Wondering at the horizon...

Found out another gym mom is pregnant today. Her joy was so infectious. This red-faced, supremely scrunchy smile that I described as "Christmas and birthdays and everything all together!"

It was heart wrenching.

Not too long ago I was coping with pregnancy envy over my other friend and feeling like I'd found a good place, worked through it, and moved on. Now I feel pushed back again into this mire of sadness and shame.

We don't want more kids. We're happy. Yet I'm also sad. I'm also confused. I lost so many memories even though I'm fairly certain that I did my best to cherish every stage and step of the way into motherhood. We made the decision to sterilize together and I'm so relieved that I don't have to worry about risking the horrible fallout from my first pregnancy.

I still feel anger. Anger and grief and shame. My choice was about "can't" and "won't" and yet somedays that "can't" glares so much more intensely. I feel robbed. I feel like my illness took my choice away from me. I wonder if we hadn't gone through what we did if we would've had our second child.

In the end, I feel like it's part of a phase-a process. Today I started to appreciate that I'm hanging around with a bunch of baby-making-aged ladies and it's gonna be a part of the scenery! Guess I didn't think that it would be so upsetting, or that I would be exposed to all those sticky emotions that come with pregnancies-good and bad emotions!


I found an article that seemed to help a little bit. It's a different animal, this type of pregnancy envy. I can't relate exactly to all those struggling with infertility and not having any children and those articles seem to reign supreme.


Anyways. I'm kneeling on our hard dining room floor (I was trying to work with our printer) and these old bones need to move!

Love and hugs.

Happy Trails :o)

Identities

I'm sure I've written about this before here. It comes up rather often for me, so it may just be a recurring theme in my life! As the hubster just comforted me, "It's the BPD. You have identity issues." That's okay.

So.

This morning as the hubster, Baby Bananaface, and I were eating brekkie we overheard my sister talking to her baby daddy about their mutual birthday gift idea for my nephew. He'll be turning two this fall and they've decided to go in on a motorized miniature Humvee for him. Not our style or something we see as appropriate for a child that age (or even BB's age).

Shortly thereafter I was in the shower and found myself playing out a scene in my head. It got me wondering if my sister sees our different parenting styles in a competitive light. I hope this isn't so as much as I struggle with insecurity and competitiveness, so I understand how she might feel.

The competitive conflict triggered my identity insecurities. While the initial trigger was related to parenting styles, I found myself thinking about my labels. I have embodied a klutzy fat girl persona for so many years it seems as much a part of me as my "Eeyore" identity in my family.

These labels, these judgments, stem from comparison and either/or thinking. In my case, the teasing and criticism over the years has reinforced and amplified these issues; I believe it's a symptom of my family's insecurities...

I've been seeing it come up at my gym among other places. Living with my family has made it extremely hard to avoid backsliding into those negative cycles and cowing to their teasing. I know part of me is my humor, there are more and more times of late when it comes up as a defense mechanism. Being around my family has made me slip back into my klutzy, fat girl routine. Even if I don't finish last or lift the lightest weight, I feel like the CrossFit caboose. I play down my abilities, doubt myself, and get caught up in chronic comparisons.

The constant internal critiquing is exhausting and debilitating. I had made a lot of progress with my self-confidence the past several months before moving here. Lately, it's been hard to stay comfortable in my body and appreciate the changes since I started working out.

My family may be varsity athletes, collegiate-level athletes, and nationally ranked athletes. That doesn't mean that I can't be athletic too.

I suffer from chronic depressive episodes. That doesn't mean that I can't be a happy person.

I carry extra weight. That doesn't mean that I have to ashamed and self-conscious.

There are so many negative habits from my first family that I have to fight back. These are just some of those habits that have become tangled up in my disorders.

It can be so confusing and destabilizing! No wonder I have to write it out from time to time ;o)


Wishing everyone a happy weekend! As far as my health status of late, I've been feeling much safer although the hubs and I keenly aware of my fragile status and susceptibility right now. We've been working in more time out of the house and avoiding triggers. Our backup plan involves me moving in my in-laws for a bit if things get dangerous again.

<3

Sensitivity & Parenting Styles

I've been having a hard time policing my thoughts of late. Increased stress and anxiety has increased my worry and rumination. Rehashing social interactions is a common worry magnet for me and any conflict that involves my family is a common pitfall as well.

The fireside talk with my parents and hubby replays in my mind often. I remember them dismissing my concerns, telling me that I don't have to worry about my nephew, and summing up the conflict as a difference in parenting styles. Not only was it invalidating, it was sad and reinforced my concerns for my nephew.

I know that there are different parenting styles. I know that there are different styles of loving, communicating, and living. I understand that and I also believe that those different styles fall along a spectrum spanning from healthy to unhealthy.

I think that there is no firm line between healthy and abusive-it's subjective. What scarred me for life may have left someone else with a lasting, loving relationship with their family; maybe spurred them on to great achievements and success. I was not so lucky. I don't think my nephew will be so lucky. Maybe things will change directions for him (I hope they do) in the meantime, I do not thing my opinions are unfounded or simply "differences in parenting styles."

BB enjoys accessories! Including random
barrettes found in the hair salon toy box.

All that has been rattling around in my head and heart. I've also been questioning how I parent and what type of parent I am. I've thought about this all before, it's just more nagging lately. Months and months ago, I had decided it was one of those "life's mysteries" that can't quite ever be completely explained and decided to stop worrying about it. Lately, my parents' words have burrowed under my skin.

Am I too sensitive? Am I too "easy" on Baby Bananaface? Should I be more strict? Should I be drilling him on words and shapes? Should I draw a line when it comes to neatly eating instead of letting BB "get all up in it?" Do I come off "hippie dippy" or "laissez-faire?" Is he gonna turn out to be overly sensitive and unmotivated?

Let BB have a cakepop the other day and
rocked his world! Use change (like that nickle)
to distract him and keep him focused while
out and about :o)

I don't think so.

Being around my family has shaken my footing. I think the hubster and I have made specific parenting choices that are quite different from my family's. So what kind of parent am I? What's my style?

I'm patient. I'm kind. I am gentle whenever possible and firm when necessary. I give BB room to explore. I am strict when he needs to be reined in. I distract instead of discipline whenever I can. I try very hard to not take my frustration out on him. I try very hard to stay in the now. Often, I let him lead. Sometimes, I show him the way.

I don't know how he'll turn out. I know he'll have struggles. I know I'm not perfect. Every child is different and what (I think) works for him may not work for others. I think I strike a balance between what he needs and what I can give. I didn't gain a lot of self-assurance from my childhood and I want to try and give that to BB. I'm trying to do that the best way I know how.

Another outfit BB put together himself.
I don't put much effort in "styling"  him myself.

What kind of parent am I? What's my style?

I'm a good parent. I'm loving. I'm sensitive. I'm dedicated.

My style is VERY different from my family!


