Just a Quick Update

This is just an update. Not really any reflection like I usually like to offer. I needed to update my blog, though.

Still working hard to stay healthy/get healthy. I've had a few mistakes here and there, but I'm doing pretty well. Still not feeling great. My therapist said the feelings are the last thing to change. Sometimes I catch myself getting depressed about being depressed, which is one thing they really made sure to steer me away from at partial. That is what causes me to start feeling hopeless--if I start thinking about how hard I'm working, yet I still feel poorly, or the fact that I've had two major depressive episodes in three years. Lately, I've been really down about having to quit work. I like my job. It gives me confidence. I'm getting to be pretty good at it. I just don't have the energy for it, which just serves as a reminder that depression is still ruining aspects of my life even though I'm trying so hard.

I'm going home this weekend to get a tattoo. It will be a bracelet with the words "Wisdom. Courage. Growth." I want it to be a reminder that I survived such hardship. I get down on myself a lot for having to go through all of this. I hope the tattoo will be a positive reminder to focus on all of the work I've done and how far I've come. Maybe that will stop me from focusing on how hard I've worked and what hasn't happened.

I am not feeling very creative right now. I'm supposed to be writing a creative essay, which I love. I just don't feel like I can live up to my full potential right now. I'm going to write through this brick wall, though.

Getting By

I'm still working very hard to be healthy. I am proud of myself for this. My therapist mentioned that maybe I shouldn't be in school, but I think I can handle it--just not sure about making up work from the semester before.

I finally signed up for a Spanish tutor today. I don't know why I put it off so long. I'm glad I finally did it, though. I am supposed to be writing, so I can't blog much. It had just been a while, and I have had a lot on my mind. Therapy is good at stirring up old issues and then you work to gain a new perspective on it.

I'm skipping a meeting right now. It's for my English club. I want to go to a slam poetry reading instead. I could make both, but that would leave me no time for writing, which is my homework. I am reading a poem or two at a beautiful park up here for a program called, "Art Day in the Park." Should be fun. I'm the only undergraduate, though, and the poems are not fully written yet, so I hope I can have something solid to read. It's supposed to be inspired by the park.

I wiped out pretty hard core on my skateboard Sunday night. It wasn't my fault. I was going down one of those ramp-like drops in the sidewalk before it turns to asphalt. I had my center of balance low, because the asphalt was all torn up. I was expecting to fall. BUT, I made it onto the asphalt and it was slowing me down, so I relaxed and got thrown off the skateboard, bouncing forward on my stomach. I have a nice bruise on my stomach, some scrapes on my hand, and a nice bruise on most of my right kneecap. It really could have been a lot worse. It didn't hurt too much. I got up and said, "Skate on." Laura laughed, but we still walked the rest of the way home. When I get some money saved up, I should buy a helmet.

I'm off to write for real.

Silhouettes of Bees On My Blinds

My blinds are closed because the sun was in my eyes. Now, I keep getting distracted by the silhouettes of bees who are lingering outside my window. Marlee is sleeping in a ball at the foot of my unmade bed. I'm feeling restless, which is probably better than feeling physically and mentally exhausted. The last couple of days I've felt stuck, lethargic, even paralyzed. It is similar to how I felt in the hospital: isolated, disappointed, hopeless, tired of the same routines.

I'm just as confused as everyone else about my isolation. I know I have great friends and family. They would never want me to feel stuck & alone. My priorities are so different than most college students. I'm no longer impressed or excited by parties, bars, or drunken drama. I feel like I was catapulted onto some isolated island in the sky. I have a more mature, wiser, wider perspective on my perceptions of the world, but that doesn't make being stuck in the sky alone feel any better.

This disconnect I feel from everyone has been good for my writing. I met with my poetry prof. He said my poems are fierce and brave. That really helped validate me. I often feel like I don't have anything to contribute to anyone anymore. I'm more assertive than I've ever been, and I'm proud of the way I have been standing up against things that feel wrong to me. It's like moving mountains sometimes (sorry for the cliche).

