One of the first items you learn when you enter dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) is, "There are only 4 possible solutions to any problem." You can change the situation, change your attitude, radically accept the situation for what it is, or do nothing and continue to suffer. It's simple, so clear cut and honest.
Here's the honesty: today was brutal for SO many reasons (that, fortunately for you, I'm not going into at the moment). I walked in the door late this afternoon with two kids screaming at each other while my mind and my body were also screaming at me. The emotional intensity and the quantity of thoughts racing created that storm inside me, that horrible storm that usually sends me into distress. Maybe the distress would have come and consumed me if it would have been given time, but instead a message came to help with the storm in my mind.
"Here's how you can wash away the storm. Once you've calmed down your daughters, lie down. Don't move, don't do anything strenuous. Just rest."
Though not completly, I did listen to the advice. I sat in the recliner for a solid 20 minutes, focusing on my breathing, not giving attention to my thoughts and just letting them come and go, picturing waves on the shore. It wasn't an instant cure, but it did allow the storm to settle and become just clouds looming over.
In that time, I remembered the simple fact that there are only 4 solutions to every problem. The causes of the storm today cannot be changed, nor can I continue to suffer. I may eventually come to control my attitude towards it and find the positive, but right now there's still just too much to be able to simply do that. So, we come to radical acceptance...
Radical acceptance is choosing to accept life on life's terms without resisting. It's saying yes to life just as it is, embracing the good and the bad, simply allowing it to be. Sometimes radical acceptance isn't a one-shot deal: sometimes it's something we must do repeatedly, choosing to embrace life as it is over and over again.
I didn't choose what is happening, and though I desperately want to blame myself, it really isn't my fault (or anyone else's). I just have to accept the situation, the future, the new reality of what life will look like for me and my family. I may have to accept this situation over and over for years, through more situations that are possibly coming for us down the road, for obstacles that will continue to present themselves forever more.
So, tonight, as my youngest daughter falls asleep in my lap while I type away, I choose to love, I choose to embrace, I choose to accept.
Monday, June 18, 2018
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
Safe
"Are you safe?"
It's a question I have answered countless times over the years, especially in the last 12 months. Tonight, however, I was the one who turned and asked another this small query. I asked someone else in my DBT Skills Group.
When you suffer from a mental illness, you often become very aware of signs that show one is not "well." You notice changes in appearance, mannerisms, posture. You become aware of "clue words" people may speak, or even the words they don't speak but express with their face. You may even just have an intuitiveness or emotional connection, a strong sense of empathy towards others.
I knew tonight it was my turn to ask the question, my turn to be that hand outstretched, my turn to be the life guard. I knew my question would need no explaination, and I knew that the person would answer honestly if asked. After all, most people with mental illness don't try to hide their suicidal thoughts if you call them out on it: nobody really wants to die, they just want help to end the pain.
"Are you safe?"
"Right now, I think so."
"Here, let me give you my number. I'll remind you to use your skills."
Without hesitation, I offered my number. I glanced at our DBT coach, making sure she approved, and she smiled. I knew in that moment I'd done something right, maybe for the first time in a long time, I'd done something to be proud of myself for doing.
"I think it's a great idea that you guys keep each other accountable, bring each other up, remind each other to do your homework."
So, tonight, for the first time since starting DBT, I felt connected to the group as we all excitedly exchanged numbers. There's been so much flux, so many members coming and going, that I had started to feel I was the only one committed to working towards "a life worth living." But this time, the group seems different, and I'm so glad. The best part? I was the one who reached out to initiate this, I was the one to ask instead of answer the question.
"Are you safe?"
It's a question I have answered countless times over the years, especially in the last 12 months. Tonight, however, I was the one who turned and asked another this small query. I asked someone else in my DBT Skills Group.
When you suffer from a mental illness, you often become very aware of signs that show one is not "well." You notice changes in appearance, mannerisms, posture. You become aware of "clue words" people may speak, or even the words they don't speak but express with their face. You may even just have an intuitiveness or emotional connection, a strong sense of empathy towards others.
I knew tonight it was my turn to ask the question, my turn to be that hand outstretched, my turn to be the life guard. I knew my question would need no explaination, and I knew that the person would answer honestly if asked. After all, most people with mental illness don't try to hide their suicidal thoughts if you call them out on it: nobody really wants to die, they just want help to end the pain.
"Are you safe?"
"Right now, I think so."
"Here, let me give you my number. I'll remind you to use your skills."
Without hesitation, I offered my number. I glanced at our DBT coach, making sure she approved, and she smiled. I knew in that moment I'd done something right, maybe for the first time in a long time, I'd done something to be proud of myself for doing.
"I think it's a great idea that you guys keep each other accountable, bring each other up, remind each other to do your homework."
So, tonight, for the first time since starting DBT, I felt connected to the group as we all excitedly exchanged numbers. There's been so much flux, so many members coming and going, that I had started to feel I was the only one committed to working towards "a life worth living." But this time, the group seems different, and I'm so glad. The best part? I was the one who reached out to initiate this, I was the one to ask instead of answer the question.
"Are you safe?"
Sunday, June 3, 2018
When My Borderline Personality Disorder Makes Me Feel Like The Boy Who Cried Wolf
It is funny how stories from our childhood can be suddenly triggered to re-enter our memories as an adult. Lately I've been reminded of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." As a child, I couldn't understand why the boy would tell such an obvious lie, especially more than one time. As an adult with borderline personality disorder, though, the story now looks completely different, something entirely new.
My illness often impacts my perception of reality, and admittedly, I never refuse attention. I've never approved of my attention-seeking actions, though, I've never thought they were okay. I simply just can't help myself in those moments that I feel that I'm in crisis: The pain and desire to be comforted outweighs any logic that would tell me what I'm doing is wrong.
I've been told that I'm incapable of real and sustainable relationships because of this manipulative behavior, a behavior that often happens on its own. I've also been told by my therapist that it is impossible for people to handle anyone who is constantly in crisis, it is simply unmanageable and emotionally draining (not to mention unfair). So why do I keep sabotaging myself, why cut off my nose to spite my face?
The reality is that I cannot comprehend how to be loved otherwise, I don't believe people will love me and stick around if I'm genuinely fine. I also do not trust myself: I fear thst if I try to make it through a crisis moment on my own that I will fail, that I might actually die. Lastly, I don't always see that I'm attempting manipulation or seeking attention in the heat of the moment. Sometimes it is well after the fact before I realize, before I apologize...but often then it's definitely too late.
I've recently made some amazing new friends: beautiful women who seem to see past every last one of my flaws, loving ladies who accept me completely as I am even knowing that I'm damaged goods. I feeling myself pulling them when I begin to panic, though; I tug at them when I'm in crisis, desperately craving a savior to stop me from my own demise. Just like the villagers who grow tired of the boy's false cries of the wild, though, I know that these people will become immune to my outcries for help before long (and honestly I'm afraid one already has).
All I want is to actually have people who love and care about me, borderline personality disorder and all. I want to be more than another statistic, another borderline who dies by suicide, another person who dies alone. I am committed to entering recovery, I am committed to bettering myself through dialectical behavior therapy. I can only hope that I can do these things, that I can save myself, before these amazing friends give up and leave, because "nobody believes a list, even when he tells the truth."
My illness often impacts my perception of reality, and admittedly, I never refuse attention. I've never approved of my attention-seeking actions, though, I've never thought they were okay. I simply just can't help myself in those moments that I feel that I'm in crisis: The pain and desire to be comforted outweighs any logic that would tell me what I'm doing is wrong.
I've been told that I'm incapable of real and sustainable relationships because of this manipulative behavior, a behavior that often happens on its own. I've also been told by my therapist that it is impossible for people to handle anyone who is constantly in crisis, it is simply unmanageable and emotionally draining (not to mention unfair). So why do I keep sabotaging myself, why cut off my nose to spite my face?
The reality is that I cannot comprehend how to be loved otherwise, I don't believe people will love me and stick around if I'm genuinely fine. I also do not trust myself: I fear thst if I try to make it through a crisis moment on my own that I will fail, that I might actually die. Lastly, I don't always see that I'm attempting manipulation or seeking attention in the heat of the moment. Sometimes it is well after the fact before I realize, before I apologize...but often then it's definitely too late.
I've recently made some amazing new friends: beautiful women who seem to see past every last one of my flaws, loving ladies who accept me completely as I am even knowing that I'm damaged goods. I feeling myself pulling them when I begin to panic, though; I tug at them when I'm in crisis, desperately craving a savior to stop me from my own demise. Just like the villagers who grow tired of the boy's false cries of the wild, though, I know that these people will become immune to my outcries for help before long (and honestly I'm afraid one already has).
All I want is to actually have people who love and care about me, borderline personality disorder and all. I want to be more than another statistic, another borderline who dies by suicide, another person who dies alone. I am committed to entering recovery, I am committed to bettering myself through dialectical behavior therapy. I can only hope that I can do these things, that I can save myself, before these amazing friends give up and leave, because "nobody believes a list, even when he tells the truth."
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Your Story Isn't Over
Your story isn’t over, and neither is my own. We still have much to write about, so many things unsaid. You have so much to share with this world, really as do I. I find you smart, seriously quite bright, so talented, bold, and brave. Luckily, we are good friends and you often tell me the same.
Your story isn’t over, friend, and neither is my own. We both have aspirations and desires to help the world. Together, we can save so many, from their own minds and the law, although I know we’re in constant battle, fighting our own flaws. But I look past the physical, and really so do you; together we can do anything, together we can brave the world.
Your story isn’t over, dear, and neither is my own. We have yet to meet in real life and make some travels near and far. I want to take you to Chicago, Atlanta, or maybe Timbuktu. I want to come see you in Cali, or fly you to Tennessee; we can spend all night just talking, maybe even eat Chinese.
Your story isn’t over, and neither is my own. We have so much to celebrate, both together and alone. I know things will be amazing, there’s so much in store for you. Right now my life feels uncertain, but you say there’s big things coming for me, too. Some things may be happy, others sad, even frightening. But I think we’re in this together, friend, and with each other we can do anything.
At night I think my story's over, but really it’s so not. So I promise to keep fighting if you’ll simply be my friend.
Your story isn’t over, friend, and neither is my own. We both have aspirations and desires to help the world. Together, we can save so many, from their own minds and the law, although I know we’re in constant battle, fighting our own flaws. But I look past the physical, and really so do you; together we can do anything, together we can brave the world.
Your story isn’t over, dear, and neither is my own. We have yet to meet in real life and make some travels near and far. I want to take you to Chicago, Atlanta, or maybe Timbuktu. I want to come see you in Cali, or fly you to Tennessee; we can spend all night just talking, maybe even eat Chinese.
