things really are. what if they judge me? what if they don't like me? what if they can't help me? so instead, i let myself spiral.
i let the anxiety take over. i let the fear take over. i let the what-ifs take over.  when talking, face-to-face talking, i either lock down or i've been dealing with this stuff for so long that i've learned how to mask it, learned how to downplay it, so things aren't really as bad as i realize. i tend to downplay things and let them go into they are super sonic bad... case in point, recent ear infection.
i feel scared and helpless and alone and like a failure.
and this emptiness. and despair. and the feeling that i will never pull myself out.
i know i'm not fooling everyone, that would be naive. but why do i try? why don't i give people a chance? it's like i've been hurt and hurt and hurt so i'm scared to show the truth.
will they love me less? doubtful. so why do i let myself believe such things? why don't i just trust? why am i so scared?
why do i feel like falling into self injury? and i'm not suicidal, but i'll be damned if i don't think about death. if i don't think about a break from the mental and physical pain. i know it's not an option, but damn if it doesn't come to mind.
i hate feeling like this. i hate feeling that things will never get better. because... what if that feeling is right?