When I rode up to school with Kaitlin (Sailor's sister :), we were talking about how it is most difficult to stand up for what we believe in to our friends. She mentioned how it is hard, because you know damn well as soon as you leave, they will all be like, "what was her problem?" instead of really considering whatever it is you are standing up for because it's easier not to.

I've had a lot of conversations about race recently. I'm frustrated with the way Caucasians assume they have a right to target an entire race due to interactions with people of that race. It kills me when someone will make racially insensitive comments, and then say, "What? I have 2 Black friends." My response is always, "Have you talked about race and discrimination with them? Do you have any idea what kind of pain they have because of society and their skin color? If so, do you think you can comment on an entire race because you know two African-Americans?"

Mainstream culture tells us not to talk about race because it makes people uncomfortable. This makes racism more prevalent, because repression is never good. Make friends from different back grounds. Talk about your concerns about race. Everyone, regardless of race, has racist thoughts. I've talked to my friends of color about that before, too. The people who claim they have no racist thoughts are usually the ones who are "naively racist." I heard a professor use that term, talking about how so much racism is sub-conscious and out of ignorance as opposed to hate. It's really sparked by fear. Fear of people who are different--fear of acknowledging those differences--fear of admitting discomfort.

I'm also scared by the way people take isolated incidents of reverse racism, and use that to validate their own thoughts about an entire race. That is one thing I think that most Caucasians do not fully understand because we are in the majority. When we mess up, people judge us, not our entire race. We don't feel that pressure of representing our entire race. It's kind of like my experience as an American in Spain. Any of mine or Laura's behavior could either change or confirm negative images Europeans have of Americans. Even though, we are only two American College Students, and we cannot represent the other thousands of college students throughout the country.

This was just a freewrite. I'm not sure I like where it went, but it was nice to publicize some negativity that has been weighing down my brain.

Writing with Courage

"Courage is doing what you are afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared." -Eddie Rickenbacker

I realize I don’t have distance on my hospitalizations and depression, so I’m scared to write about it. If I examine that fear, I discover that it is more about not wanting to feel uncomfortable, knowing I’m making the reader uncomfortable. Comfort can be a prison that too many do not escape. I understand that it can be immature to be so blunt, bold, and fierce with my most private thoughts. I also know that I have a sickness that I am learning to deal with. It is a sickness that the majority of people, either don't believe in, or at least can’t stand to hear about it. What does that tell those who are sick? The disease takes over ones rationality, so they already have a distorted, negative self-image. If we, as a society, are telling those who suffer from depression that their illness is not real or that it's not okay to talk about--just to make our own selves feel more at ease; that is selfish. To a depressed person, both of those reactions are the same as if you were telling them it is their fault. They already feel like it is their fault, so any outside voices suggesting even remotely the same thing will be much louder than those who validate their sickness.

I can’t let fear for what other people think of me stop me from writing truth. It will be hard to take such intense pieces of writing to my creative non-fiction class, considering I know pretty much the whole class from different places. I will not want to feel so vulnerable so quickly in there, but I feel like this is urgent. I want to write essays that creep people out, forcing them to realize how depression is truly a sickness that changes a person’s logic. I want my essays to make people angry and cry. On top of all of this, I want my essays to make people laugh and show some sort of beauty even in the midst of a tragedy.

That’s a lot I want to do this semester with my writing. I would rather dream big, though, and fall short, then sell myself short and just never try. I need and deserve to be heard. It’s all about persistence and passion. I think I have both.

Here Comes the Sun

Things are really looking up for me. I'm proud of everything I have accomplished this summer. I still cannot get over the fact that last Monday night, in a matter of moments, I made the independent decision that I was going to move back to school the next morning in order to attend Partial. I packed my clothes (luckily, most my things were already packed due to putting our house on the market) even in the middle of my hysterical crying fit. I am thankful Kristin was able to sit and listen to me whine and feel sorry for myself without judging me.

