Reflecting Back on 2019

What a year this has been. It’s been a year that has dragged on, it’s been a year that has flown by.

When I left the Bad Situation in December 2018, I was terrified of 2019. What it would look like, what it would mean to me. I was afraid of the unknown and change. But for us to grow, our old selves must moult and die.

In the last dredges of spring 2018, I had willingly, hesitantly, worriedly added my name to the waitlist for an intensive therapy outpatient program. I waited and waited and by late summer, I received a call that I was next up on the list. I balked and asked to be pushed back until the next opening. I wasn’t ready, I didn’t have my affairs in order. I didn’t have my head on straight. I used all of these excuses to stay stuck and safe, even if it was slowly eating me alive.

Then in the fall of 2018, I received yet another call. It was time. I had to stop being afraid and take the plunge. I left the Bad Situation in December 2018, rushed to get my affairs in order, and finally, in January 2019, I entered treatment.

Half of 2019 was spent healing myself. I look back at treatment and am proud of myself. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but it was also the most rewarding. It was twelve weeks long. Twelve torturous weeks of walking through hell. Dealing with the past, facing consequences of a reckless life spent (mentally) ill, immersing myself in past traumas to finally face them and let them go. It was cathartic, and it wasn’t easy. But I survived. I found my strength and resilience. It was in me all along. I just didn’t know it until treatment.

I do miss treatment, I miss the structure, the cathartic verbal purging of my soul and mind, and I miss group therapy. But all good and bad things must come to an end. At the end of the twelve weeks, I ‘graduated’. I was healing and just starting my journey.

I look back at the beginning half of 2019 and try to remind my present self that I was so confident in my skin, I liked myself, I liked who I had become, I was strong.

It’s a struggle. A struggle to try and continue to be that person at the end of treatment. To remember that person. The person that exuded self-like and confidence. I did fall back into my old behaviours a few times this year, but that was to be expected. I’m still struggling and still learning how to execute all that I learned in treatment. 

Today…

 

I am here.

 

 

Frenetically Bored…

I’ve all but disappeared from social media and this blog. I scheduled posts but I haven’t written anything original or interesting in awhile. If I don’t post or don’t have an online presence, do I exist? This, of course, is an existential question for another day. But it’s one that I think about often. In our technological age, there is this pressure to constantly post and have an online presence, otherwise, we feel as though we don’t exist. Okay, so this is what I feel, at least. But that is not the point of this post. 

I have been filled with this frantic frenetic energy lately. Even now, as I type this, I’m fidgeting and shifting in my chair. I’m bored but I don’t have any motivation to do anything. I’m bored with being bored, I’m bored with life, I’m bored, bored, bored. And yes, I am boring too. 

Reflecting over the past year…

On this day last year, I was struggling.

I remember the day exactly. I had woken up feeling good. I had gone to the library to rent a stack of cookbooks to find inspiration to make my dad an appreciation dinner for taking care of me; his adult kid who can’t even take care of herself most days.

Then my mood had taken quite a beating.

There had been a woman with her companion snickering and laughing and making rude comments about me and the stack of books I was checking out. She had even gone so far as making a grand show of waiting impatiently for me to finish, despite there being other unoccupied self-checkout kiosks for her to use. This stupid little interaction had bothered me, eaten away at me. Something so silly and trivial had impacted me. When I look back at this interaction, I roll my eyes at how this grown woman had acted and how I had let it affect me.

 

This time last year, I was on the precipice of a breakdown, relapsing, trying to leave an abusive relationship/environment, my self-care had become non-existent and I was on the waiting list for treatment.

I was a mess.

Closure and saying goodbye…

On Saturday, I saw my psychiatrist for the first time in months and later I found out, for the last time. 

He spends Monday to Friday in a hospital but works Saturdays seeing clients at a clinic. I found out that he was ending his Saturdays at the clinic. I was happy to hear that since I knew he had mentioned his fear of burning out and working to exhaustion but the happiness selfishly ebbed when I realized it was goodbye. 