Your story isn’t over, and neither is my own. We have so much to celebrate, both together and alone. I know things will be amazing, there’s so much in store for you. Right now my life feels uncertain, but you say there’s big things coming for me, too. Some things may be happy, others sad, even frightening. But I think we’re in this together, friend, and with each other we can do anything.
At night I think my story's over, but really it’s so not. So I promise to keep fighting if you’ll simply be my friend.
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Leaving The World That Was Never Meant For Me
I knew from the first moment that I held the flute in my hands that there was something magical, something calling me to it. I felt challenged, I felt joyful, I felt like I had purpose. In the band room, I felt accepted, valued, like it was where I belonged. It didn't take more than a year or two to decide, to know firmly in my heart: I'm going to do this forever, I'm going to be a band teacher.
High school served as confirmation: though my entire life was chaos and constant storms filled with confusion and emotion, the band room and my flute were what kept me afloat. I poured my soul into music, and it was a fitting outlet for all of my intense feelings, all of my pain. The band room continued to be my "safe place" and a shelter from the storm. I spent as much time there as I could, doing everything I could to cling tightly. Sometimes it would be doing odd jobs for the band director, other times it might be just sitting in the director's office shooting the bull. I don't know if my band directors ever knew that they were my lighthouse, my beacon of hope, but I hope they did.
My feelings of question and failure first came in college. I failed Piano 2. I received heavy criticism in my band auditions numerous times. My Conducting 2 teacher made me feel inferior and made sure that I knew I'd never amount to much: he let me pass with a C. I pushed through, though. I made it to student teaching and felt confident that I had found my place, that the band room was still the best place for me. I found myself falling in love with every aspect of the band director life: the music, the connections with students, even things like horn repair and loading buses. Every minute of my time in the band rooms where I student taught felt like home, felt like my calling.
Then came all of the applications with no response, the interviews that ended with rejection. The hours I spent in the car, dressed to impress, left me feeling empty and scorned. Why am I wasting my time? Clearly I am failing! It took nearly a year to get any job, and even then it was pure luck and connections that this job practically fell into my lap. I spent much of my time at my first job somewhere in between feeling like a failure and feeling like a success. Some days I'd spend my hour-long commute home in the silence of my tears, other days I'd be blasting music and dancing: there was no in between. Uncertainty became a common place, and I was assured by others this uncertainty would pass with time. It never did, at least not completely.
For the last four years, I've found myself continuing to waver, to question, to feel inadequate. With every step, there was that constant feeling of fear, the sounds of worry eating away at my soul. Oh, they're going to figure out you are full of crap soon enough! What did you just do?! You'll be called to the principal's office over that, just you wait! There were nights I'd lose hours of sleep worrying over a parent email or replaying a failed rehearsal in my head. There were days that I'd drive away unsure if I wanted to sob uncontrollably or beat my steering wheel to a pulp. The highs felt amazing, but the lows started consuming me entirely for days or weeks at a time.
I knew the day was coming, it was only a matter of time. I knew last spring, when I found myself putting things off and spending my planning periods doing anything I could to avoid real work. I knew in July, when the thought of going back to work made me feel so repulsed that I thought I would vomit. I knew when I sent an email in the middle of the night to my boss explaining that I was being hospitalized. I knew in November when L said that she was being asked too many questions about my health and stability, things she shouldn't have known as a supervisor but knew as my friend. I knew in January when the cops and ambulance came to work, catching my boss off guard. I knew as the days started creeping into May and there was no news of being rehired. I just knew in my head, my heart, even my feet...I knew I was going to be fired.
I've been told to not look at this as a failure, but several parts of me instantly go there. My cognitive distortions run away with the idea and come back with a completed novel spelling out my shortcomings in full detail. You did this to yourself! You're going to just be wasting time and money going back to school...it's only a matter of time before you fail at the new career, too. I worry that my desire to jump into mental health is driven by personal interest and the same ideology that drove me to teaching: finding shelter from the storm.
An awesome friend of mine recently brought up that she often "can't shake the feeling that the world wasn't meant for me." I can totally relate to that in so many ways, and as I sit here looking around this empty void of a classroom, the feelings are almost overpowering. I don't know that teaching was ever really meant for me, just like as a middle and high school student I felt that the confines of teenage life was never really for me, either. I don't ever "fit the mold" of most anywhere I try to place myself: I am entirely too volatile, too outrageous, too unique. I always felt out of place, and still do. I constantly stop to question my purpose, my existence, because I merely cannot wrap my brain around who I am and what I was made to achieve.
At the end of the day, I just want to find satisfaction in my life. I want to feel joy. To quote Dr. R, I want "a live worth living and being present for." That life was not standing in front of a band room, but it's also not hiding from the world inside my house eating junk and binge watching shows on Netflix (though that was most of my life last summer...). I can only hope that my life worth living and being present for comes into focus as I gravitate towards something new, something in which I so desperately want to work out. All I have ever wanted is to help, to feel myself positively impacting the lives of others...so maybe therapy is that place?
High school served as confirmation: though my entire life was chaos and constant storms filled with confusion and emotion, the band room and my flute were what kept me afloat. I poured my soul into music, and it was a fitting outlet for all of my intense feelings, all of my pain. The band room continued to be my "safe place" and a shelter from the storm. I spent as much time there as I could, doing everything I could to cling tightly. Sometimes it would be doing odd jobs for the band director, other times it might be just sitting in the director's office shooting the bull. I don't know if my band directors ever knew that they were my lighthouse, my beacon of hope, but I hope they did.
My feelings of question and failure first came in college. I failed Piano 2. I received heavy criticism in my band auditions numerous times. My Conducting 2 teacher made me feel inferior and made sure that I knew I'd never amount to much: he let me pass with a C. I pushed through, though. I made it to student teaching and felt confident that I had found my place, that the band room was still the best place for me. I found myself falling in love with every aspect of the band director life: the music, the connections with students, even things like horn repair and loading buses. Every minute of my time in the band rooms where I student taught felt like home, felt like my calling.
Then came all of the applications with no response, the interviews that ended with rejection. The hours I spent in the car, dressed to impress, left me feeling empty and scorned. Why am I wasting my time? Clearly I am failing! It took nearly a year to get any job, and even then it was pure luck and connections that this job practically fell into my lap. I spent much of my time at my first job somewhere in between feeling like a failure and feeling like a success. Some days I'd spend my hour-long commute home in the silence of my tears, other days I'd be blasting music and dancing: there was no in between. Uncertainty became a common place, and I was assured by others this uncertainty would pass with time. It never did, at least not completely.
For the last four years, I've found myself continuing to waver, to question, to feel inadequate. With every step, there was that constant feeling of fear, the sounds of worry eating away at my soul. Oh, they're going to figure out you are full of crap soon enough! What did you just do?! You'll be called to the principal's office over that, just you wait! There were nights I'd lose hours of sleep worrying over a parent email or replaying a failed rehearsal in my head. There were days that I'd drive away unsure if I wanted to sob uncontrollably or beat my steering wheel to a pulp. The highs felt amazing, but the lows started consuming me entirely for days or weeks at a time.
I knew the day was coming, it was only a matter of time. I knew last spring, when I found myself putting things off and spending my planning periods doing anything I could to avoid real work. I knew in July, when the thought of going back to work made me feel so repulsed that I thought I would vomit. I knew when I sent an email in the middle of the night to my boss explaining that I was being hospitalized. I knew in November when L said that she was being asked too many questions about my health and stability, things she shouldn't have known as a supervisor but knew as my friend. I knew in January when the cops and ambulance came to work, catching my boss off guard. I knew as the days started creeping into May and there was no news of being rehired. I just knew in my head, my heart, even my feet...I knew I was going to be fired.
I've been told to not look at this as a failure, but several parts of me instantly go there. My cognitive distortions run away with the idea and come back with a completed novel spelling out my shortcomings in full detail. You did this to yourself! You're going to just be wasting time and money going back to school...it's only a matter of time before you fail at the new career, too. I worry that my desire to jump into mental health is driven by personal interest and the same ideology that drove me to teaching: finding shelter from the storm.
An awesome friend of mine recently brought up that she often "can't shake the feeling that the world wasn't meant for me." I can totally relate to that in so many ways, and as I sit here looking around this empty void of a classroom, the feelings are almost overpowering. I don't know that teaching was ever really meant for me, just like as a middle and high school student I felt that the confines of teenage life was never really for me, either. I don't ever "fit the mold" of most anywhere I try to place myself: I am entirely too volatile, too outrageous, too unique. I always felt out of place, and still do. I constantly stop to question my purpose, my existence, because I merely cannot wrap my brain around who I am and what I was made to achieve.
At the end of the day, I just want to find satisfaction in my life. I want to feel joy. To quote Dr. R, I want "a live worth living and being present for." That life was not standing in front of a band room, but it's also not hiding from the world inside my house eating junk and binge watching shows on Netflix (though that was most of my life last summer...). I can only hope that my life worth living and being present for comes into focus as I gravitate towards something new, something in which I so desperately want to work out. All I have ever wanted is to help, to feel myself positively impacting the lives of others...so maybe therapy is that place?
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Self Pity Is Unattractive, But Here I Am, Doing It Anyway...
Tonight I feel like laughing at the contradictions of my current life. It is at times like these that I find myself completely baffled and confused about what the realities are and what are the lies. Sure, there may be truth in everything and opposing sides can coexist, but isn't there a limit to that?
I've been told I am hard working, dedicated, and good at my job. Yet here I am, getting fired. People say that I'm not a terrible person, that they care and will always be here. Yet, here I am finding myself being ignored and abandoned.
People cheat and lie constantly. Love and trust leave you broken hearted. Nobody really wants to help or keep your secrets, they just want to use it all against you later to make themselves look and feel better. Nobody honestly gives a fuck about anything but saving their own skin.
I feel too much. I care too much. I want too much. I love too much. I'm not allowed to have a bad day, I'm not allowed to be myself. If I help, people wonder why. If I love, people question my motives. And that's the thing...I don't have any. I'm not trying to get ahead or throw anyone under the bus. I just want to see others happy. I just want everyone to feel loved, understood, accepted, safe. I don't want anyone to ever have to feel the pain I feel almost every single day, the pain deep inside that eats away at me and makes me want to scream. Nobody deserves to feel that pain, that darkness, that eating away at your soul.
Except me.
I doubt that anything I ever say or do will make people truly care about me or accept me for who I am. I don't deserve to be loved or treated with kindness. I deserve to die.
But that's not allowed either. Because nothing is allowed for me. Everything I think, feel, desire, do is wrong.
I am wrong.