So that's a peep into some of my pondering of late :o)

Thoughtful Thursday Moment

I was browsin' ye olde internet the other day and I read this on Marisa Tomei's Wikipedia page: Tomei said in 2009, "I'm not that big a fan of marriage as an institution, and I don't know why women need to have children to be seen as complete human beings."

It really resonated with me and got me thinking.

At CrossFit I had a conversation with another gal about kids. She just had her 2nd a few months ago and she was asking me about how my tubal ligation procedure went and how bad it felt. Apparently she's ready to stop. Two is enough. Her husband is saying no, he wants two more.

It was an interesting peek into the relationship dynamics of another couple. She revealed a dose of sass and some anger that seemed a bit surprising. Don't get me wrong, I never thought she was a completely placid woman, she just tends to carry herself in a rather meek fashion. Like me, she's skeptical of her abilities in class and tends to underestimate herself. She tends to be quiet and seems the type to avoid conflict.

Anywho. Hearing her talk about these feelings and feeling the frustration in her voice as she talked about her husband... it stirred something in my brain, hell, in my heart and soul too. 

ASIDE: Not so much in regards to my relationship with the hubster-we've almost always been on the same page with reproductive issues and he is very respectful of my rights. Even with the hubster, there are times when I have to point out where the line is-where my rights end and begin. I suppose that can be a challenge with any type of right or philosophical concept. It seems to me that it's much more easily forgotten when it comes to women or minorities and so forth.

Having a woman choose how many kids she wants to have all on her own? Inconceivable. (Pun intended)

I feel like there's stigma in the first world about women's reproductive choice on such a wide spectrum (in or out of marriage)-not to mention all the places around the world where women don't have a say at all... there's so much to say about it my brain is shorting out! I think just putting this here is enough for now.


Thoughts? Feelings? Experiences? 

One of those "anger release" exercises...

WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG POST!

Seriously, it's really long.

If you have to pee, pee now.

So... I had intended to do a different anger releasing writing project and instead I found myself "gifted" with a new starting point today. I ended up mixing some of my previous complaints with the newer ones. It might be a little confusing-somehow in my process I blended multiple members of  my family into one. No matter. The process is the important part. 


DISCLAIMER: I tried to embrace my anger. I tried to fan the flames. I tried to dig up compacted rage. As intentional as this is, I am still quite uncomfortable with expressing my anger. I don't know if such phrases are effective. I don't know if it's rational or justified or something I can stand by... I'm trying not to judge myself and I hope you can withhold judgment as well :o) I don't like saying mean things. I empathize and I see both sides so much that I struggle to even own thoughts like these let alone express them on paper, screen, or out loud!

DISCLAIMER PS: The hubby has encouraged me to embrace a "go fuck yourself" mentality. Instead of being hurt and trying to figure out what's wrong with me or how to be good enough, reject the hurtful opinion. Think or say "go fuck yourself" instead of throwing myself under the bus or putting myself at risk for relapse. I don't have to analyze every comment... I can let it go. Push it away. So, I tried to embrace that. In real life I don't really say, "go fuck yourself." Ever. Very weird feelings... Anywho. Just sayin.


Here we go. Somehow an offhand comment set my off...



Maybe you thought it was a compliment today when you said I should be on that show, "American Grit." The thing is, when the host describes the show as a place for people "all who either have lost their grit or never had it" I don't take that as a compliment. 



A) How the fuck can you think that I don't have grit? Do you have that little appreciation for what I've survived? 


It's puzzling to me that you have never seemed to grasp my mental health issues. It's been over 15 years since my symptoms surfaced and yet it seems like you still struggle to acknowledge my disease. I mention something relating to my mental health and I'm greeted with a "deer in the headlights" stare. My husband says that he has given up on trying to explain that this type of illness can't be "cured," that it's part of my body chemistry and brain structure. Do you really think I'm not trying hard enough to "fix it?" Do you think that I'm lazy?

Maybe you don't appreciate the years of my childhood and young adulthood spent in quiet desperation. The years of self-harming and isolation. You pegged me as "the Eeyore of the family." Why does my mental illness define my personality? 

Maybe you didn't notice my instability. You didn't notice my disease sending me into months of darkness or jerking me into weeks of elation. Years of feeling like I couldn't be trusted with my own life; whether that meant wanting to kill myself or being aware that I was too starry-eyed to make responsible decisions. I was impulsive and unstable and trying to figure out a solution all on my own... I suppose these deep-rooted feelings of rejection and abandonment have grown from multiple seeds, I'm sure this is one of them though. You didn't know what to do, I get it, maybe if it felt like you tried I wouldn't feel this angry. I wouldn't feel this heartbroken. You turned away from me and fed my self-disgust. 


And what of the last couple years? Do you appreciate the fact that I spent months barely able to care for myself or my infant son? What about the period of time that I couldn't be trusted alone with my son? Surely you remember the weeks in the hospital. I'm told you visited. I know that you helped drive me to ECT treatments. Do you know how many times the hubster drove me? or drove BB north to daycare then drove south to work then drove west to see me in the psych ward before rushing back to BB and caring for our son throughout the evening-multiple wakings in the night-before waking early to do it again all on his own? (Hubby comment: he only got one speeding ticket!)

Do you see the scars we carry? The scars that bind us? That time broke trust and built trust. I couldn't be trusted with my life or with my son's life. He saved us. Why does the hubby ask so openly and abruptly if I'm safe? if I'm suicidal? if I feel out of control? because dozens and dozens of times I've been in danger. He's been rescuing me. That was our norm and we've made it through. We've made it through and are making a new normal from scratch. Your jokes and teasing about his protectiveness and adherence to routine aren't just annoying, they're insulting.

How can you imply that I don't have grit? Over a year of life-threatening postpartum depression, over a dozen medications tried to stem the crisis, over three weeks in the hospital, over thirty ECT treatments... I'm still here. I laid on a bed and waited for my last breath to try and spare my husband and son a lifetime of trying to save a life I thought wasn't worth saving-mine. My husband ripped that plastic bag off my face and saved my life that afternoon and despite having close to no resolve left, somehow I kept fighting. For him. For my son. And a little for me.

How much more grit do I have to have before I can believe you think I'm enough?

I can't count on that anymore. I can't wait to sense some change in you. I can't play these pussy-footing games of allusion and corroding criticism. I may have started my life in this game with your dangerous rules. I won't finish my life at your game. You can call me sensitive, you can tease me and imply that I'm weak, you can make me feel like I'm flawed beyond salvaging-and then you can go fuck yourselves. Just because you don't seem to realize the damage you cause doesn't mean you are devoid of responsibility. 

I don't need your apologies. I don't need you. I don't need more grit.




B) Do you have that little appreciation for how much I do everyday to try and avert relapse and continue to survive? What kind of grit does that take?


You give the impression that the most important aspect of my exercise regimen in my weight loss and being fit. Maybe all your comments about me "being in the best shape of your life" or "a sliver of what you used to be" are intended to be compliments. In reality? It feels like weight added back onto my shoulders. I feel pressure to lose more weight. To lift heavier weight. To tone more parts of my body and fit in smaller clothes and eliminate rolls and embody some image that you, society, and the shadowed part of me have deemed worthy of pride. 