He was the reason I am stable today. Sure, treatment and intensive therapy have helped immensely but without him, I know I wouldn’t be in such a fantastically bright place as I am today. With his aid, I was able to wean myself off of Seroquel, the first drug I was prescribed when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder back in 2015. I feel energetic and lighter than I’ve felt in a long time. I also started a new medication which has helped stabilize me. 

I owe most of these positive changes to him and I am indebted to him. I am filled with gratitude for this doctor that helped me tremendously. He was the first doctor to listen to me, the first one to care. 

When he told me, I was heartbroken. It was a short visit, mostly to get refills for my prescriptions and mainly to say goodbye. I gave my thanks and forced myself not to cry. I didn’t care if my makeup smeared, that hasn’t stopped me from crying before and it won’t now. I didn’t want to cry because this was a happy goodbye. 

Trying to feel grateful…

is hard when you’re down in the dumps. For some reason, being ungrateful is easy (though it only adds more shame to the awfulness) and trying to be grateful is quite hard. For me, at least.

Depression and/or mental illness is very insular and internal, it takes all of our focus and turns it inwards. It’s easy to get lost in the fog in our heads and lose touch with the world around us. It’s not that I want to slip and fall backwards, I don’t (who actually wants that?!) but after spending a lifetime being depressed and self-destructive, it’s instinctual to do so.

I was watching a drama yesterday and the theme of the show was, being grateful for the people in our lives and our relationships with each other, as opposed to worshipping the material.

I don’t have a job anymore and my finances is a horror movie at the moment. Every little bump in the road seems cataclysmic. Radical acceptance is hard, turning the mind is harder and so I turn to reframing, or at least, gratefulness.

It’s so easy to focus on what we don’t have and all that we want than being thankful for all that we have and most of all, grateful for the people in our lives.

It doesn’t diminish or even negate my (and our) current struggles but it does help me feel more connected and less isolated.

Yes, I’m doing this on my own but I have support, people that love me and those that are my lighthouses, standing tall amidst the storm, beckoning me back home.

And it’s here, even in my struggles and in the uncertainty that the future holds, where I feel grateful. For all that I have and for all the people in my life. When I think about it that way, being grateful is easy.

Had therapy today

and I feel refreshed and recharged. Still exhausted and working on my writing.

If I am not seen, do I exist?

I’ve been working hard on my poetry, editing, revising and rewriting. I’m at that point where everything is shit and if I could press the delete button, I’d delete myself.

Radical acceptance or forceful denial?

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m currently struggling. With life? Trying not to relapse? With my new job? Okay, so life in general.

I’ve been trying to reframe my thoughts and tell myself, “accept what I can change and accept all that I can’t.”

Has it worked? Not really but I’m trying. I’m constantly turning my mind away from the negativity that threatens to engulf me and towards positivity. It’s hard, really hard and I’m discouraged. All I want to do is give up, give in and fade away. Go back to my old habits and self-destruct.

Am I lying to myself–convincing myself over and over how great things are (or at least, how great things should be)? Or am I practicing radical acceptance? I think I know which one I’m stuck in.

Hopefully this funk will leave soon and I can go back to talking about makeup and skincare! Here’s to hoping…

Good morning.

I’ve been feeling really down and shitty lately (I mean, depressed, extremely sad, alternating between catatonic and crying, eating or not eating and insomnia). My job is the reason and I know I should just quit because I don’t want to become sick again. I’m close to relapsing, I’m aware of it. This job is slowly poisoning me but I hate the idea of quitting. Plus, I don’t know my limit and tend to push myself until I snap. So there’s that too.

My dad is worried (I’ve downplayed this to everyone else in my life) and I’ve made an appointment with my therapist next week. But I work the next five days and I’m freaked out, wondering if I can emotionally handle it. But I will. Since my dad is so worried, he dragged me out of the house (figuratively) and we went to a cafe for cappuccinos.

I feel a little better. But that’s going to have to be enough for now.