I am a mistake. A mistake that has to bear the torture of self-hatred every day for the rest of my life.
Maybe someday it will change?
I've been told I am hard working, dedicated, and good at my job. Yet here I am, getting fired. People say that I'm not a terrible person, that they care and will always be here. Yet, here I am finding myself being ignored and abandoned.
People cheat and lie constantly. Love and trust leave you broken hearted. Nobody really wants to help or keep your secrets, they just want to use it all against you later to make themselves look and feel better. Nobody honestly gives a fuck about anything but saving their own skin.
I feel too much. I care too much. I want too much. I love too much. I'm not allowed to have a bad day, I'm not allowed to be myself. If I help, people wonder why. If I love, people question my motives. And that's the thing...I don't have any. I'm not trying to get ahead or throw anyone under the bus. I just want to see others happy. I just want everyone to feel loved, understood, accepted, safe. I don't want anyone to ever have to feel the pain I feel almost every single day, the pain deep inside that eats away at me and makes me want to scream. Nobody deserves to feel that pain, that darkness, that eating away at your soul.
Except me.
I doubt that anything I ever say or do will make people truly care about me or accept me for who I am. I don't deserve to be loved or treated with kindness. I deserve to die.
But that's not allowed either. Because nothing is allowed for me. Everything I think, feel, desire, do is wrong.
I am wrong.
I am a mistake. A mistake that has to bear the torture of self-hatred every day for the rest of my life.
Maybe someday it will change?
Saturday, May 5, 2018
Finding Your Place When You Identify As Bi
Finding Your Place When You Identify as Bi
by Megan Glosson
I love a guy with glasses or a woman with long hair. I'm a sucker for romantics, but also just large asses and beautiful eyelashes. I admire height but also intelligence and awkward humor. I prefer brunettes, curly hair or straight. Black, white, or purple, it's all the same to me, but a kind and caring heart is a must first and foremost.
If you know me well at all, you know I find both Heath Ledger (RIP) and Jennifer Garner incredibly sexy, just the same as Shemar Moore and Susan Kelechi Watson. Man or woman, a beautiful person is a beautiful person in my eyes. Yes, that's right: I identify as bi.
I will admit, I have only been with men and I have been married to a great guy for nearly a decade. That doesn't mean that women don't turn me on, though, and it doesn't mean that I've never tried to attract the attention of a female that I find fun (trust me, I've unsuccessfully tried more than one time in my life). I've had flirtatious fun and even developed crushes on women almost as many times as I have men.
Part of me feels like an outcast, though. I have found myself cut off from straight women the moment I point out a girl with a nice ass or a beautiful smile. I've also felt more than a little intimidated or ridiculed from the LGBT community though because I clearly lead a "straight life." Part of this could be my perception, but they say perception is reality, don't they?
Since becoming open about my sexuality, the heat has really been on. Some have questioned if I am being truthful or if perhaps I'm just "going through a phase." Others have visibly taken a step (or leap) back and expressed their unease. Only one person has not at all been shocked, a friend I've had since high school, and said she's always known.
I know I'm not the only woman in the world who finds herself attracted to both sexes...so why do I feel so alone? Where is the place for those of us who just love people for the people that they are, regardless of any types of classifications? Where can I go and be accepted, not judged or questioned on my motives or my truth? Is being openly bi a crime? I'd like to think it means I have an open heart, that I'm someone who is always open to love the person on the inside not just out. Though a nice ass is always a plus...
Go back and reviseSubmit your writing
Megan GlossonSunday, April 8, 2018
What My Husband's Mania Looks Like
I've cohabitated with my husband for over 10 years now. We've been through our share of ups and downs, highs and lows. One struggle that stays consistent, though, is my husband's manic episodes.
My husband was diagnosed with Bipolar II, or bipolar depression, before we met in college. I've experienced him both medicated and unmedicated, in various stages of mind and emotions. I think that mania looks different in each individual, but luckily for me his mania stays fairly consistent in appearance.
Usually it starts with random projects, deep cleaning, or deciding it's time to declutter. He will often avoid conversation and even become agressive if interrupted. He usually is unable to stay focused on the initial task, though, so the house quickly becomes filled with work stations or tasks that he floats in between.
I have to choose my actions and my words carefully during these times: not only because I may disturb his flow or be misunderstood, but also because I can end up interpreting his reactions more extremely than he meant and start having my own enraged impulsivity because of my borderline personality disorder.
I've learned how to recognize these episodes (finally), and I try my best to just allow him to work through them while I keep our two daughters engaged and out of his path as best I can. I'm not always sure how to help him or improve what he's feeling, but through my dialectical behavior therapy I've learned to use mindfulness and distress tolerance skills to help myself stay calm, collected, and rational.
When I used to talk to my friends about these times, I found they often didn't understand. They would tell me that I didn't deserve to be treated poorly, that I shouldn't have to put up with these behaviors. Which, if he was intentionally acting this way, may very well be true. As I learn about my own behaviors that my BPD causes, though, I know that there are two sides to the coin here: like my extreme emotions and instability, his manic episodes are not who he is, nor are they something that is completely in his control. I also know that he is currently making efforts to improve: he is back to taking medication on a regular schedule, he is seeing an individual therapist, and he is taking time to stop and recognize his own emotions and actions with labels. This awareness will, in time, help us both to cope and support each other.
My husband was diagnosed with Bipolar II, or bipolar depression, before we met in college. I've experienced him both medicated and unmedicated, in various stages of mind and emotions. I think that mania looks different in each individual, but luckily for me his mania stays fairly consistent in appearance.
Usually it starts with random projects, deep cleaning, or deciding it's time to declutter. He will often avoid conversation and even become agressive if interrupted. He usually is unable to stay focused on the initial task, though, so the house quickly becomes filled with work stations or tasks that he floats in between.
I have to choose my actions and my words carefully during these times: not only because I may disturb his flow or be misunderstood, but also because I can end up interpreting his reactions more extremely than he meant and start having my own enraged impulsivity because of my borderline personality disorder.
I've learned how to recognize these episodes (finally), and I try my best to just allow him to work through them while I keep our two daughters engaged and out of his path as best I can. I'm not always sure how to help him or improve what he's feeling, but through my dialectical behavior therapy I've learned to use mindfulness and distress tolerance skills to help myself stay calm, collected, and rational.
When I used to talk to my friends about these times, I found they often didn't understand. They would tell me that I didn't deserve to be treated poorly, that I shouldn't have to put up with these behaviors. Which, if he was intentionally acting this way, may very well be true. As I learn about my own behaviors that my BPD causes, though, I know that there are two sides to the coin here: like my extreme emotions and instability, his manic episodes are not who he is, nor are they something that is completely in his control. I also know that he is currently making efforts to improve: he is back to taking medication on a regular schedule, he is seeing an individual therapist, and he is taking time to stop and recognize his own emotions and actions with labels. This awareness will, in time, help us both to cope and support each other.
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Grad School Questions
1) What is the typical timeline for people to complete this program on a part-time schedule? What about if they enroll full-time?
2) What time of day are classes offered for this program? Are there options for some of the classes to be taken online or on weekends?
3) What is the typical workload like for each class? About how many hours outside of class do students spend on the coursework for each class?
4) What certifications/licenses can I receive after completing this program? What are my job options? Will this degree help me work towards my "pie in the sky" ultimate career goal?
5) Are there scholarships or GA positions available? What other financial aid options do I have? Does financial aid require me to meet a "need based" criteria or are there options not based on income?
6) Who can serve as a supervisor for me during my practicum?
2) What time of day are classes offered for this program? Are there options for some of the classes to be taken online or on weekends?
3) What is the typical workload like for each class? About how many hours outside of class do students spend on the coursework for each class?
4) What certifications/licenses can I receive after completing this program? What are my job options? Will this degree help me work towards my "pie in the sky" ultimate career goal?
5) Are there scholarships or GA positions available? What other financial aid options do I have? Does financial aid require me to meet a "need based" criteria or are there options not based on income?
6) Who can serve as a supervisor for me during my practicum?
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
Square Peg in a Round Hole
All I've ever wanted in life is to belong somewhere. That sounds easy enough, doesn't it? To have your "tribe," your "crew," people who accept you, who love you, who get you. Humans were made to be social creatures; we weren't built to stand alone.
Yet, in a fundamental way, that's how I've always felt: alone. I didn't fit with the "brilliant kids" because I wasn't gifted. I never fit with the "average kids" because I cared too much about pretty much everything. I wasn't popular because I was a nerd. I wasn't coordinated enough to be athletic, I was entirely too ugly to be considered even mildly attractive. Even the band kids thought I was weird, even the drama kids thought I was too dramatic. Sure, I had friends, but often times even they would laugh or give me perplexed looks.
Everyone said that things would improve as I grew. Middle School is awkward. High school is all a big show. College is a formality and your 20s is all about self-discovery. Being a new parent is overwhelming but you get the hang of it. The first year of marriage is the hardest. Yep, I've heard it all.
But it never gets better.
I'm not talented and confident enough to really fit in with the other band directors in the district. I'm not flexible and creative enough to feel like I fit with the arts team at my school. I watch teachers every single day do amazing things, and I just don't feel like I am worthy. My students laugh often, but it's more because of how out of touch and nerdy I am, not because I'm funny. Then there's my friends: they are amazing, but even they admit they don't always understand me. I'm not a "super mom" like all the other mothers at our preschool, and I have a hard time talking to any of them ever.
Yes, I know, comparison is the thief of joy, but this isn't about comparing how I stack up to others. It is about the fact that I feel like the odd duck in literally every aspect of my life. I don't know who I am anymore and I don't know where I belong.
That's all I've ever really wanted: love, validation, belonging. I want to feel like I'm a part of something, someone. I want to feel like I am free and that who I am is who I am meant to be.
The weird thing is, that for the first time I my life, I have found the places where I feel like I fit, but it's not the places I expected. I could spend hours there, I feel comfortable even when I'm deep inside my emotions and my crazy thoughts. I have people who seem to actually understand me, who never judge me, and who remind me not to judge myself. I always feel better when I leave these places, when I see these people. I love the smells, the sounds. Where are these miraculous utopias I've found? They are my therapist's office, the intensive outpatient program, and "my unit" in the psych hospital.
I know that sounds completely ridiculous that the only places I feel at home are the places there to try to help me heal from my illness, but it's completely true. My therapist (who is one of the most amazing people I've ever met and has the a wonderful dog) doesn't tell me to "stop being dramatic" or that I'm "too emotional" because she knows that I have borderline personality disorder. The people I was grouped with for the IOP program never pointed out all the mistakes I was making or how they were better than me because we were all in recovery. Nobody in the unit judged me for my scars because many had their own.