It's not healthy.

My mental state is more important than the state of my ass. I exercise every day to try and maintain my mood stability or actively battle back anxiety and depression. I go to the gym despite my social anxiety, despite feeling inept and insufficient, despite feeling like an outcast and poser. I go to the gym and try to push myself hard enough to be able to push back the disease I will live with for the rest of my life.

It doesn't really matter how much I can lift. The kind of strength I need most can't be provided by regular exercise.


You tease me for my "OCD" while loading the dishwasher or trying to keep the refrigerator organized. Okay, that's not how you do things. Fine. I do it different and for a damn good reason. 

I'm not OCD-which is a  clinical disorder and not something to be joked about-I am sick. I am sick in such a way that I have to avoid any extra stress whenever possible. I am sick in such a way that I have to be mindful throughout my day about big and little choices-from doing dishes or taking medication. 

I am sick in such a way that unloading the dishes and finding several of them dirty because the machine was overloaded or loaded ineffectively can be unduly upsetting. I'm sick in such a way that having sharp knives scattered throughout the other silverware instead of contained in their own section can increase my impulses to self-harm. 

As for a disorganized and sometimes unsanitary fridge or a cabinet stuffed with mismatched Tupperware? If I'm having a bad day, opening a door and being confronted by these things can send me into a panic or distress me in a way that contributes to a depressive episode. Not to mention feeling the criticism and rejection from you verbal teasing in each carelessly placed item. And seriously-why would you want to put your fruits right by (or on) your raw meat!? 


I have to live this way to live. It's working for me and that's what matters-at least to me, my husband, and our son. Don't think that I resent it-it is a lot of work and it's also the greatest sense of stability that I've ever had in my life. My mental state may fluctuate and get dangerous from time-to-time; dinner will always be at 6:00 PM. The silverware will always be sorted and easily accessible. The yoghurt will always be on the same shelf. Baby Bananaface will always have a set bedtime. That stability, having something I can count on, gives me comfort and confidence that I didn't have before. It helps me cope, it helps me thrive.

You want to live in a hurricane made by your own hand? Go ahead. You want to swallow your feelings and eat your loneliness? Go ahead. You want to bury yourself in cheap trinkets in lieu hearing "I love you?" Fine. I'm sick of trying to satiate the needs you don't claim responsibility for or even acknowledge. I'm not interested in maintaining this legacy of delusion and self-imposed suffering. I take this heritage and try to set it aside day-after-day for my own good and for my husband and for my son.

Y'all can sit in your burning building on your own. I'm leaving.




Whew. I tried NOT to edit much. I tried NOT to hold back or censor. I'm sure that this isn't everything though. I have a hard time handling anger. I think this was a step in the right direction though.

What does this mean for the real relationship with me family? I have no clue. I do think that I can't expect them to change or expend too much of my energy fighting to change things. I have to take care of myself in other ways first and that takes a lot of my time and energy. I think it's all right to simply accept things and accept that I don't have to fix it. I can move on and live the best life that I can without making everything neat and perfect.

CONGRATS if you read this entire post.

 You have eyes of steel ;o)

About a year ago now...

This time last year I started to go to the gym and began working up to my new gym regimen and lifestyle change.

I took a little gander at some of the posts from back then and it made me appreciate how far I've come since then. The changes are more than just muscles and weight, there are so many emotional and mental changes too!

Here's some pics:

I had come a long way from my darkest days last spring and at the same time I was still in a rough place. It was, after all, around that time I had my attempt. I think this past year has been when I've really reached a healthier, safer place---a place where I can say "remission" and truly believe I've reached a good point in recovery regarding my postpartum depression.

It's still a daily battle maintaining good health and emotional stability. I feel much more capable and skilled when it comes to wellness than I did then!

Thank you all for your continued support! Looking back helps me appreciate even more all the people that have been by my side during these tough times as well as my own hard work. Generally it ain't good for me to dwell in the past... sometimes it's good to make a little visit though ;o)

Baby steps. One day at a time. Onward and upward!

A Slice of My Recovery...

So… relationships are complicated. I think one of the most complex type of relationship is that between a parent and child. I am going to try to keep that in mind as a I share today and try to not pass judgment. I only want to write and expel and express. For too many years I’ve kept my feelings to myself and I’m trying to be more open. I don’t need to carry these things around for eons! Gonna try and *wink* “Let it Go.”

As most of you know, I’m recovering from surgery. This past Friday I had my fallopian tubes removed via laparoscopic surgery. I have three incision sites on my belly. One in my belly button and two below that on the left and right toward each hip.

Two of the sites are simply tender to the touch and the one on my right is pretty painful. It makes walking painful. It makes getting up and down into chairs or bed painful. Basically any movement. It just depends on how I move whether or not the pain will flare. Coughing and laughing are certainly the most painful. I feel a stab of pain and then a sort of straining/bulging sensation. If you’ve had surgery like this yourself, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about.

Well, the day after my surgery I was lurching around trying to lower myself onto the couch without inducing too much pain. This involved bracing my arms and trying not to engage my abdominal muscles. It was awkward and despite my efforts, still painful. I winced and breathed in sharply before groaning and exhaling slowly. The hubster had been helping me with such things and me being me, I didn’t want to be a burden and went about trying to do it myself.

As I was doing this my mother walked by. Her face was blank and then she grinned and laughed. She went on to say something along the lines of, “Ha! That’s what you get for making me have that c-section! If you had just moved your big ole head… and the other c-section and the (tubal ligation). Ha!”

It really felt like she was a Disney villain taunting and cackling at me.

I was stunned and offended and hurt. Not being the most skilled or practiced at comebacks I managed to say back, “Hey, I got (Baby Bananaface) out and he was 10 lbs 1 oz-you got no excuse!”

She defended herself with some comment about having a small vagina and I’m not sure how things devolved from there. I think it all wrapped itself up rather quickly. I certainly wasn’t able to say anything more myself. Expressing my hurt at the time-that seems nearly impossible with my family!

Later I talked about it with the hubster and told him how hurt I was. I even texted a friend and said something like, “I know my mom loves me, there’s just times like that when it doesn’t feel like it.”

I can’t read minds and I may never know exactly why she said what she said. As I’ve mulled on it past instances of teasing and criticism have come to mind. It’s sad to look back on years of moments where I feel rejected and unloved by my own mother. Years of chipping away at my self-worth. I know that she wasn’t the only source of this, no way! I do see her playing a major role.

Like I said, I mulled her comment over and have been trying to get a grasp on it so I can let it go. What I came up with is a mixture of love and anger. I think she does care about me and was concerned on some level about my pain. I don’t think she knew how to express that. I think on another level she bears a lot of anger and this can cause her to lash out. Maybe seeing how helpful the hubster has been brought up memories of her own pain and managing us kids after her surgeries? Maybe she was annoyed by my surgery disrupting the status quo. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I don’t know.

