It's Not Resolutions, It's a Revolution of Myself

The year Two-Thousand-Seventeen was one like no other. It started with impulsiveness that led to a spiral of many more rash, poorly planned choices. It was a year of desperation, demolition, darkness...but also a year of awakening, aversion, and absolution. People have come into my life and people have left; doors have closed but windows have opened. But I'm ending the year less guarded, less concealed, and more true to myself than I've been in years.

A new year is on the horizon, meaning a fresh start, new hope, and a way to reboot. I'm not one for "resolutions," though. I don't accept failure or anything less than full effort, and with resolutions all I see is just that: unattainable, massive promises to yourself that you end up breaking by spring. I am, however, highly driven by lists and goals. I love the feeling of checking something off a list, of pushing yourself to reach something new and bettering yourself. Therefore, I've decided to create a small list of goals for myself to complete in the upcoming year. They may sound more like statements or affirmations, but they are definitely aspirations for me to work towards:

1) "I will live for myself and as my true self this year."

What this will look like in my life: First and foremost, this means no longer putting myself last. It means making choices based on what I want/need, not what I think others will want/need me to do. This means accepting myself as I am, my strengths as well as my short comings, and embracing myself. It means learning more about my illness and accepting it as part of me. It means no more hiding behind walls, it means letting people see me and allowing them the choice of acceptance or rejection and being okay with either outcome. It means loving the skin I am in. It may involve changes and working to better myself, but not because I'm horrible...only because I want to be the best I can be.

2) "I will learn to feel, express, and process my emotions in a healthier way."

What this will look like in my life: Mindfulness & validation. Lots of reflecting and writing. Improving my interpersonal effectiveness and communication skills. It means taking "Plan B" off the table and pushing through. It will all start with mindfulness, articulating with feeling words, and self-validation, though. That's the key right there: knowing how I feel, why I feel that way, and telling myself that it's okay to have emotions.

3) "I will accept help when I need it and ask for help when I want it."

What this will look like in my life: This means learning to say no sometimes. It means being real with people and being a little vulnerable at times. It means delegating and letting go of control. It means being able to say, "I need some time," or "Would you mind taking care of this?" It means taking a mental health day or not volunteering for every extra thing because you want to help everyone else. It means knowing my limits and accepting them.

4) "I will be true, intentional, and present."

What this will look like in my life: I will be honest with myself and those in my life. I will take time to enjoy the simple things, give others the attention they deserve, allow the moments to happen and be a part of them. It means making choices with purpose, communicating clearly and honestly. It means learning more about mindfulness and applying the skills.

5) "I will take a moment each day to reflect on the positive both in my life and within myself."

What this will look like in my life: Reflection and writing. Accepting compliments. Noticing the little things just as much or more than the big things. Affirmations. Taking time to tell people what they mean to me. Writing thank you cards or messages. Writing letters. Being aware of every single day and not getting lost in the routine or the bland. Not letting life just wash over me.


Out with the old, in with the new.
Welcome, 2018.
Looking forward to a year full of possibilities and new beginnings.

What It's Like The Day After A "Meltdown"

An issue with my medications at the pharmacy last night resulted in a pretty major meltdown or "episode" for me. I got swept up inside myself and emotions, then ended up thinking and doing some fairly stupid things. Even trying to just sleep it off didn't work and I tossed and turned in my bed for hours before finally having a seriously strange dream that I was sentenced to life in prison and everyone stopped visiting me except one friend and my therapist.

The thing is, when I have these episodes, I'm not sure what's really worse: the episode itself or the morning after. What does the day after one of my episodes feel like?

The worst hangover of my life.

It is a battle to even get out of bed and put my feet on the ground. I stand in the shower, just letting the water run down my body, hoping I can wash away the feeling of worthlessness and disgust. I want to curl up with a blanket in a dark and empty room, but I force myself to get dressed and drive to work because I've already used all my sick days. I don't want to eat but I force myself to because I need to take my Effexor, Trintellix, and Hydroxyzine. When I get to work, I can't focus on anything, I go out of my way to avoid interaction with others. When I walk, my whole body tingles and twitches. Everything seems like a blur, I feel like I'm outside of myself just watching what should be my body.