I'm still often the square peg in the round hole, but I'm no longer alone.
Yet, in a fundamental way, that's how I've always felt: alone. I didn't fit with the "brilliant kids" because I wasn't gifted. I never fit with the "average kids" because I cared too much about pretty much everything. I wasn't popular because I was a nerd. I wasn't coordinated enough to be athletic, I was entirely too ugly to be considered even mildly attractive. Even the band kids thought I was weird, even the drama kids thought I was too dramatic. Sure, I had friends, but often times even they would laugh or give me perplexed looks.
Everyone said that things would improve as I grew. Middle School is awkward. High school is all a big show. College is a formality and your 20s is all about self-discovery. Being a new parent is overwhelming but you get the hang of it. The first year of marriage is the hardest. Yep, I've heard it all.
But it never gets better.
I'm not talented and confident enough to really fit in with the other band directors in the district. I'm not flexible and creative enough to feel like I fit with the arts team at my school. I watch teachers every single day do amazing things, and I just don't feel like I am worthy. My students laugh often, but it's more because of how out of touch and nerdy I am, not because I'm funny. Then there's my friends: they are amazing, but even they admit they don't always understand me. I'm not a "super mom" like all the other mothers at our preschool, and I have a hard time talking to any of them ever.
Yes, I know, comparison is the thief of joy, but this isn't about comparing how I stack up to others. It is about the fact that I feel like the odd duck in literally every aspect of my life. I don't know who I am anymore and I don't know where I belong.
That's all I've ever really wanted: love, validation, belonging. I want to feel like I'm a part of something, someone. I want to feel like I am free and that who I am is who I am meant to be.
The weird thing is, that for the first time I my life, I have found the places where I feel like I fit, but it's not the places I expected. I could spend hours there, I feel comfortable even when I'm deep inside my emotions and my crazy thoughts. I have people who seem to actually understand me, who never judge me, and who remind me not to judge myself. I always feel better when I leave these places, when I see these people. I love the smells, the sounds. Where are these miraculous utopias I've found? They are my therapist's office, the intensive outpatient program, and "my unit" in the psych hospital.
I know that sounds completely ridiculous that the only places I feel at home are the places there to try to help me heal from my illness, but it's completely true. My therapist (who is one of the most amazing people I've ever met and has the a wonderful dog) doesn't tell me to "stop being dramatic" or that I'm "too emotional" because she knows that I have borderline personality disorder. The people I was grouped with for the IOP program never pointed out all the mistakes I was making or how they were better than me because we were all in recovery. Nobody in the unit judged me for my scars because many had their own.
I'm still often the square peg in the round hole, but I'm no longer alone.
Monday, April 2, 2018
Living Grief
Grief is such a profoundly complicated thing. Many of us spend our lives avoiding negative emotions such as sadness, anger, or fear, so when we find ourselves in a place where we need to grieve, we're not only at a loss on how to cope, but we are overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil we find ourselves unable to escape. At 30 years old I've lost multiple great-grandparents, one of my two grandmothers, a great uncle who I adored, some classmates from high school, an assortment of pets, and a pregnancy. I'm no stranger to grief.
The situation I find myself in now is quite different, though: I have to work through the grieving process for a person who is very much still visible in my everyday world. I don't want to downplay the grief we feel in the time of death of those that we love, but I'm a way it is so much simpler for us to enter into the stages of grief when someone dies because, well, they are gone. We eventually have to work through the loss and deep down we are aware that we can't undo death. What I can't wrap my brain around right now is this, though: how do we let go and grieve the loss of someone in our lives who is still alive and well? How do you not try to continue to try to mend the torn tapestry of a friendship when you have to look at the damage nearly every single day, right in front of your face?
When I was in the intensive outpatient program at my local psychiatric hospital, we would close out each session with The Serenity Prayer. I keep going back to the opening phrase of the prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change." I am well aware that we simply cannot change the minds of others, nor can we change the past. Yet I impulsively and foolishly keep trying to bring this friendship back to life despite the obvious signs that it is forever dead, like a scene in Grey's Anatomy where they continue compressions while everyone else stares, knowing that it's useless. My therapist had the best analogy: she said that continuing to push for change or desperately trying to fix the friendship is like going into a hardware store every day trying to buy milk: I can keep trying but I'm never going to get the result I want.
So what's the grocery store in this instance? The dialectical behavior therapy term is radical acceptance. Radical acceptance means completely and totally permitting life to be as it is with your entire being, mind, body, and soul. It means letting go and allowing a situation to happen without feelings of resentment, anger, or blame. It means no longer fighting reality. It does not mean you agree with or support the event and it does not mean that you'll be free of any pain, though the pain will be less without resistance. It also does not mean that change can never happen, it just means you aren't fighting for change in the present moment. And everything in DBT is about the present.
My amazing therapist says that radical acceptance is critical for me in this situation, but that the process of acceptance means letting go of control and experiencing significant pain. As Marsha Linehan says, "The path out of hell is through misery. By refusing to accept the misery that is part of climbing out of hell, you fall back into hell." And right now, I'm in hell nearly every damn day. I miss my friend so much that it causes physical pain, days of crying, and lots of impulsive behaviors. Subconsciously I've convinced myself that fighting reality will protect me from the pain, but I don't actually think that's true. Fighting against reality is just leaving me stuck in the suffering, unable to escape or improve my life. Refusing to let go means that I am continuously using distress tolerance skills to attempt to keep myself from relapsing into self harm.
Why can't I let go? Why can't I accept that this friendship is over? I am terrified of failure. I am convinced I don't know who I am without this friend. This loss is a big trigger for my fear of abandonment, meaning I'm waiting for everyone else to leave too. But what I really want is to be stable. I want to move forward. I want to recover and climb my way out of this hell. I want to walk the middle path, to be mindful, to have a life worth living and being present within. I must make this choice, to accept that this loss does not mean all is lost. It's going to be completely miserable for a while I have no doubt. I will have to tell myself, to force myself to accept this fate, repeatedly for months or even years. My only hope is that I can survive...and that my therapist won't give up on me in the process.
The situation I find myself in now is quite different, though: I have to work through the grieving process for a person who is very much still visible in my everyday world. I don't want to downplay the grief we feel in the time of death of those that we love, but I'm a way it is so much simpler for us to enter into the stages of grief when someone dies because, well, they are gone. We eventually have to work through the loss and deep down we are aware that we can't undo death. What I can't wrap my brain around right now is this, though: how do we let go and grieve the loss of someone in our lives who is still alive and well? How do you not try to continue to try to mend the torn tapestry of a friendship when you have to look at the damage nearly every single day, right in front of your face?
When I was in the intensive outpatient program at my local psychiatric hospital, we would close out each session with The Serenity Prayer. I keep going back to the opening phrase of the prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change." I am well aware that we simply cannot change the minds of others, nor can we change the past. Yet I impulsively and foolishly keep trying to bring this friendship back to life despite the obvious signs that it is forever dead, like a scene in Grey's Anatomy where they continue compressions while everyone else stares, knowing that it's useless. My therapist had the best analogy: she said that continuing to push for change or desperately trying to fix the friendship is like going into a hardware store every day trying to buy milk: I can keep trying but I'm never going to get the result I want.
So what's the grocery store in this instance? The dialectical behavior therapy term is radical acceptance. Radical acceptance means completely and totally permitting life to be as it is with your entire being, mind, body, and soul. It means letting go and allowing a situation to happen without feelings of resentment, anger, or blame. It means no longer fighting reality. It does not mean you agree with or support the event and it does not mean that you'll be free of any pain, though the pain will be less without resistance. It also does not mean that change can never happen, it just means you aren't fighting for change in the present moment. And everything in DBT is about the present.
My amazing therapist says that radical acceptance is critical for me in this situation, but that the process of acceptance means letting go of control and experiencing significant pain. As Marsha Linehan says, "The path out of hell is through misery. By refusing to accept the misery that is part of climbing out of hell, you fall back into hell." And right now, I'm in hell nearly every damn day. I miss my friend so much that it causes physical pain, days of crying, and lots of impulsive behaviors. Subconsciously I've convinced myself that fighting reality will protect me from the pain, but I don't actually think that's true. Fighting against reality is just leaving me stuck in the suffering, unable to escape or improve my life. Refusing to let go means that I am continuously using distress tolerance skills to attempt to keep myself from relapsing into self harm.
Why can't I let go? Why can't I accept that this friendship is over? I am terrified of failure. I am convinced I don't know who I am without this friend. This loss is a big trigger for my fear of abandonment, meaning I'm waiting for everyone else to leave too. But what I really want is to be stable. I want to move forward. I want to recover and climb my way out of this hell. I want to walk the middle path, to be mindful, to have a life worth living and being present within. I must make this choice, to accept that this loss does not mean all is lost. It's going to be completely miserable for a while I have no doubt. I will have to tell myself, to force myself to accept this fate, repeatedly for months or even years. My only hope is that I can survive...and that my therapist won't give up on me in the process.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
I'm Not Scared of Much, But I'm Afraid of Losing You Draft 1
There was a time when I was afraid of the dark, as most children are. It wasn't the lack of light so much as simply the unknown since I could no longer see. I had to learn to go on blind trust that things would be okay, even when the last bits of light disappeared from the windows. As I grew, I learned to almost embrace the darkness in a different sort of way. It's almost as if I connected the darkness to you, like I connected it to the loss of innocence and the feelings that came with age. I found a comfort in what you offered, in what we both had inside. But as the sun rose each morning, it was time for you to hide. I'm not scared of the darkness now, but I was afriad I'd lose you then.
There was a time when I was afraid of elevators after we watched that episode of "Fresh Prince of Bel Air." Oh, come on, you know that one! I think it was the panic, the thought of being trapped, that made me terrified. As time passed, I found myself getting trapped in other ways, ways that didn't involve walls at all: I became trapped inside my mind. Sometimes it would be replaying the day's events, someone's voice, the way I felt when they'd all throw me aside. I learned that the only time I felt free was with you, and together we learned how to really hide. Now I'm not scared of elevators all that much, but I was afraid I'd lose you then.
There was a time when I was afraid of men, specifically, well, you know who. At first I tried to be brave, but everyone either laughed or said I'd told lies. So my only choice was to let you lead, let you decide. You showed me how to shut it down, how to be the doormat. "It's better this way," you'd say, and even in those most difficult moments I wanted to believe you because I couldn't afford for you to leave. I'm still a little scared of men, but not as afraid as I was that I might lose you then.