It hurt. Things like this have been hurting for years. Things like this have made me think about moving far away. Things like this make me think that spending extended periods around my family isn’t the safest, healthiest choice for me.

I’m sure she had her reasons. I have mine too. Wherever our relationship goes in the future, I think I’ll be able to remember that and be okay with what happens. Maybe we’ll find a better way to communicate and maybe we won’t. As long as I can stay healthy and alive for the hubby and BB, that’s what matters most to me.

Standards

I have shared here before about the hubster's 51%-er philosophy and I've seen it coming up a lot lately as I break into my new CrossFit routine.

The philosophy refers to a typical pass/fail standard; 51% or better is passing. As I've lived most of my life with a 98% or better point of view, trying to adopt the 51%-er perspective is quite difficult! It does offer more opportunities for me to build my self-worth and nurture better self-esteem.

Looking back on my life, I have recognized that a lot of my misery originated from my 98%-er attitude. I was frequently disappointed in myself when I didn't meet my personal standard or expectations put before me. When I did excel or achieve something specific, often it was never quite enough. I think that if I had been better equipped to appreciate my efforts I would've been much happier and healthier.

I can't really go back and change my past. I certainly try to adjust my opinions whenever I happen upon a feeling of disappointment. For instance, when I was recently talking with a friend I described how I graduated high school with an AA and a GPA of 3.98, then earned my BA when I was 20 with a GPA of 3.57. Despite earning my degrees "early" and with higher-than-average grades, I struggle with feelings of disappointment and shame. Why couldn't I have graduated with 4.0s? Why didn't I plan ahead for a specific career and better prepare myself for entering the workforce when I graduated college? Why didn't I apply for a MA program and pursue my desires to teach and edit?

I could dissect this all day! I no longer see that as very effective. Analysis doesn't necessarily help me move forward and improve my quality of life. Instead, I try to embrace the 51%-er lifestyle.

Qualifying life experiences by percentages isn't always easy or clear or appropriate. With my academic history I feel comfortable saying that I did 51% or better. As far as my "career," I'm less confident in claiming a 51% or better "grade" although I'm not homeless, so I'll say "good enough." No need to feel shame (not that failing deserves shame either).

If I ever do go back to school I know that I'll do my best and strive for high marks. Nowadays, I'm not gonna punish myself and chip away at my self-worth if I don't get a 4.0. It's not worth it and it ain't a 51%-er way of lookin' at things ;o)

ANYWAYS. Back to CrossFit.

It's tough. It's new. It's meant to always challenge you to venture out of your comfort zones. It's meant to make you fail.

Failure isn't something I'm very comfortable with! As a historically 98%-er type o' gal, failure is feared and a one-way ticket to crumbling self-worth and eroding self-esteem. Now, as I try to embrace a 51%-er perspective, I am coming to view failure as an opportunity to build resiliency and learn. Not only is this a good way to progress in CrossFit, it's a healthier way to progress in life.

I used to think that life was something you could fail. That enough failures would ultimately confirm my worthlessness and strip me of any right to partake in life. Now? Not so much. Now I see failure as a natural and essential part of life. There is no limit on how many times you can fail. The important part is to keep trying.

That said. I will go to the thoroughly intimidating workout tomorrow and do my damnedest. 51% or better and I'll be thrilled ;o)


Happy Memorial Day to my American compatriots and happy weekend to everyone!

THE SUNNNNNNNN!!!!! (Yay/Yikes)

My Birthday! (yep, it's a long post)

My birthday was yesterday and went pretty dang well, I must say. It was a busy day, but a happy day!


I started off my day at the gym, like usual. I took a class from one of the instructors I had given a card to and was a little anxious about what her reaction might be. She wished me happy birthday and then later on in class she sidled up to me and said, "By the way, your card was amazing."

She went on to say that her son saw the picture I drew and said it was so good they should frame it. She mentioned how much it meant to her and how sweet it was of me. We chatted a bit more and I felt really good and relieved that my card had been well received!

At the end of class she came up to me again and handed me an envelope. "I totally had this before you even gave me your card, I swear!" I opened it and saw a lot of writing so I decided to wait and read it in my car.

The message was so sweet. She mentioned how happy she was for me and how she was so proud of all the progress I've made and just amazed at how far I've come and what I've been through (I had shared my story with her before, so she knows about the whole twisted tale). She went on to say that she hoped I had a wonderful birthday and that she hopes to be around for my next birthday to see just how far I go this year.



I went home and relaxed a bit. Took a bit of extra time to pick out a "nice" outfit, do my hair, even put on makeup! I had class that afternoon and right before I worked up my courage to write a Facebook post that I had been contemplating... It included a selfie and blurb about what this birthday means to me as well as a thank you to any friends, family, providers, instructors, etc. that I hadn't thanked yet. It was a bit scary but felt so good (since then it has been well received so I feel relieved and encouraged!).

I picked up Baby Bananaface and we headed to the hubster's office. I had picked up chocolates as a Valentine's Day surprise and haphazardly hid them around his office (I also hid some around his morning routine route, he had to find 14 little individually wrapped chocolates all together).

We continued on south and met my parents, my sister, and my nephew for dinner. My brother couldn't make it but it did send along a card and that meant a lot to me. I made sure to say a formal thanks to my family for all that they've done to help me make it to my birthday. My mom and I cried but it was a good cry!

One of the highlights of the dinner was playing Soundball while we waited for the check. It is a game I learned at DBT and entails throwing an invisible ball to random people in the group-but that's not all. Before someone throws the ball, they have to repeat the sound that the person throwing it to them made up. Then they have to make up their own silly sound for the next person to repeat.

Things got serious. Lemme tell ya! We were laughing til we had tears in our eyes! Some of the noises were quite challenging and odd. By the end of it we weren't even doing the ball-throwing motion, but including our own random movements for the next person to mimic along with the goofy sounds! It was really fun and I really enjoyed myself.



The hubster and I a rather interesting conversation on the way home from dinner. My mom had made a comment at dinner that I'm "a completely different person" now and it made me wonder, who am I really? What was I before if not myself?

The hubby, as usual, seemed to have an answer without even needing time to mull it over.

He said something along the lines of, "I think you were repressed before. It was more than just the depression and anxiety being out of control. You weren't able to be yourself, your true self, for a long time."

This stirred my mental pot further. I was confused and concerned about how bubbly and energetic and social I've been. Maybe my birthday thank yous mission and cards were creepy or over-dramatic. I wondered aloud, "What if this isn't really me and I'm actually hypomanic right now?"

"Ahh. Well that's a good point. I think, though, that if you were hypomanic you'd be having sleep issues. You'd be more focused on big to-do lists and pursuing lots of projects and overextending yourself. You would have lost focus on what's important, what's healthy."

"So maybe, I'm not being hypomanic, I'm just not quite comfortable with me being... me yet? Like it's still unfamiliar and feels unsafe? That would make sense." I smiled and then frowned with further concerns. "But wait, if I wasn't me before, why would you have married me? Was I just depressed and awful all the time? How could you know the real me if I wasn't the real me?"