I try to think about the night before and struggle. Should I call my friends or text them to apologize for the crazy, rambling things I sent throughout the night? Why did I even send them those messages? It's not their fault I'm this way...it's my own. Maybe I'll just pretend it didn't happen and send them a funny meme...or maybe I'll say nothing because I'm too afraid that this time I went to far and they'll abandon me...

I may try to eat lunch. Maybe I'll start to feel better after that, or maybe I won't. My husband will let me get away with ordering pizza or Chinese takeout for dinner because he knows that I feel like a zombie. Maybe I'll go to bed early, or maybe I won't. All I can hope is that when I wake up tomorrow that this day is gone. I hate myself on days like this...I hate that I can't be normal and handle even the smallest things like an issue at the pharmacy without lashing out either on others or myself. I hate this illness and the years of days like this both in my past and the ones that still wait in the future.

Losing My "Favorite Person"

I have only recently started learning about Borderline Personality Disorder and my diagnosis, but I've always known that I'm a little "different" than most. People have described me as passionate, fiercely loyal, a perfectionist, having a short fuse or a "red head temper," volatile, wearing my heart on my sleeve, giving, involved, pushed to the limits. Mostly, though, I've always felt frustrated: nobody cares like I do, nobody feels like I do, nobody understands like I do...and it's hard to live in a world like that. It's hard to give yourself entirely to people then watch them suddenly walk away...I've always felt more strongly about people than they felt about me.

My miscarriage in February of this year triggered a major depressive episode. I started feeling lost, empty, purposeless. As my emotions became increasingly overwhelming, I began reaching for my small group of friends more than ever. I found myself leaning on one friend more than the rest. We'd been friends for over a decade, and we'd been through a lot together: college, marriages, job hunts, pregnancies, changes...we'd supported each other through it all. This time, it was my turn to need support, and I knew she'd be there. Before I knew it, I found myself texting her all day, every day. She started reading about depression after a miscarriage or child loss, how to help people who are suicidal, people who self-harm. I needed her, and she promised she'd be there.

...until she wasn’t…

Sometimes when your feelings are already a ball of chaos, your find yourself even overwhelmed and uncertain what you really feel about your "favorite person." Sometimes you throw yourself at them so strongly that they don't know how to react. Sometimes you crush them with the weight of being your everything. Sometimes you do stupid things just to test the limits with them. Sometimes you aren't even really sure what you are doing anymore, you just feel like you need them...they become like a drug to you...completely intoxicating and you crave them constantly, hang on their every word.

I'd been pushing for a while. I'd put her through a lot: calling 911, taking me to appointments, sitting with me twice while I admitted myself to the psychiatric hospital when I had suicide plans, asking and saying confusing things. As we texted before bed one night, I said something I’d said to her many times before: “I love you.”

“Get some rest. You’ll feel better about things tomorrow. Goodnight, friend.”

…and that’s when I exploded…

Two weeks later we met with my individual therapist to have a mediator so she could feel safe asking for some space. I'm trying really hard to respect her request without just ghosting her, but I’m not sure really where to go from here. Nobody else in my life can replace that friendship. My therapist said I need to decide if I want her back in my life after our “break.” But can you ever really control yourself and draw boundaries with you "favorite person" when you know that you always jump in all or nothing? Can anyone ever understand how it feels to have a person that you feel so completely connected and dependent on that your emotions run together? Can I ever possibly survive without her? Do I want to survive without her?