Now I'm 30, and here we are: we've come to a crossroads. I've spent my entire life trying to be this perfect person while inside I'm screaming in the dark. I've never known who I really am or why I'm even alive. There's always been that part of me, though, that I knew was mine: and that was you. You are the scars all over my arms and some parts of my legs. You are the secrets and the fears, you are the calm but also the storm. They've given you a name, initials BPD. Apparently this entire time what I thought was me was actually a personality disorder. So was any of it ever real, what was you and what was me? Although most of the world is black and white, we've always been blurred together with shades of grey. Now that I'm finally aware, and working on improving me, I'm terrified that recovery means losing you, which is really losing me. Does practicing these skills and the knowledge that helps make "life worth living" mean that I have to give up on you? Does this mean the end? What if all I've ever known crumbles and falls into the sea? I'm not afraid of much at all, not even my own death, but I'm so fucking scared of losing myself today.
There was a time when I was afraid of elevators after we watched that episode of "Fresh Prince of Bel Air." Oh, come on, you know that one! I think it was the panic, the thought of being trapped, that made me terrified. As time passed, I found myself getting trapped in other ways, ways that didn't involve walls at all: I became trapped inside my mind. Sometimes it would be replaying the day's events, someone's voice, the way I felt when they'd all throw me aside. I learned that the only time I felt free was with you, and together we learned how to really hide. Now I'm not scared of elevators all that much, but I was afraid I'd lose you then.
There was a time when I was afraid of men, specifically, well, you know who. At first I tried to be brave, but everyone either laughed or said I'd told lies. So my only choice was to let you lead, let you decide. You showed me how to shut it down, how to be the doormat. "It's better this way," you'd say, and even in those most difficult moments I wanted to believe you because I couldn't afford for you to leave. I'm still a little scared of men, but not as afraid as I was that I might lose you then.
Now I'm 30, and here we are: we've come to a crossroads. I've spent my entire life trying to be this perfect person while inside I'm screaming in the dark. I've never known who I really am or why I'm even alive. There's always been that part of me, though, that I knew was mine: and that was you. You are the scars all over my arms and some parts of my legs. You are the secrets and the fears, you are the calm but also the storm. They've given you a name, initials BPD. Apparently this entire time what I thought was me was actually a personality disorder. So was any of it ever real, what was you and what was me? Although most of the world is black and white, we've always been blurred together with shades of grey. Now that I'm finally aware, and working on improving me, I'm terrified that recovery means losing you, which is really losing me. Does practicing these skills and the knowledge that helps make "life worth living" mean that I have to give up on you? Does this mean the end? What if all I've ever known crumbles and falls into the sea? I'm not afraid of much at all, not even my own death, but I'm so fucking scared of losing myself today.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
What My Borderline Personality Disorder "Fear of Abandonment" Looks Like
One of the major struggles for people with borderline personality disorder is the fear of abandonment. We go to sometimes extreme efforts to avoid abandonment. This seems to often be one of the most misunderstood aspects of the borderline: to many we are seen as selfish, manipulative, demanding, and unpredictable. The truth is we are just constantly living our lives in fear of ourselves and others; we are afraid to be heartbroken but we are afraid to be alone. It's literally the title of a book: "I hate you; don't leave me."
My fear of abandonment runs deep and impacts much of what I say or how I spend my time. I will sometimes ask lots of confusing, vague, or repetitive questions because I just need my friends to talk to me, comfort me, or reassure me that they aren't going to abandon me. I'll constantly ask what they see in me, why they are friends with me, or what they think about me. I will often suggest that my friends would be better without me, that I don't actually do anything for them, or that I am needy. I constantly thank my friends for even the smallest of things, send them random cards or gifts just to remind them I care, and send them text messages that say things like, "Happy Monday!" or "Haven't talked to you in a few days and just wanted to say that I love you!"
My friends have referred to the questions and some of the other extreme measures as "fishing," "testing," or "manipulating" them. To my friends, my constant pushes to get them to either remind me of my good points or somehow support me in my own self-destruction is very stressful and extremely unfair. I've lost friends due to this inability to rein in my fears of abandonment and the impulsivity it causes. I've also had friends simply tell me that they are not qualified to deal with me when I do these things. They say that it puts them in a difficult place that there is no way for them to navigate through, but to me it is just that desire to have someone care about me and that fear that nobody does that pushes me to do what I do.
The actions I take because of my fear of abandonment are exactly what fuels the fire; my constant reaching and questioning are the cause of most of the falling outs that happen in my life. When I don't get the responses I feel that I need, I sometimes either become more aggressive in my quest to get them or I turn to violence on myself. This means self-harm, other unhealthy coping mechanisms, or even suicidal ideation. Instead of finding relief, though, these actions only perpetuate the cycle and fuel my quest for attention even more.
Here's the thing: I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be manipulative, selfish, or harmful to those that I love. I don't want to live my life this way forever, but I also don't see the exit strategy currently. I'm pushing myself to see both sides of the coin, to find the truth in all perspectives. My dialectical behavior therapy is trying to teach me that there is truth in everything, that all perspectives are valid and can co-exist. My therapist reminds me multiple times each week that "everything in this moment is just as it should be." Currently this means accepting that my fear of abandonment does make me seem manipulative. It also means recognizing and accepting this means I am making progress towards a healthier version of myself: a version of myself that someday may not be constantly afraid of being alone.
My fear of abandonment runs deep and impacts much of what I say or how I spend my time. I will sometimes ask lots of confusing, vague, or repetitive questions because I just need my friends to talk to me, comfort me, or reassure me that they aren't going to abandon me. I'll constantly ask what they see in me, why they are friends with me, or what they think about me. I will often suggest that my friends would be better without me, that I don't actually do anything for them, or that I am needy. I constantly thank my friends for even the smallest of things, send them random cards or gifts just to remind them I care, and send them text messages that say things like, "Happy Monday!" or "Haven't talked to you in a few days and just wanted to say that I love you!"
My friends have referred to the questions and some of the other extreme measures as "fishing," "testing," or "manipulating" them. To my friends, my constant pushes to get them to either remind me of my good points or somehow support me in my own self-destruction is very stressful and extremely unfair. I've lost friends due to this inability to rein in my fears of abandonment and the impulsivity it causes. I've also had friends simply tell me that they are not qualified to deal with me when I do these things. They say that it puts them in a difficult place that there is no way for them to navigate through, but to me it is just that desire to have someone care about me and that fear that nobody does that pushes me to do what I do.
The actions I take because of my fear of abandonment are exactly what fuels the fire; my constant reaching and questioning are the cause of most of the falling outs that happen in my life. When I don't get the responses I feel that I need, I sometimes either become more aggressive in my quest to get them or I turn to violence on myself. This means self-harm, other unhealthy coping mechanisms, or even suicidal ideation. Instead of finding relief, though, these actions only perpetuate the cycle and fuel my quest for attention even more.
Here's the thing: I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be manipulative, selfish, or harmful to those that I love. I don't want to live my life this way forever, but I also don't see the exit strategy currently. I'm pushing myself to see both sides of the coin, to find the truth in all perspectives. My dialectical behavior therapy is trying to teach me that there is truth in everything, that all perspectives are valid and can co-exist. My therapist reminds me multiple times each week that "everything in this moment is just as it should be." Currently this means accepting that my fear of abandonment does make me seem manipulative. It also means recognizing and accepting this means I am making progress towards a healthier version of myself: a version of myself that someday may not be constantly afraid of being alone.
Monday, March 5, 2018
Walking the Borderline
The word “borderline” was used in first labeling
borderline personality disorder because it was thought to be “on the borderline”
between psychosis and neurosis. While it’s not an entirely accurate description
now that more research has been done on the disorder, it seems to be accurate
for me to say I’m “on the borderline.” I feel that in many aspects of my life,
I’m constantly pushing towards the edge, walking the tightrope, or standing
with each foot planted in contradiction.
I may seem organized and well prepared to the outside
world, but inside I constantly find myself one wrong move away from falling
from the edge, one small alteration away from throwing myself onto the ground
kicking and screaming. I am constantly on the borderline between stability and
chaos, success and failure. I can’t think on my feet because there’s always disagreement
in my body or the fight between irrational impulsivity and playing it safe.
Asking me to be flexible is like asking me to break myself into pieces, like
throwing a ball at a window.
I feel like a walking contradiction inside myself, in
my life. With friends I try to be the comical, helpful, supportive. With my
husband I also try to support, but I also try to stay in my lane and allow him
to have the control, trying to be the submissive one, the one that lets him
have all the credit. At work I must be the one in control, the one with all the
ideas, the authority. But which version of me is the truth? I constantly feel I’m
on another borderline: between who I must be and who I really want to show, the
version of myself I’ve built and the version of myself that’s hiding in the
shadows. I’ve reinvented myself so many times in my life that I’m not even
certain what that person in the shadows really looks like.
Then there’s the emotional borderline: the one that is
the most dangerous, the one that can do the most damage. I walk the tightrope
constantly, attempting to maintain my balance because falling means losing
control. It could be said that this borderline is the one between health and
illness, between safety and harm, between life and death. Falling from this
height could mean self-destruction, going back to the hospital, or never
walking any tightropes ever again.
How do those of us with BPD come away from the edge,
how do we keep ourselves from falling off the cliff and drowning in the waters
below? I can tell you that pretending to be okay doesn’t work: “fake it ‘til
you make it” isn’t in our body. For Kiera Van Gelder, author of “The Buddha and
the Borderline,” it takes years of dialectical behavior therapy and “taking
refuge” in Buddhism to find the beginnings of recovery. I can only hope that by
jumping in head first to DBT helps me step back from that cliff as well because
I’m seriously scared of drowning.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
The Storm Inside: Explaining Intense BPD Emotions
I’ve read a lot of articles and posts about how many people
with borderline personality disorder have quick changes in mood or emotion,
often influenced by the smallest of events or moments in a day. This is very
true in my life, and I find myself changing my mood and outlook on life almost
hourly some days. What I haven’t read a lot about is the intensity that these
emotions pack and the conflict they often cause with each other. I’ve come to
refer to my emotions and thoughts as “the storm inside” because that’s the best
way I can explain it: there is literally a storm full of flashes of lightning,
booms of thunder, pouring rain, and gusting winds inside of my mind and my
body.