He laughed and smirked in his special way, patting me on the leg. "Because the good times were amazing. When we met, you were doing well. You'd talk about fun little chats and moments with the customers at the bank you worked at all the time. You gave me notes and doodles and little surprises. Sure, when the bad times came you were different, but I always knew the good side-the real you-that was underneath. It's been there all along."



It's all still confusing and a bit "who's on first" to me, but that chat felt really good and helped clear a lot of things up. I've still got a ways to go when it comes to accepting myself and building the confidence that will help me maintain my stability and life a successfully happy and healthy life, but I'm headed in the right direction. Day-by-day I'll get there.

It makes me cry thinking about how long he's been there for me. Recognizing and appreciating just how much he's helped me through, how he's stood by side and believed through it all that we'd find the real me through all that darkness. His faith and strength and resolve is stunning.

He's taught me so much about what love really is and I look forward to learning even more together. I really can't ask for anything more. He is my hero and so much more than I ever imagined a husband could be. Nobody's perfect, but I think we're perfect together and that's all that matters.


Thank you for all the birthday wishes :o)

Happy Valentines Day everybody :o)

Climbing...

Today I woke up in a better place. I started my day off on a better footing. My kindness and self-validation is returning. I'm feeling calmer and less afraid, less sad, worthless, and weak.

I think part of my upswing has to do with a conversation the hubster and I had last night. He started by pointing out how serious things were getting. That I didn't seem to be fighting back against the dark logic like I had been in previous blips. That we had to get on top of things and stop this from becoming a full-fledged episode.

After some hemming and hawing from me, lots of apologies and guilt and shame, he launched into a sort of monologue/rant (not usually his style). He said something along the lines of, "You should be proud. Not ashamed. Not guilty. You should be proud that you are here. You should be proud of how far you have come and what you have done, not just for yourself but for us, for your family. You don't have to feel guilty about all that time in the hospital or all the treatments or all the therapy. You should be proud of all the hard work you have done and all the tough times we have come through together. You would have done the same for me, I know you would've. We are moving forward and you don't need to look back and feel guilt or shame about all that we went through. That's the past. We're here and we're moving forward. Do you get that?"

I do get it. What he said did resonate with me. While it's still hard to internalize and really believe it in my bones, it's something I want to work toward accepting and integrating into my being. I'm a survivor. Sure, that means I've been through some shit and it's definitely been a costly, difficult journey, but it also means that I'm strong. I'm skilled. I'm dedicated. I love my family and friends and worked hard to stick around for them.

And that's worth being proud of.

Just like everything else I've worked toward, I'm gonna work those baby steps. One day at a time I'm gonna cultivate that pride. Planting those seeds and no matter how long it takes, I'm gonna get them growing. I'll never stop busting my ass to be better, to stay healthy, to be here for those I love and this is just the next leg of that journey.

Rough Waters

Been a wobbly couple of days... I think having a friend babysit Baby Bananaface for the first time and going out to a dinner with my folks stirred up some emotions and made me more vulnerable to a little dip in my mood.

I keep thinking about "27 days."

I asked the hubster how many days total I stayed in the hospital between the two visits and he replied, without a moment's hesitation, "27 days." It's seared into his memory. There's so many feelings and memories and pain and struggle. It wasn't just me falling apart, it was my entire family.

It's been pretty emotional and confusing having my brain awash with gratitude for being here and alternately shame for bringing so much distress, anguish even, to my family. Thinking about those I love most and how they stood by my side through all that madness and thinking about all the things they did to get me the help I needed as well as try to keep my little family afloat in the meantime... it's overwhelming.

Thinking about where we've been is one thing, but I'm also distressed thinking about where we are now. I'm doing better, don't get me wrong, but it feels like we're barely keeping our heads above water. The hubs is fraying around the edges trying to balance all the financial stuff, spending hours on the buses going to-and-from work since our other car broke down, working on his *hopefully* last class to get his degree, helping out with BB, me, and all the other spinning gears of life. I wish I could do more for him.

I want so much to do more for him but I also have to be careful not to send myself into a tailspin. I mean, hell, right now seems like a little tailspin! All these thoughts and feelings getting the better of me. Crying in yoga class, tearing up in interval training, losing my appetite and interest. I'm trying not to become too frightened and holding onto the hope that it's a temporary, little blip, but it sure sucks seeing myself floundering like this when all I want to do is be able to help my husband.

So as I sit here typing and crying, I can feel the sadness and anger but I can also feel the love. I know that I want things to be better and I know that there ain't nothing wrong with that. It ain't all roses but I'm here and I'm trying. My family is here and we're trying. We're just all gonna have to keep it up with those baby steps and soon enough the sunnier days will return.

<3

Reflection

I've been concentrating a lot on focusing my attention on the now and participating fully in the moment to help maintain my mood and well-being through the tumultuous holiday rush, but as New Year's nears I find myself looking back...

It's been quite a year. 2016 wasn't an easy one, that's for sure!

**I've plugged in some random photo highlights that may or may not correlate to my text, but I hope you enjoy them!

Thinking back to last January, I was in the hospital. According to my blog I went to my aunt's memorial, but I can't remember because of all the ECT treatments. For a good chunk of time I was doing so much ECT that I wasn't allowed to drive.

For a big part of the year I wasn't able to be alone with Baby Bananaface. It was too overwhelming or didn't feel safe.

For a while the hubster confiscated my tweezers because I was having a hard time controlling my urges to self harm.

In the spring I tried to kill myself.

Another chunk of my year was dedicated to TMS treatments multiple times a week. Throughout it all I've been on and off more drugs than I can name trying to find a mood stabilizer that'll work for me. To top it off I had those seizures and got diagnosed with a seizure disorder and got a prescription goin' for that...

There's been a lot between those headliners, including countless tears and hugs and kisses and fears shared between me and the hubster. Nights and days where I didn't feel safe. When I wasn't sure if I'd make it to the next day. When I didn't believe that I could ever find happiness or stability again.

Thankfully, things are changing. I have come far enough now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have hope again. I'm still working on the confidence part but my faith is certainly growing and despite the hiccups along the way I haven't given up.

So much has changed... I've come so far this year.

I'm driving again-even taking BB to and from daycare. I'm making meals and able to safely use my tweezers. I'm socializing and going to the gym nearly everyday. I'm even thinking about finding part-time work soon.

I've felt like a failure. I've felt broken. I've felt hopeless. More and more I'm feeling hopeful. I'm feeling strong. I'm feeling proud. I am surviving.

I'm glad to put this year behind me and I hope to have more positive memories to stir up this time next year :o)

Don't really remember doing resolutions much but I think I will be concentrating on keeping up with maintaining my health and moving forward.

I wish everyone a wonderful 2017 and thank you all for sharing 2016 with me.

Lastly, let's hear a big cheer for baby steps! Hoorah!

I Did Good And I'll Do Even Better

I'm trying to focus on the positive right now but fearful, tense feelings throughout my body and anxious thoughts flashing through my mind are making that a challenge. I know that I did a good job today but a large part of me still feels bad about feeling bad.