I feared that I should go back to the psych. unit, but it was late, and my mom didn't think she could stay awake to drive that long of a distance. I settled for my night time pills, a nice shower, and a massage from Ashlee to calm me down enough to sleep.

I woke up bright and early, said goodbye to everyone (after my mom took me to the gas station to get gas and put air in my tires), and drove alone on the expressway for my first time, conquering my paralyzing driving anxiety. I left a voicemail for the people at partial, warning them I was coming that day, and after 2 hours of driving alone, I rang the doorbell, was greeted by the nurse, and signed myself into partial.

I worked very hard every day, and I am grateful to the wonderful people at partial (patients and workers). In just four days, I felt confident enough to begin classes on Monday. I would never have guessed I would progress so quickly. The workers at partial were very proud of me, too. On the last day, the therapist told me that they always teach relapse prevention classes, but very few people follow their instructions. He said in his 20 years of working there, he could probably count on one hand the patients who have returned to them before a full-blown relapse. He also set me up with a therapist here in town. It was not planned this way, but it turned out to be in walking distance from my apartment. It will be so nice to not have to deal with getting a cab service.

Plus, I had an amazing first session with her. She is very to-the-point, and pieced details of my life together very quickly. She also told me to call her cell even if it is three in the morning should I ever find myself in a position where I need to go to the hospital again. I don't foresee that happening, but I am still pretty unstable in the sense that I feel very excited about my progress or just overwhelmed with grief about what I've been through.

I have had wonderful support from family and friends. Thank you all again. I am now taking ownership for my recovery, but it is certainly easier to keep fighting when I have people giving me hugs, listening, and sending positive messages. I see the sun on the horizon. It got so dark, I finally saw the stars, and now I'm moving on and looking to the morning.

Float On

"Alright, already, we'll all float on. Alright, don't worry, even if things end up a bit too heavy, we'll all float on."-Modest Mouse

I am sore this morning. I don't know why. I might go rollerblading after this. Rollerblading is apparently not a proper word. Every time I spell it, there is a red line under it. I even try it as two words, but it still fails. I guess it has to be rollerblade. It underlines it when I put an "s" on the end, too. That is so weird. I should take that question to a linguist professor I'm facebook friends with. My English club was trying to organize a panel where we had a linguist, a literature prof., and a creative writing prof. too let them duke it out over language.

I have felt worse the past couple of weeks, but overall they have been decent. I spent a couple of nights with some of my best friends from high school. It was so nice to be able to catch up on each other's lives and just lounge around together. Even grocery shopping was fun. We got one of those newer carts for kids where there is a seat/bench sort of thing in between the bar you push the cart with and the actual cart. We took turns sitting in the chair and getting pushed through the isles. Dash was dancing in the isles, and Dawn and Kristin kept making sick faces and using gross voices. I was laughing a good portion of the time.

Last night, I went to a gathering with some of the people from the S. Dakota trips. We drew medicine cards again. This time I drew a jaguar. I guess that represents integrity, and it talked about the importance of staying humble and what an amazing trait forgiveness is. I certainly have some forgiving to do, but I also think that I should stand up for myself for once in my life--I almost see that as part of my integrity, because I really believe in standing up for myself in a respectful way.

I'm very nervous about returning to school. I have a lot of work to make up, and I have had one hell of a time getting an appointment with my psychiatrist and a therapist. I think today I am going to try to call the psychologist I saw a few times my freshman year. I even considered going back to partial this week because that would ease my transition back and allow me to see my psychiatrist on Friday. I don't know if I am really in the kind of shape that could require going to partial. I worry that I am not that bad, and I don't want to be depending on resources that I don't really need. It's tricky because I am not yet needing a program like partial, but I start classes a week from today, and I don't want to continue to get worse and then decide I need more extreme treatment once classes start. I don't know if I can go to partial as more of a preventative step. I probably should call them.