My friends have asked what this “storm” is like, as they
struggle to understand and have not ever experienced emotions the way that I
do. It is incredibly difficult to put words to how we feel, as anyone who has
been through therapy and stared at emotion wheels or charts of feeling words
knows all too well. Here’s the best way I can explain this storm inside of me
every day:
It is crippling anxiety mixed with uncontrollable rage. It is
smiling and enjoying talking to a friend while looking for a way to escape life
because your skin is crawling. It’s pain
that you can feel in your chest, your muscles, your bones that can start and
consume you at any time. It is sharing someone’s happiness while inside your
head there’s jealousy screaming at you with a thunderous roar. It is choosing
to allow the darkness to consume you and shutting everyone out because it’s
easier that way. It’s being so overjoyed
that you can’t sit still but every time you move you find yourself starting to
fill with that emptiness again. Unlike most storms, this constant brew of
emotions never sleeps, never ceases: it can hit you in the middle of your work
day or at 2:00am. It’s a storm that constantly changes directions, something so
unpredictable that nobody can get an accurate reading or track the patterns.
Sometimes I can harness the storm and rein it in, keeping it
to myself. Sometimes I can tune out the storm with music or work. Sometimes I
just choose to sleep it off, meaning I may take naps in the middle of the day
or go to bed extremely early. Sometimes I allow myself to use rage as an outlet
and scream, kick, or throw any object I can find. Sometimes I use self-harm to
ground myself and gain back control over the mixture of hell I feel inside.
Lately I’m trying healthier means like meditation, mindfulness exercises from dialectical
behavior therapy (DBT), or labeling and writing out what I’m feeling.
People seem to think that I’ve suddenly become this way, like
it happened overnight. When I look back at my past, though, I can remember
these feelings as far back as I can remember. There have been times where I’ve
had better control over the storm, that the storm wasn’t so strong. The storm
usually brews inside of me and targets only me, leading to low self-worth and a
very conflicted self-image.
My DBT therapist has told me that my current goal is to not
allow the negative part of my brain that screams during these storms to win
control over me. We are also about to start distress tolerance in my skills
group, which I can only hope will help to quiet the storm. As Kiera Van Gelder
says so elegantly in her memoir The Buddha and the Borderline, “I am determined
to fight for my survival. I do not deserve to be trapped in hell.” I will
continue to battle the winds and rain, sailing through the waves as they crash,
and hopefully someday soon I will find the beach again where the storms are
less frequent and less intense.
Sunday, February 18, 2018
My Fears After Florida
As a teacher and a mother of young children, I'm obviously concerned about the amount of school shootings that have occurred so far this year including the most recent in a high school in Florida. As an adult who has been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and has had multiple stays in a psychiatric hospital, I'm very concerned and fearful what the potential outcome might be of all the discussions connecting all of these tragic events to mental illness.
I agree with the sentiment that we don't provide adequate services and care to many in this country who struggle with illnesses of any kind in this country, including mental illness. I also agree that we don't do enough in public schools to provide emotional support and real help to students who need it. In a perfect world, everyone would have access to the care they need along with adequate shelter and nutrition. There's so much that our lawmakers and leaders could do to improve health and well-being for Americans.
Here's my question, though: are we really concerned about helping those who need it, or are we concerned about "keeping up appearances" with the people and the businesses that run this country? My fear is that we aren't really concerned about people at all...or at least not nearly as concerned as we are about protecting our guns. Here's what I'm afraid might be my future in a world where we think the answer is changes to our mental health system:
1) I'm afraid that I will start having to disclose my borderline personality disorder and medication lists to my employer and any potential employer should I seek a new job. I am afraid that questions about mental health will become as common as drug tests and questions about your criminal record. What will that mean for my chances of getting a job? What will that mean for my husband who has bipolar II or my daughters who have parents and extended family with a history of mental illness?
2) I'm afraid that my hospitalizations will become part of my record just like anything else. Will mental illness show up in a database when someone runs my license or when an officer runs my plates? Will I be targeted at airports for additional security checks because of my "conditions?" Will police start having a bias for people who have mental illness just as they already do for people based on their race or clothing?
3) I'm afraid my career in education may come to an end before I'm ready to end it because of who I am, because of my diagnosis. I'm afraid that I will be see as a "risk" and unsafe to be around children even though I'd never hurt another human or ever had any homicidal thoughts (all of my hospitalizations have been for suicidal ideations).
Perhaps my fears are irrational, but history says they are very real possibilities.
I agree with the sentiment that we don't provide adequate services and care to many in this country who struggle with illnesses of any kind in this country, including mental illness. I also agree that we don't do enough in public schools to provide emotional support and real help to students who need it. In a perfect world, everyone would have access to the care they need along with adequate shelter and nutrition. There's so much that our lawmakers and leaders could do to improve health and well-being for Americans.
Here's my question, though: are we really concerned about helping those who need it, or are we concerned about "keeping up appearances" with the people and the businesses that run this country? My fear is that we aren't really concerned about people at all...or at least not nearly as concerned as we are about protecting our guns. Here's what I'm afraid might be my future in a world where we think the answer is changes to our mental health system:
1) I'm afraid that I will start having to disclose my borderline personality disorder and medication lists to my employer and any potential employer should I seek a new job. I am afraid that questions about mental health will become as common as drug tests and questions about your criminal record. What will that mean for my chances of getting a job? What will that mean for my husband who has bipolar II or my daughters who have parents and extended family with a history of mental illness?
2) I'm afraid that my hospitalizations will become part of my record just like anything else. Will mental illness show up in a database when someone runs my license or when an officer runs my plates? Will I be targeted at airports for additional security checks because of my "conditions?" Will police start having a bias for people who have mental illness just as they already do for people based on their race or clothing?
3) I'm afraid my career in education may come to an end before I'm ready to end it because of who I am, because of my diagnosis. I'm afraid that I will be see as a "risk" and unsafe to be around children even though I'd never hurt another human or ever had any homicidal thoughts (all of my hospitalizations have been for suicidal ideations).
Perhaps my fears are irrational, but history says they are very real possibilities.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
The Connection Between My Fear of Abandonment and My Self-Image
Like many other people who have borderline personality disorder, I struggle with knowing who I am and what that person looks like. I often struggle to describe myself to others, and the few ways I do are usually negative and very self-critical. Inside my head all I see is this complex web, yarn just wadded up into a messy ball that I can't seem to untangle. I constantly worry if I'm making the right choices, I research new careers or advanced degrees on and off, I always feel like I'm behind the curve or too late to the party of what life should look like...all I see is the ball of yarn, but can't even begin to imagine what that ball could become.
So, I surround myself with people and ask them to tell me who I am, what I should do, where I should go. Every person in my life is like another strand of yarn that becomes woven into the giant ball...I need every strand I can get. A couple of my friends have made jokes over the years about how indecisive I am, how I run everything by them before taking action myself. I always try to laugh it off, but inside I know why I do this. I do it because they know me better than I know myself. I don't know myself, I don't trust myself, I hate the version of myself that I see. I hate that all I see is a giant mess of yarn where everyone else sees beautiful things that the yarn can create. Without having people in my life, I wouldn't get the validation and feedback, the praise and advice, the love and respect that I lack the ability to give myself.
I joke that many of my struggles are that giant ball of yarn all wrapped together, but it's actually very true. I feel empty and out of touch with myself, so I surround myself with people who bring me up and make me feel full. Then I fear that these people will abandon me, so I do and say things out of desperation to pull people closer. Often, though, these desperate measures leave people feeling suffocated or trapped and I become frustrated and angry...and then the person leaves anyway. Losing just one person in my life (a friend asking for space or a student dropping my class) makes me feel empty and worthless. I need every single stand of yarn to stay with me so that I am complete.
Now that I am aware of this connection, I can work towards change, towards breaking apart the ball of yarn or weaving it into something new and different. I don't know what the yarn will look like when it's finished yet, but I do know that I have to pick an end to start pulling out of the ball. My dialectical behavior therapy skills group recently started talking about the Buddhist loving kindness meditation, and that in order to send loving kindness to others you must first start with yourself. I think the key to finding peace, to breaking the fear of abandonment, is to first accept and love myself. This won't be easy, but I've got to try...as my husband always says, "Who dares wins."
So, I surround myself with people and ask them to tell me who I am, what I should do, where I should go. Every person in my life is like another strand of yarn that becomes woven into the giant ball...I need every strand I can get. A couple of my friends have made jokes over the years about how indecisive I am, how I run everything by them before taking action myself. I always try to laugh it off, but inside I know why I do this. I do it because they know me better than I know myself. I don't know myself, I don't trust myself, I hate the version of myself that I see. I hate that all I see is a giant mess of yarn where everyone else sees beautiful things that the yarn can create. Without having people in my life, I wouldn't get the validation and feedback, the praise and advice, the love and respect that I lack the ability to give myself.
I joke that many of my struggles are that giant ball of yarn all wrapped together, but it's actually very true. I feel empty and out of touch with myself, so I surround myself with people who bring me up and make me feel full. Then I fear that these people will abandon me, so I do and say things out of desperation to pull people closer. Often, though, these desperate measures leave people feeling suffocated or trapped and I become frustrated and angry...and then the person leaves anyway. Losing just one person in my life (a friend asking for space or a student dropping my class) makes me feel empty and worthless. I need every single stand of yarn to stay with me so that I am complete.
Now that I am aware of this connection, I can work towards change, towards breaking apart the ball of yarn or weaving it into something new and different. I don't know what the yarn will look like when it's finished yet, but I do know that I have to pick an end to start pulling out of the ball. My dialectical behavior therapy skills group recently started talking about the Buddhist loving kindness meditation, and that in order to send loving kindness to others you must first start with yourself. I think the key to finding peace, to breaking the fear of abandonment, is to first accept and love myself. This won't be easy, but I've got to try...as my husband always says, "Who dares wins."
30 Days of Me: #10/30
Day 10: Songs You Listen To For Different Emotions
Music When I'm Happy/Excited:
1) 90s/Early 2000s Pop: N'Sync, Britney Spears, Nelly, etc
2) "Smack My Bitch Up" by The Prodigy
3) Anything by Daft Punk
4) 90s/Early 2000s Rap/Hip-Hop
Music When I'm Sad:
1) "Blackout" by Muse
2) Death Cab for Cutie
3) "Drive," "Mexico," and "Miss You" by Incubus
4) "Burn" from the Hamilton Soundtrack
5) Coldplay
6) "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles
7) "The Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice
8) "Adagio for Strings" by Samuel Barber
Music When I'm Angry:
1) "On My Own" by The Used
2) A Perfect Circle
3) "Chop Suey" by System of a Down
4) "Welcome Home" by Coheed and Cambria
5) "Apocalypse Please" by Muse
6) "I'm so Sick" by Flyleaf
7) Chevelle
8) Piano Concerto #2, Mvmt 1 by Sergei Rachmaninoff
Songs When I Need to CTFO:
1) "You're The Storm" by The Cardigans
2) "Samson" and "Eet" by Regina Spektor
3) "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron
4) "Losing My Way" by Justin Timberlake
5) "1-800-273-8255" by Logic
6) Ben Folds
7) "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez
8) "Air for Band" by Frank Erickson
9) Cello Suite #1 in G, Mvt 1 by JS Bach
Thursday, February 15, 2018
30 Days of Me: #9/30
Day 9: Something You're Proud of in the Last Few Days
1) I'm proud of myself for trying to write daily.