Over the last week, I’ve found myself being brave and taking risks. I’ve made choices and just accepted them. Things I would normally have asked her about I find myself just choosing to do or not. I’ve kept my suicidal thoughts under control and I’ve managed to use my coping skills when I start to feel the emotions boiling over. I’ve talked to people less, I’ve slept more. I’ve had some difficulty talking to my other friends because I can't seem to not be drawn to talking about her and they have asked to not do that or they've defended her and I've snapped at their criticism.

I know that it's not healthy to have a "Favorite Person" and to dive so deeply into things with anyone, but I've never managed to find a way to control that part of me. Almost every friendship or relationship throughout my life that I look back on, I see the same scene: I dive in completely and cling to them constantly until they can't take it anymore and push away. I did it in first grade, I did it with my first "boyfriend," and I do it as an adult. Eat, sleep, repeat.

It always ends the same...with me losing my "favorite person" yet again.

How the Intensive Outpatient Program Helped Me Find Myself

The first time I walked into the doors at my local psychiatric hospital to start their Intensive Outpatient  Program (IOP), I was absolutely terrified...so terrified in fact that my best friend went with me to make sure I didn't  back out. Although I'd done individual therapy as a teen and was starting it again as an adult, I had no clue what to expect from this sort of therapy. I wondered how helpful such a thing could be, especially for people like me who had a history of trauma, struggled with trust, feared conflict, and found it easy to get overwhelmed by emotions. What I came to find over the next three months, though, was so much more than I could ever have imagined. 

Each evening, there would be a small group of us and two therapists sitting at our long conference table. The sessions were always split into two parts: check-ins and activities. During check-ins, we’d share some of what’s been going on in our lives in the last few days, progress on goals we’re working towards, and a feeling word for the day. We would get feedback and support from the therapists and the group when we shared. I became the “go-to person” for anyone struggling with self-harm, the sweet divorced lady was always able to find a positive to everyone’s struggles, and the resident old man always had advice for everyone that was thoughtful and excellent. Everyone in the group had something to contribute, and often times we'd remind each other what we were all working towards: recovery.

We’d take a break after check-ins, then dive into an activity for the remaining half of the session. Every night, I was able to find meaning and ways to apply the focus activity into my life…it always seemed like the therapists knew just what we all needed and planned the activities perfectly. The activities varied between reading, writing, watching videos, meditation, art or music therapy. One time we even got to go out to the parking lot and smash pots: it was an exercise on expectations. We discussed expectations, the sources of them, and how they make us feel. Then we thought of unrealistic or negative expectations that we felt had been placed on us, wrote them on the pot we were given, and smashed them. That night was deeply emotional for me and I’ll never forget it. 

l admit, the process was far from easy at times and I'm far from being "fixed.” There were nights where I would get completely overwhelmed and have to stay after to calm down, there were lots of tears and even some rage...but I always felt safe and able to express myself, even when my emotions became overwhelming. 

I think that for many of us who struggle with mental illness, we tend to feel isolated, conflicted, and that nobody can ever understand. What I found through IOP, though, was that no matter how dark I get, I'm never alone. I found support, encouragement, and empathy from people who I would have never have met if I didn't go through the program. I was also surprised by something else that I never thought would happen: I began to finally feel like I knew myself. I've spent my entire life searching for purpose and seeking approval from others because I felt lost and confused about who I really was. As the three months I was in IOP flew by, I starting picking out the pieces one by one and finding how they fit together. I was starting to see all the bad and unhealthy, but I was also starting to see something new...I began to see good things about myself, too. 

My next step is to start Dialectical Behavior Therapy in a few weeks, which I've been warned is also very intense but will be very beneficial for me. I know I wouldn't be alive right now if I hadn't been lightly pushed to go to the hospital and learn about what "Intensive Outpatient Program" really means. I'm thankful to be alive and that I was able to find a place to start to mend myself to evolve into this newest, truest version of me. I have all that I learned neatly organized in a binder and can look back on what IOP did for me anytime I need it. And although I’ve “left the nest,” I know that if I need a little guidance or a good ear, my IOP therapists are only a phone call away.