I just can't seem to get out this slump

Life has been hectic. I find I'm getting overwhelmed easier, and I haven't been sleeping as well as I was. It could just be this awful transitional period I'm stuck in. I am scared to go back to school and work. I fear I won't be able to keep up; I think I'm most terrified of relapsing--of going back to the emotional hell I was in and the physical experience of being paralyzed and in the hospital.

I had a good final therapy session yesterday. My therapist talked about how I need to acknowledge how traumatic the three hospitalizations were and realize that I got through it, so I don't really have to be so scared of relapsing, because I have proven to myself that I can keep fighting even when I feel like I have nothing left. She also said that I am probably still in some sort of shock about everything that happened, because I worked myself until I couldn't anymore, and I am functioning and pushing myself again, so it would be easier if I could just pretend this never happened. She said the grief will hit me at some point, so I need to allow myself plenty of time to recover and grieve. I think the key to my success this semester will be to be much more forgiving of myself than I usually am: if I need a break, I will take it, regardless of what other people think. I need to trust my instincts about how I am feeling. I will also need to remember to compliment myself when I am doing well. It's easy to look past everything that's going right and focus on the negative.

Yesterday was one of those days where all I could focus on was negative things. It was like I was using it as a defense mechanism, trying not to feel happy and then be disappointed because I was short on energy. I just felt tired physically and mentally from the second I woke up. I also was purposely focusing on all of the hurtful things that people I love have done to me, so I could push them away. I felt unlovable, so I did what I could to be unlovable. It is like a self-fulfilling prophecy because then I feel guilty and ugly for things I say to people I love to push them away, so then I get down on myself and feel more unlovable, so then I isolate myself more.

I went to bed in tears, and I was able to comfort myself by remembering what my therapist told me about clinical depression. She said most people get depressed for some reason or another during their lifetime, but that clinical depression is something completely different. I tried to remind myself that it's okay to have bad days, and even though I wasn't the lovable person I try to be most days, I also have been through a lot this summer, and I should be proud of my progress and forgiving when I feel depressed for no reason. It is my natural instinct to get angry when I feel depressed for no reason. I feel angry that I feel so bad, I get angry that I don't have a reason to feel depressed because I still feel depressed, and I get mad that I have let people walk all over me in the past. I get angry, and I turn into more of a fighter

On a lighter note, Laura got me new bearings and wheels for my skateboard. It is 10 times faster, and I had a blast riding it last night. I really need to invest in a helmet, though! Next week, I am moving back to school. I'm scared and still hurt by several people up there, so I don't want to go. I am going back as a new person--I've got a new wardrobe, new shoes, new music, new hope.

This has gotten long, considering I am rambling. I would really like to update this more in the next week or so. It will be hard when i get back to school, but I think I should self-reflect via blogging more often.

Another Entry I'm too Tired to Proof Read

My computer has been in and out of the Apple Repair shop three different times. I did not blog during all of this, and that is why.

I am taking a lot of things in--learning to feel again. It can be very positive or incredibly painful. The way my spirit can die and be reborn intrigues and amazes me. I am so different from the person I was 6 months ago. My priorities, my beliefs, me friendships, my ideas about relationships, and my poetry are all changed.

I am less anxious since everything I have been through. I think hitting the bottom helped me realize that I can still push off of it to surface and breathe--makes it seem less scary. My anxiety is still very real, but it is less paralyzing. A good example is when I drove to Ann Arbor last week. I am still too anxious to drive downtown, and I was a little anxious driving to the mall. Once I did it, I was so proud of myself and confident. I bought myself a shirt as a reward, and I was able to talk myself out of the guilt I felt for spending money I don't have.

I'm eating Sun Chips right now, and I wonder why I can't lose the ten pounds my meds caused me to gain. Today my mom bought me new bras and pants because I am too big for all of them. It's nice to have pants that fit, but it was discouraging to try on a pair that was still too tight in the thighs. It made me want to cry, because I can't find bras or jeans that fit right because my body has changed so much. I have been doing a really great job at sticking with working out. My arms are stronger than they have been since High School. I haven't seen as much results with the cardio workouts I do, but I am amazed at how fast we can improve at lifting. Seeing such quick and drastic results from lifting weights with my arms, has given me concrete evidence of my health improving. Sometimes it is easy for me to think I am still sick as ever, but thinking about how much stronger I am, both physically and mentally, keeps me from relapsing because I realize what a long way I have come.