2) I'm proud that I've practiced mindfulness all week.
3) I'm proud that I've gotten my online gradebook almost completely up to date.
4) I'm proud of myself for making dinner every night this week (except tonight...).
5) I'm proud of myself for going to therapy today and sharing a lot while being honest.
30 Days of Me: #8/30
Day 8: A Short-Term Goal You Have & Why
Currently one of my main goals that I am practicing daily is mindfulness. Mindfulness is a mental state achieved by focusing on awareness surrounding the present moment. It includes acknowledging and accepting ones emotions, thoughts, and body sensations but not dwelling on them for any length of time. It includes the "how" skills of observing, describing, and participating plus the "what" skills of non-judgementally, one-mindfully, and effectively.
Mindfulness is a major part of dialectical behavior therapy as it helps make the other three areas of DBT (interpersonal skills, emotion regulation, and distress tolerance) possible. I try to practice mindfulness daily in both simple and more complex parts of my day and life. Practicing mindfulness may mean something as simple as clearing my mind the shower and focusing only on the water, how it sounds, how it feels, the temperature, the amount. It may also mean something like labeling my emotions then letting them go. It may also mean trying to see different perspectives of an event by looking at the facts, not forming judgments or opinions. It may also be playing soccer with my girls and husband, eating a sandwich in silence, meditation, or even writing this blog post. It's about embracing the moment.
I'm working on mindfulness for several reasons. I'm working on it so that I can be more present in my life. Over the last six months, I've spent so many moments, hours, and days stuck inside my head and not really active in the moments in my life. I'm working on it so that I can have better awareness and control over my emotions. I often become overwhelmed with emotions and can't figure them out, but if I am more mindful I will hopefully be better at seeing triggers, patterns, and identifying emotions. I'm working on mindfulness so that I can stop being impulsive, speaking out of anger, and ruining relationships. I've made family angry, lost friends, and caused tension with many people because of these moments of "word vomit." Hopefully with mindfulness will come the ability to be more aware of my emotions, letting go of things in the past, and realizations when I need to walk away and come back to something I might regret if I speak immediately.
I'm looking forward to my journey into mindfulness!
Currently one of my main goals that I am practicing daily is mindfulness. Mindfulness is a mental state achieved by focusing on awareness surrounding the present moment. It includes acknowledging and accepting ones emotions, thoughts, and body sensations but not dwelling on them for any length of time. It includes the "how" skills of observing, describing, and participating plus the "what" skills of non-judgementally, one-mindfully, and effectively.
Mindfulness is a major part of dialectical behavior therapy as it helps make the other three areas of DBT (interpersonal skills, emotion regulation, and distress tolerance) possible. I try to practice mindfulness daily in both simple and more complex parts of my day and life. Practicing mindfulness may mean something as simple as clearing my mind the shower and focusing only on the water, how it sounds, how it feels, the temperature, the amount. It may also mean something like labeling my emotions then letting them go. It may also mean trying to see different perspectives of an event by looking at the facts, not forming judgments or opinions. It may also be playing soccer with my girls and husband, eating a sandwich in silence, meditation, or even writing this blog post. It's about embracing the moment.
I'm working on mindfulness for several reasons. I'm working on it so that I can be more present in my life. Over the last six months, I've spent so many moments, hours, and days stuck inside my head and not really active in the moments in my life. I'm working on it so that I can have better awareness and control over my emotions. I often become overwhelmed with emotions and can't figure them out, but if I am more mindful I will hopefully be better at seeing triggers, patterns, and identifying emotions. I'm working on mindfulness so that I can stop being impulsive, speaking out of anger, and ruining relationships. I've made family angry, lost friends, and caused tension with many people because of these moments of "word vomit." Hopefully with mindfulness will come the ability to be more aware of my emotions, letting go of things in the past, and realizations when I need to walk away and come back to something I might regret if I speak immediately.
I'm looking forward to my journey into mindfulness!
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
There's Blood in the Ashes This Wednesday
"For dust you are and to dust you shall return."
As many in America take today to begin a period of penitence and reflection, of sacrifice and fasting, there's news of yet another mass shooting inside a high school in Florida. As some cover their heads in ashes, others get placed into body bags. There's families in prayer and families in mourning.
Families in prayer, families in mourning: it's become such a common place in America. We aren't even sixty days into the new year and there have already been eight mass shootings in schools with injuries or fatalities. Yet we continue to answer violence with nothing but thoughts and prayers, nothing more than words to each other and words to a Higher Power.
Why is violence in our own homes committed by our own children so very different than violence committed by the hands of a child of another country? Why is our answer to violence only more violence or words with no meaning? Words only hold so much power...offering thoughts and prayers only make us feel better that we are powerless to the darkness we've allowed to consume our people because we feel it is our right to do as we damn well please, that it is our entitlement as people of this country to walk down the street with machines that only exist for the purpose to kill.
I'm tired of all of these useless offers of thoughts and prayers. I am angered by the argument that "guns don't kill" I am so sick of the water cooler conversations about how we could solve this problem by arming teachers. Violence does not change violence; hate does not eliminate hate.
I am a teacher: I am trained to help children learn, grow, feel safe, be protected. I am a teacher and I take my job very seriously. I am a teacher, but I'm not trained to have a gun, to know how to avoid having a student take me down for that gun, to know when to fire it. I will happily never purchase a gun in my lifetime, I would be grateful to never hold a firearm even for a moment. But I would also take a bullet for any child at my school without a moment's hesitation. I would do anything and give my life to know that my students were safe...even use my $4,000 flute against a shooter if needed.
I hate that I spend every afternoon questioning if I said or did anything that day that might have upset a child enough that they might return tomorrow with a gun. I hate that I have students that I have seen break down into tears because of the hate others have shown them, because of the pain in their hearts. I hate that I have to hug my girls extra tight on mornings like tomorrow because I fear that there might not be an afternoon to pick them up.
To ashes we may return, but why not in a car crash or a heart attack? Why must so many return to ashes at the hands of another who is armed with a killing machine that my neighbors keep insisting should be available almost everywhere you turn? I could never take the life of another no matter what that person did, not even those that still haunt me in my sleep.
Put down your firearms, your knives, your nuclear weapons and think: what is your life worth? Is the life of a child worth this, worth owning a damn gun?
As many in America take today to begin a period of penitence and reflection, of sacrifice and fasting, there's news of yet another mass shooting inside a high school in Florida. As some cover their heads in ashes, others get placed into body bags. There's families in prayer and families in mourning.
Families in prayer, families in mourning: it's become such a common place in America. We aren't even sixty days into the new year and there have already been eight mass shootings in schools with injuries or fatalities. Yet we continue to answer violence with nothing but thoughts and prayers, nothing more than words to each other and words to a Higher Power.
Why is violence in our own homes committed by our own children so very different than violence committed by the hands of a child of another country? Why is our answer to violence only more violence or words with no meaning? Words only hold so much power...offering thoughts and prayers only make us feel better that we are powerless to the darkness we've allowed to consume our people because we feel it is our right to do as we damn well please, that it is our entitlement as people of this country to walk down the street with machines that only exist for the purpose to kill.
I'm tired of all of these useless offers of thoughts and prayers. I am angered by the argument that "guns don't kill" I am so sick of the water cooler conversations about how we could solve this problem by arming teachers. Violence does not change violence; hate does not eliminate hate.
I am a teacher: I am trained to help children learn, grow, feel safe, be protected. I am a teacher and I take my job very seriously. I am a teacher, but I'm not trained to have a gun, to know how to avoid having a student take me down for that gun, to know when to fire it. I will happily never purchase a gun in my lifetime, I would be grateful to never hold a firearm even for a moment. But I would also take a bullet for any child at my school without a moment's hesitation. I would do anything and give my life to know that my students were safe...even use my $4,000 flute against a shooter if needed.
I hate that I spend every afternoon questioning if I said or did anything that day that might have upset a child enough that they might return tomorrow with a gun. I hate that I have students that I have seen break down into tears because of the hate others have shown them, because of the pain in their hearts. I hate that I have to hug my girls extra tight on mornings like tomorrow because I fear that there might not be an afternoon to pick them up.
To ashes we may return, but why not in a car crash or a heart attack? Why must so many return to ashes at the hands of another who is armed with a killing machine that my neighbors keep insisting should be available almost everywhere you turn? I could never take the life of another no matter what that person did, not even those that still haunt me in my sleep.
Put down your firearms, your knives, your nuclear weapons and think: what is your life worth? Is the life of a child worth this, worth owning a damn gun?
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
30 Days of Me: #7/30
Day 7: Someone/Something That Has Made the Biggest Impact on You
Our lives are shaped by so many events, so many people, so many moments. This makes it hard for me to just write about one person or one thing that has had the "biggest" impact. There's no one piece of the puzzle that's more significant than the rest in my mind: you need each and every piece to see the entire picture. I'm going to try my best to keep it to just a small number tonight and hit the highlights if I can, though, with a few thank you messages to those who have done so much in my life.
To my band directors: thank you for lighting a fire in me that still burns bright nearly twenty years later. Thank you for giving me a beautiful way to express myself, connect with others, and process emotions. Thank you for encouraging me, pushing me, and caring about me. Thank you for letting me spend hours in the band room, for coming to visit me when I was in alternative school, for continuing to check in with me even when I was in college. Thank you for showing me that you can set high expectations, get great results, and still make things fun and positive. I am where I am today and the teacher I am because of each of you. I can only hope that someday I'm half as amazing as you guys!
To Kay Campbell and Mr. Ham plus all of the Academic Team crew: thank you for always helping me increase my knowledge and feeding my thirst for learning. Thank you for many wonderful Saturdays of buzzes and bus rides filled with history. Thank you for letting me be my crazy cool self and expressing the real me so freely.
To Mr. Jean & Bob Scott: thank you for feeding my love of the English language and expression through writing and theatrical productions. I'm almost certain that my continued love of writing, live theater, and ability to speak in public are because of your combined talents. Thank you for believing in me and cultivating my linguistic skills.