What did I do today? This morning I went to the gym with Baby Bananaface and gave the hubster some time home alone. Then this afternoon I helped the hubster with a paper he's working on for school. After BB didn't sleep too well for his nap I took him for a drive so he could nap some more and the hubster could get more time to work on his paper. I even went to Target with BB without the hubster-two solo childcare excursions in one day! This is big doin's for me. It's a show of progress. It's an accomplishment.

That said, I still feel down about myself. I feel bad that I am not even better. I feel bad that these things are still a challenge for me and that I had to navigate anxiety and near-panic attacks throughout. I wish that it were easier. I wish that I was even more help to the hubster. I feel like he's carrying the family all on his own too often and at the same time I don't feel quite up to being an equal partner again yet. It's so confusing and sad to have these conflicting emotions as well as the fear and anxiety.

I recognize that I've come a long way and even though it's difficult to recall exactly how things were I know that things have been far worse for me than they are now. I'm contributing a lot more to our family by managing the laundry and dishes and cooking some meals. I'm taking better care of myself and am able to cope through many of my symptoms without medication or emergency services. I've even managed to taper off of ECT and that's no small feat.

I've come a long way and I've done good. There's still progress to be made and I can do even better and that can come with time. Over and over I tell myself that I can do this and that I am strong and that it's okay to feel bad sometimes, that I'm good enough exactly how I am. I so want to believe this deep in my bones someday instead of the fragile, confusing feelings I experience reciting these words now. Time will tell.

As we prepare to embark on another new week I feel scared of what symptoms I will experience and I feel pressure to perform as someone that is "getting better" would. As much progress as I've made and even with my tiny nugget of pride I still feel fragile and fearful each day. Part of me hopes that this will change gradually over time and before I know it I will feel strong and confident instead but there is also the weary part of me that wants to cry and collapse and give up. So many feelings, so many directions.

I'm still confused. I'm still trying. I'm still giving myself a gold sticker for today even with my doubts and nasty feelings! Baby steps got me here and baby steps will take me even farther to where I want to be, I just have to keep working at it and keep going even when these fears shadow my path.

I hope everyone had a good weekend and made their own victories-big and small! Gold stickers all around, I say :o)

Words for Wednesday

It's "Words for Wednesday" and I'm going to give another go :o) 

I got the prompts from Elephant's Child due to unfortunate circumstances as another blogger that was going to provide prompts had a stroke and can't participate. Please send healing thoughts to Jacqueline AKA The Cranky. Hopefully she will return some day.

I was able to use all but one of the prompt words in my writing this week. It's a personal, non-fiction blurb. I suppose a "musing" is a good way to put it? Not sure what to call it, but I wrote something and that's all that matters!

This week's prompts are:

noble
shine
expressive
charm
odd
biggest

And/or

passion
actuality
top
jar
elevator
angel

---

I ended up with a BA in English Literature after embracing the concept of living a life of passion. I was in college, working part-time at a bank, doing a lot of yoga, and my biggest problem was a sideways romance. With the help of armloads of self-help books and an overly optimistic therapist I found myself enveloped by a sense of faith in the world that may have been a little less than functional. 

In actuality, I wouldn't be a top-selling author by the time I was 25 and my life would include a helluva lot of stairs as opposed to a smooth elevator ride to health and happiness. I hope in time that distance will bring a charming perspective to these challenging times and I can look back at my life like a noble Johnny Cash classic instead of CNN coverage of a humanitarian disaster.

It's a bit odd being on the edge of in the thick of it. No longer a crisis but definitely not recovered. There are days when just making it through takes everything in me and then there are days when I feel my shine returning. Those days I can sense the hope and faith that used to carry me through my days before it was nearly battered to extinction by this postpartum depression.

I've been working at getting better for over a year. Like putting pennies in a jar, my baby steps seem to be adding up to something. People that haven't seen me for a while remark at how good I'm looking and I'm thinking ahead and making plans instead of barely being able to make it through each minute. The progress has been slow and hard to notice, like watching grass grow, yet I'm at a point now where I've clearly made some positive change.  

I've made positive change. It's a fact yet I struggle to believe this, embrace it, and lean on it. After so long going from one crisis to another I've arrived at a place where I can't trust the peace. It's no longer simply peace, it's the calm before a storm and I find myself paralyzed with the fear of my own mind. 

As demoralizing as this is, there is a small part of me that recognizes this as a trace of trauma, a temporary state of mind that I can overcome with more baby steps. When I can stay on top of the fear that perspective helps, when I can't I find myself floundering in that terrifying familiar darkness that has dominated so much of my past year.

While I'm still the creative, expressive wannabe-writer that I was years ago, I am more skeptical and less self-assured. Maybe that will change with time again as it has so far? Right now, instead of dreaming about book tours I dream of days where I feel at ease and am able to relax and enjoy my family. I dream of days where I can make it through without a panic attack or anxiety making me sick to my stomach. I dream of nights where I can cuddle with my husband without anxious thoughts hijacking my brain. 

It doesn't seem like much to ask for but at the same time seems like a lofty, magnificent goal. I know it's the negative, dysfunctional part of my brain when I wish for health and have visions of Indiana Jones snatching the golden idol and being chased by giant boulders enter my mind. My shaken confidence makes it seem that even when I think I'm home free I will be attacked somehow.  

But that is temporary. Like so many other awful symptoms that I've dealt with. I might not have the faith I did when I was younger, but I have enough to hold tight to my belief in baby steps!

---

As for a personal update, my Monday was pretty damn rough. The dark, suicidal thoughts were really sticky and things got pretty distressful rather quickly. Tuesday went a lot better for me although I felt some wobble and fears related to the day before that definitely raised my stress level. 

It's so disorienting having my life shift so abruptly and then feeling somewhat stable so soon afterward-I'm never quite sure how to relax and trust my mood because it's so unstable lately. Hopefully that changes and I get a more calm, stable status quo that I can trust. Baby steps.

Happy Wednesday to all, hope you are well :o)

Sneaky Momma Bloggin' in the AM...

The boys are still snoozing this warm Saturday morning and I am in the dining room typing away, only a little on edge as I wait for the waking cry of my toddler. It always stresses me out to some degree waiting for the waking sounds but this morning it's not so bad, I'm even a little relaxed and content as I let the boys sleep on a bit longer.

I think the happy feelings have a little to do with having had therapy yesterday and discussing my self-judgments and implementing grateful thoughts and building up my self-esteem instead of letting myself sink into mental spaces where I'm constantly apologizing for myself and feeling bad about my existence. That's no way to live. Talk about bringin' ya down! It's miserable!

Right now I feel grateful that I'm able to wake up and get moving in the morning and that I have routines like making coffee for the hubby and getting a little breakfast prepped and hitting the gym and that I have things to look forward to like visiting the local espresso stand before the owners hand it over to the new owners next week (sad but true, I'm losing my favorite baristas!). I'm trying to teach myself to dwell in the positive and when I succeed at this it feels pretty dang good.