To Deanna, Celine, and all of the amazing people who I met at the MTSU Flute Studio: Thank you for believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself. Thank you for showing me that passion and hard work can pay off in time. Thank you for not letting me drown my first semester in college. Thank you for the endless numbers of spa parties and car rides on the rainy days or late nights. Thank you for listening to my scales over and over until I was ready for upper division. Thank you for letting me still see all the great things each of you are doing and inspiring me to continue to better myself. Thank you for National Etude Day and other nonsense days that made even the most mundane skills exciting to do. Thank you for Ian Clarke. Thank you for making me laugh until I almost peed my pants before studio recitals or any other performance I was scared of. Thank you for accepting me even though my talent was far less than all of yours.
To Casey: thank you for loving me even when I'm in pajamas. Thank you for sticking by my side at some of the most challenging of times. Thank you for being a fellow nerd and awkward turtle. Thank you for board games, Magic: The Gathering, and all the space exploration shows/movies. Thank you for our beautiful home and children. Thank you for supporting my writing and my career choices both now and in the future.
To Trustpoint Hospital: Thank you for the ADU. Thank you for IOP. Thank you Devon, Chloe, AJ, Rob, and Mei for being everything I needed even when I didn't know what it really was I even needed. Thank you for continuing to be a place I can go if I need to feel safe and for being people I can call if I ever need.
To Dr. Raphaeli and DBT: thank you for giving me all that you are. Everything is just as it should be, I'm doing the best that I can, and I am making progress.
To my friends past, present, or future: thank you for embracing the spunk and fire. Thank you for all that you've said, done, or shown me. Thank you for riding the waves with me, because there's always been waves at some point or another. Thank you fo the time you spent being my friend, no matter how short or long it lasted.
To everyone who reads this and everyone in my life: thank you for each day. You never know what your smile, your kindness, or your stories do for me. Thank you for making me who I am and joining me on my journey. Thank you for reading this crappy blog and all my other writings.
Day #7...I'm not sure this is what the prompt meant, but this is my version and my truth. Goodnight.
Monday, February 12, 2018
30 Days of Me: #6/30
Day 6: Your Favorite Superhero and Why
What is a hero? Are unnatural powers or super human strength a requirement to be called such a title? Personally, I've never seen the appeal of the traditional superheros like Superman, BatmanB or Wonder Woman. Is it healthy to idolize fictional characters that we can never even strive to be? What makes being a "normal" human so mundane that we can not be even considered super or heroic?
I do not have a favorite superhero in the sense that I believe the question means. I can, however, give you many other fictional characters who are simple, everyday humans but do super and heroic things with their lives. That's what I aspire to be: super and heroic in my everyday life, helping others and trying to fight the evil in the world with my words, my brain, my music...because those are the only powers I possess.
With that being said, I decided that my favorite hero is Princess/General Leia from Star Wars. I see Leia as a badass. She's strong, determined, and smart. She doesn't need a man to save her and she doesn't wait around for someone else to do all the work. She stays true to her morals and values even in the face of danger, and she does everything for the greater good not just herself. Sure, maybe she does have a "superpower" by being Force sensitive, but most of what she does and how she handles things has nothing to do with The Force.
Princess Leia is a total package. She has great influence and is a major part of the reason why the rebellion still hasn't died. Can you say the same about anyone else? I think it's safe to say she has more of her mother in her than her father...because Padme Amadalla is a badass too.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
30 Days of Me: #5/30
Day #5: A Place You've Visited
Chicago. Chi-Town. The Windy City. So many memories both in childhood and early adulthood with the city of Chicago. I love it.
Oh, Chicago, I dream of visiting you in the future perhaps to attend The Midwest Clinic or just for a family vacation. I adored visiting you as a child, was thankful to pass through you a few times with my now husband, and just think you are an absolutely unique city...one of a kind.
30 Days of Me: #4/30
Day #4: Habit(s) You Wish You Didn't Have
I want to preface this with a few things:
1) This was actually a difficult topic for me to focus and write.
2) One of the skills of mindfulness we are working through at DBT Skills Group is to look at things non-judgmentally. Therefore, I tried my best to write about each habit without passing judgement or using labels such as "good," "bad," "worse," "better," etc. My hope is that comes through in the writing.
Habit #1: "Self Blame"
Description: I have a habit of blaming myself for events and reactions that occur in my life, even if it's something completely out of my control. I take frustrations, aggression, and other emotions people express and find ways to make it because of me. My husband has started saying, "It's not all about you," to point out this habit to me.Why This Doesn't Benefit Me: Blame does not change the situations, events, or emotions. Continuously thinking negative thoughts about myself will not help me improve my mood or make progress along my journey.
Healthier Methods: Being able to look at the facts of a situation or event without assigning or implying any blame helps everyone see the situation just as it is and allows for everyone to find ways to improve the situation or event for the future. Everyone is entitled to having emotions, but that doesn't mean that I need to agree or feel the same...and it definitely doesn't make it my fault that they have these emotions. Allowing people to own their feelings without taking them on myself will make my relationships healthier.
Habit #2: "Black & White Thinking"
Description: I tend to see things as only 'black' or 'white,' 'good' or 'bad.' This causes me to constantly reflect and pass judgement on all of my actions, words, thoughts, or feelings. This thinking makes everything into an extreme or absolute.Why This Doesn't Benefit Me: When I use this mindset, I tend to be very hard on myself and only focus on the negative.
Healthier Methods: Being able to look at the facts of a situation will help. Also realizing that there are shades of grey in life will make a difference. Remembering that everything in this moment is just as it should be and that I am doing the best I can will allow me to work on this habit to improve myself further.
Habit #3: "Regretting the Past and Worrying About the Future"
Description: I spend many hours reflecting on the past and/or contemplating the future. This leads to feeling regret and fear almost constantly, which means I hesitate or question every single thing I do in the present.Why This Doesn't Benefit Me: I cannot change the past or predict the future, so focusing so much on either only causes pain.
Healthier Methods: Mindfulness! Being focused in the present moment leads to greater happiness and greater feelings of connection to those around me and the universe as a whole.
Friday, February 9, 2018
30 Days of Me: #3/30
Day #3: Pictures of Your Animals
We are a cat family...
Cat #1--Bruce
Bruce is our "special" kitty. We adopted him in 2013 and he's a very noisy, very timid, very small, very fluffy cat. He only really loves Casey and he's terrified of the girls. He also has hip dysplasia and walks funny as a result. His favorite hobbies are sleeping on top of Casey, meowing when he can't find Casey, and hiding from the girls.
Cat #2--Fritter
Fritter was a stray that was wandering our street in the fall of 2016. We started feeding her but hesitated on bringing her inside...until we discovered she was pregnant. So we brought Mama Fritter in, let Meredith name her, and the rest is history. She can often be seen in a window, longing for the world she used to rule, but secretly she's a big lap cat who loves attention and the simple life of an indoor cat.
Cat #3--Snickerdoodle
"We're NOT keeping the kittens!" Oh, wait, I guess this one is sweet...okay, just one.
Snickerdoodle is our massive baby cat. He is approximately 20 pounds, thinks he's human, and proudly enjoys being "large and in charge." Snickerdoodle and Meredith are nearly inseparable: he sits with her, he plays in the bath with her, he even climbs into the top bunk at bedtime to sleep with her. He's the first cat we've raised from birth, which may be why he insists on bossing Eleanor around and sitting at the dinner table with us. He's a pretty funny dude!
And, finally, an ode to friends of old...we miss you, Harley & Sylvia. Our original kitty babies who moved with us multiple times and sadly left this world too soon. We miss them both so very much.
30 Days of Me: #2/30
Day 2: Explain the Meaning Behind Your Blog Name
My blog is called "Life...or Something Like It" and my name is "musicmaker182." Besides the fact that I highly enjoy using movie and song titles to title my posts and the blog itself is a movie title, there's a personal meaning behind the title. The blog is essentially my personal blog and tends to be about whatever in my life I feel like writing at that exact moment. Life is beautiful, messy, chaotic, and never like we plan. So that's what the title is meant to portray.
My username 'musicmaker182' is a combination of what I do and the last three digits of my lunch number from middle school. Previous to adopting that as my go-to username, I used 'wizard_juanita' which really had nothing to do with me at all, it just happened to be my favorite character from a great book series I read as a teen. Once nerdy, always nerdy.
Stay nerdy, my friends.
My blog is called "Life...or Something Like It" and my name is "musicmaker182." Besides the fact that I highly enjoy using movie and song titles to title my posts and the blog itself is a movie title, there's a personal meaning behind the title. The blog is essentially my personal blog and tends to be about whatever in my life I feel like writing at that exact moment. Life is beautiful, messy, chaotic, and never like we plan. So that's what the title is meant to portray.
My username 'musicmaker182' is a combination of what I do and the last three digits of my lunch number from middle school. Previous to adopting that as my go-to username, I used 'wizard_juanita' which really had nothing to do with me at all, it just happened to be my favorite character from a great book series I read as a teen. Once nerdy, always nerdy.
Stay nerdy, my friends.
Even In My Dreams (A Poem)
Sometimes you still haunt me
Even in my dreams
I can feel you touching me
When I'm fast asleep
I hate it when you show up
As I close my eyes
Your voice makes me shiver
Your face makes me cry
I've lost a lot of sleep from you
As the years go by
I wish I could just forget you
I wish the memories would die
Even in my dreams
I can feel you touching me
When I'm fast asleep
I hate it when you show up
As I close my eyes
Your voice makes me shiver
Your face makes me cry
I've lost a lot of sleep from you
As the years go by
I wish I could just forget you
I wish the memories would die
Thursday, February 8, 2018
30 Days of Me: Day #1/30
Day #1: A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself.
1) I was born three weeks after my due date.
2) When I was a child I had an imaginary friend named Brian.
3) I loved Hootie & The Blowfish, Ben Folds 5, and Matchbox 20 when I was in elementary school...and of course Spice Girls.
4) I traveled to Canada to see Pope John Paul II. It was probably the most spiritual experience I've had in my life.
5) I've said that I wanted to be a teacher since I was in elementary school and specifically a band director since 7th grade.
6) I placed in our school talent show in highschool by performing a monologue...a monologue that I wrote.
7) I have a published poem.
8) My most prized possession is my flute. I had a beginner model flute all the way through high school and was finally able to buy a professional model with a lot of graduation money and a little help from my parents.
9) I still get nervous before every concert I conduct or play.
10) I met my husband for the first time while wearing pajamas with blue flames on them...yep, I'm a keeper.
11) I only ended up applying to one college.
12) I once answered a question at a quiz bowl competition with a word I completely made up, but it didn't matter because we beat MLK!
13) I know a lot about theatrical lighting.
14) I once popped my knee out of socket while doing the "Cha Cha Slide" but my friends thought I was just goofing around when I hit the floor.
15) I enjoy learning new things, especially about areas like religion/spirituality, cultures, and psychology.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)