So, I'm trying to cheer myself on internally and participate more earnestly in a healthier, happier lifestyle to bolster my lifeforce and stability. I'm trying to acknowledge and appreciate the progress that I've made the last few months and praise myself for all the hard work that I've been doing instead of harping on myself for all the things that still remain to be improved (it's so dang easy for my brain to see the darker sides of things!).

On that note, I will try to be kinder to myself today and I hope that my readers and blogging friends can be kind to themselves too and hopefully have some happy moments like I'm having now. It certainly saddens me to know that so many share similar struggles with mental health but I'm so grateful to have found this community and source of inspiration and support-thank you all <3

Happy weekend! Thank you for being you! Good luck and big smiles :o)

Leaning into my fears... a little bit

Therapy yesterday was particularly intense. Lots of tears, lots of fears. It was upsetting but at the same time was good to feel a bit of clarity and perspective. I can't explain everything exactly but I can say that I came away from the session with a new sense of appreciation for how much motherhood means to me and how my fears of failing Baby Bananaface and hubster and our little family can paralyze me. It was intimidating but very grounding having it pointed out that I do care about things, that I do find meaning in life, that I am attached to this world. Lately I've had several bouts of dark thoughts that have made me wonder about such things.

It's very easy for me to get swept up in sticky, dark thoughts that lead me into a wormhole filled with questions about what life means. I have a difficult time accepting the unknown and I think "What is the meaning of life?" is one of those big questions without a single answer, but instead more answers than anyone could count. In that way it's a question without a solid answer and that wears on my mind, it tortures me and trips me up and shoves me down into my darkest places at the drop of a hat but as I gain a little more strength of mind I find myself returning to my ideas of "lowercase faith" and exploring my personal beliefs and trying to build up a defense against the dark pattern of my negative thoughts.

When I can navigate around those dark thoughts and resist the pull toward hopelessness I find myself considering questions of honor and love and hope and faith. I find myself believing and finding comfort in the idea that I live my life for love and that I battle fear and hate. It's quite simplified but it helps bring meaning to the suffering and remind me of those wonderful things about life that are worth sticking around for.

I'm still susceptible to those dark thought patterns and it can be a quick slide into a suicidal mental landscape for me, but I think that as I build my coping skills through DBT and build my strength of faith and sense of meaning I will find myself more resilient. It's scary to confront these thoughts and all the unknowns, I certainly don't know where I'll end up or what life will look like down the road and that's a scary thing. I can only do my best and hope that things will turn out all right.

This isn't quite the post that I was trying to create. I feel like I've shied away from many of the biggest deep dark thoughts and the hopeful bright thoughts that I've encountered over the past week or so, but that's simply how it is right now. The feelings that get stirred up as I explore my thoughts are uncomfortable and I can't risk falling into a hole right now, so I tiptoed my way around them as best I could and tried to stay calm instead of digging deep and potentially getting myself whipped into a fretful frenzy!

Well, I don't know what else to type right now except I hope everyone is well and finds some peace and happiness today.

Words for Wednesday

Elephant's Child has provided two lists of prompt words despite her unfortunate computer issues this week. I was inspired by both and ended up with two separate blurbs that I'll separate with dashy lines (----) and hopefully avoid confusing everyone :o)

Here are this week's words:

The First List
1. broad
2. bewildered
3. draconian
4. tie
5. impress
6. helpless

The Second List
1. clip
2. tie
3. previous
4. greet
5. attack
6. serve


First up are the first words that inspired me to write about an episode that I had Tuesday afternoon. It was pretty intense but I was able to use my DBT skills and despite things getting messy I think I'm still on an upward trend! So here's my first writing:


Slightly bewildered by the swift avalanche of emotion cascading through my body, I slowly lowered myself to a kneeling position on the floor of our son's room. Tears fell freely while my hands and lips trembled. Words occasionally stuttered or hiccuped forth with a sob as I tried to explain the rationale behind my need to get out of the house despite my day of indepedence without a baby to care for or job to work.

Feelings of guilt and shame rained down on me as I took in my husband's confused and frustrated face. I knew that it didn't make much sense for me to be so anxious and leary about staying home on my own to cook dinner while he went to a gym class and put the baby in the gym's childcare center. It was my assigned night to cook dinner, what more could I ask for than an empty home to myself?

He had worked all day, taken our son to and picked him up from daycare and now all he wanted was to hit a gym class and have dinner ready when he got home. I had no objections to his plans. I had been worrying about his lack of "me" time and felt like he fully deserved more breaks from full-time work, parenting, and husbanding. He'd been running himself ragged for over a year keeping our family afloat while I was cut down by postpartum depression and tonight my symptoms were hijacking our lives once more. It didn't matter how often my needs had already usurped our plans; my mental health crises taking precedence over anyone else's needs and making me feel like a burden and disappointment. This was just one more time.

I continued to try and explain my unstable mood while a familiar darkness invaded my thoughts. I felt helpless as the depressive logic coated my brain like warm, sticky tar; broad strokes of a vicious brush obscuring my ability to be reasonable. My speech broke down into deeper sobs as I recognized the dark thoughts and my suicidal impulses that they conjured up so easily. I had had so many good days of being able to avoid these slippery mental pitfalls but here I found myself once more in crisis.

My husband understood instantly what was happening. He knew when my mind wasn't my own any longer. He was familiar with my draconian thought process; the cruel depressive logic that had months before led me to tie a plastic bag over my head in a suicide attempt. We both knew in this moment that our evening's plans were now going to be directed by my disease, not by our desires.

He spoke low and slow, asking me if I could see him and if I could think of something else, even going on to ask me about our dog's bowel movements that day. Somehow discussing dog feces brought me back to a place a mild functionality and I was able to impress upon him just how sorry I was that I wasn't capable of helping him more when it came to caring for our son or making dinner more often or giving him time to himself. I wailed and shook in anguish. Harsh thoughts continued to lash out within me while I struggled to fight them off with positive, forgiving thoughts.

Somehow I kept my positive thoughts flowing, beating back the self-punitive barrage and replacing it with acknowledgment of my progress over the past few months and reminders that I did contribute to our family by doing chores. My husband rubbed my back and muttered soothing words as my crying slowed and my breathing deepened.

The storm had been a swift one, my tears and darkest thoughts erupting despite my intention to have a simple, composed conversation. With my descent so deep as to be touched my suicidal impulses, we decided it was best if I wasn't left alone and opted to attend the gym class together. It pained me to watch my episode reroute our family's life once more but I also recognized-much more than ever before-that it wasn't me being selfish or dramatic, it was simply a disease taking its toll.

I want to support my husband more. I don't want to be the one always taking from our marriage and not giving as much back, but for now I'm stuck taking. I'm stuck needing extra care and allowances while I strive to control these disorders. Until then, I will take my messy victories like the recovery we fought for today.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second list made me think of the Dallas shootings and although I struggle to express my opinions on controversial issues (self esteem issues make me feel like my thoughts and feelings aren't refined enough or justified) I felt inspired to free write a little bit about this and get some of my thoughts out. So here's my second writing:


I wonder what was going through his mind while he reached for yet another clip to reload his rifle. That brief pause in his attack giving an opportunity to hear the terrified screams, see the chaotic scene beneath him instead of only the narrow field of vision provided through his scope.

Did previous shootings and terrorist attacks around the world make him sad or afraid, or did they only generate blind rage? Could they have inspired a genuine desire for violence in him? It seems so unfathomable and yet I know just a little of what it's like to lose your tie to humanity, to feel ambivalent about human life. Perhaps he suffers from depression too, or some other vicious disorder. Somehow it feels better to blame the atrocity on a broken brain rather than believe that some people can simply be that cruel.

I imagine the protest before his ambush as a successful blending of police and public. Those police and protestors went there that day aware of their goal to serve their fellow man, their intention to try and improve the lives of everyone. I envision strangers exchanging shy greetings, sharing fleeting eye contact as they proceed down the street with a variety of handmade signs. Friends and family and strangers and coworkers blending together. Feelings of fear, sadness, anger, love, hope, and frustration simmering in the crowd, shared by all sides. Tense but safely orchestrated by mutual standards of conduct.

Then those shots rang out and all potential divisions disappeared. The whole situation doesn't make much sense to me but it makes lots of feelings. I wonder what the future holds, how many more will die before we find a solution to his terrible problem? Through the pain and confusion I seem to consistently find myself arriving at the conclusion that one thing I know I can do to help is to simply be nice. Try to spread kindness in my daily life and catch judgments in my mind and interact with my neighbors and stop isolating and feeding stereotypes and just waiting for a crisis to hit my town.

This all happened because a violent person wanted to emphasize a separation between people and yet, for me, it has emphasized that we are more the same than different, more together than apart. Where we are headed, I'm not sure, but I know that we're going there together and that we're going to get through this and figure out a better way to be here together.



Thanks for reading, I know it was a lot this week!

Update: My mood is good so far today and I'm planning on staying busy and cheering myself on. I can only proceed with the best intentions and hope for the best :o) I've been afraid of backsliding and anxiety and depression but I think I'm actually doing a decent job coping, just have to deal with those fears a little better and not frighten myself into another episode!

Anyways, back to it!

Fruit Salad Post

I'm just gonna go for it and throw in a handful of the thoughts and feelings that are with me today and let this post turn into whatever it is meant to become!

A) I really appreciated this blog post and how it helped simplify and validate my disorder while also providing some concrete tools for improving communication with others. I don't get to talk with people in this fashion about bipolar II very often but it's something that I would like to feel confident talking about if ever I got the chance.

*I was concerned about the comments she made about bipolar being highly genetic and the 50% stat she threw down, but the hubster has reassured me that it is more complex and less stark/severe than that and that I shouldn't feel like Baby Bananaface is a timebomb or that I've poisoned him... he found some other statistics that were more realistic and thankfully, reassuring. That said I am not an expert on this so I can't clarify what the "truth" is, I just don't want anybody freaking out like I did!

B) I've been having a lot of feelings about my aunt's passing and my relationship with my cousin and some of that involves feeling grief but also shameful or fearful or upset about the distance that has evolved between me and my cousin and my sorta-uncle (I don't call him "Uncle __" I just call him "__" and they weren't officially married til later in their relationship so... it's confusing but I like the guy). 

Part of the reason that distance evolved was because of my postpartum depression and the fact that I was in the hospital while my aunt was in a different hospital dying. She had had cancer for months prior to that and I hadn't seen her because she was a heavy smoker and I had stopped visiting years before because it was physically uncomfortable and very emotionally painful for me to see her and "__" smoking and, in my eyes, hurting themselves. I feel like a part of me knew that a very painful end was coming and I backed away early because I just didn't know how to cope with all the feelings I was having at the time.

Since she died I've been more and more expressive about my sadness but I've felt a little odd and "on the outside" of the grief since I didn't see her during her sickness and death. It feels like my cousin and my sorta-uncle and my first family have more license to be sad than I but I think this is the mark of an invalidating family structure, a part of the ongoing battle I experience around being myself and being okay with that... 

The fact is that I was too sensitive to watch my aunt slowly kill herself and I had to get distance, I had a lot going on in my own life and my mental health issues prevented me from coping with that high stress situation and prevented me from seeing her not only while she was sick but before then too. The fact is that my experience is unique and different from everyone else's and it happens to involve grieving from a greater distance and I am thankful that I protected myself from potentially very traumatic memories surrounding her disease and death. It has made things awkward, but I really don't regret my decision to run for the hills when I did-it was the best I could do for myself and that's all I can hope for. I don't know if I'll ever regain as close a relationship with my sorta-uncle or cousin but I can't blame myself for that, I can just do my best and be me and hope for the best.

*Still sorting through this, but that splat of feelings certainly helps!

C) I have a little update related to reintroducing myself to myself (I talked about feeling like a stranger in my own life the other day and the hubbo suggested reframing my loss of self as a journey to rediscover myself, to reintroduce myself)... On Monday I was up to some good ole Hannah mischief! Here's the scoop:

The hubster had a dentist appointment to get a filling. He's been complaining about it for weeks because he hates the feeling of the needle they use to numb him up and generally isn't a fan of the dentist anyway. That morning as I was driving home from the gym I had an inspiration to make him a little encouragement card and drop it off at the dentist's so they could give it to him when he checked in. I made him a little card with a scattering of shiny red foil hearts and a grumpy Garfield cartoon and a little note and dropped it off just before the dentist's office went to lunch. 

That afternoon I could cheery text from the hubster about "running into Garfield at the dentist's" and he was so grateful for the card! I was so glad I could help him relax and also grateful I could feel like myself again. It was a wonderful moment and I'm hoping I can continue to build on the positive vibes.

D) Overall, my wellness is improved. The jitters are gone and I'm off my Latuda now (we are keeping a watchful eye out for any symptoms that may crop up related to this). I am still struggling with anxiety but I've been able to use my DBT skills to help me cope and there is a little piece of me that sidling up to the idea of thinking of a future, looking ahead, buying into life more-and that's a big deal.

I still very much feel like a work in progress (and/or a "hot mess") but I feel like I'm starting to push back against those dark, sticky ideas that I'm worthless and hopeless and while that bit of fight in me feels a little strange, it also feels a little good too. 

E) Here are this week's "Words for Wednesday" prompts provided by River:

1. energy

2. caravan

3. drop

4. whispering

5. farmer

6. tracker

and/or

1. slinging

2. risking

3. young

4. absolute

5. morsels

6. contain

and/or

"the headlights were the only illumination on the single lane road"

I didn't write anything based on the prompts but wanted to share them around in case anyone needed some inspiration! :o)

F) Bonus link for anxiety disorder related boost-ya-up/perk :o)

So there is this fruit salad post, hope it doesn't hurt yer eyes too much!