I am off for the evening. I have a busy day tomorrow: ride bike to work out, bike home, shower, make Ashley a card for her nun party, do hair/make up, get dressed up, and attend mass where she makes her vows, eat dinner there, party with the nuns, and before I know it, it will be night time :)

I work in one small town.

I got a new battery for my computer and replaced the CD drive. It is wonderful to have a fully functioning computer again. It's especially enjoyable if I accidently bump the chord and my whole computer doesn't shut down.

I am falling asleep. My night time meds are very powerful. Almost too powerful. I don't like how tired they make me. I feel like I'm not in control when I take them. I just fall asleep anywhere and everywhere. I usually don't go to bed until around 10:30, so I'm trying to make myself stay awake until then.

I've been coloring a lot lately. I like crayons. I am frustrated by unsharpened crayons, but I like the image and symbolism behind dull crayons. In fact, I'd like to find a place for dull crayons in a poem. Speaking of poems, I worked on/wrote anywhere from 2-5 poems. I was a hermit all weekend--in this sort of manic, "don't bother me--I'm writing" phase. Those instances are rare but rewarding, especially after such a long, frustrating type writer's block.

I would like to be writing a poem right now. I have an idea for the subject, emotions, and endings. I can't figure out how to start. I can't figure out the best way to articulate my feelings because they are so specific. It's hard to be passionate and creative when I'm having trouble keeping my eyes opened. I've been told by many people that I look stoned at night when my drugs are kicking in. It really is embarrassing if I don't know the people I am with very well. They will be talking and I just start dozing off in the middle.

Today at work, I was frustrated by a conversation some coworkers and I had about therapists. They asked about my brother's job. Then one young woman I work with said, "How do you get someone to go to therapy?" I said that if the person is an adult, you can't make them go. You can try to help them understand that therapy is healthy for anyone and everyone. People assume you need to be desperate, crazy, or overly-emotional or angry. I talked about how I would like to reduce the stigmas attached to mental health problems (not admitting my own struggles with them), and one of my coworkers talked about a family from her small town that went to family counseling. They talked about how much this family fought. Not only was I frustrated that they were judging this family for getting help, but I was frustrated that they could only give one example of one family. Are they really that sheltered from the harsh reality of mental health struggles? I wish I could talk to them each one-on-one and explain that I have struggles and still function okay. I think it would really blow their mind to know I have such severe depression because I make sure to be joyful for the children and polite to my coworkers every day. They think I'm extra "nice" or something like that. It feels like high school again where everyone has these expectations for me that I cannot live up to.

I really need to go. I am falling asleep. i am not rereading this because I can't even stay awake to hardly type this.

Advice to Young Poets

by Martin Espada

Never pretend

to be a unicorn

by sticking a plunger on your head

Just don't give a ---- (Eminem Title for you non-Eminem listeners)

I am not a point where blogging sounds appealing. I am only writing this because it has been so long. I feel tired, overwhelmed, and frustrated most days...not to mention, a little apathetic. The idea of writing down how I feel for other people just sounds like unnecessary effort right now.

Work is stressful these days. I feel overwhelmed a lot, but I love those kids more than they could imagine. They sometimes make me feel like I have a reason for living. I don't want to type more about my job, but there are always plenty of stories from the kids.

I'm isolating myself a lot. I stay busy with work, so quiet time is nice. This is all lame. I'm not writing much of substance.

At work, we had a discussion about Eminem, and I went on this passionate rant about how much I enjoy the way he plays with words. Everyone was surprised that I like Eminem so much when I am the "liberal feminist crazy" in a small town school. I will say that I can understand why people are confused about me being both a feminist and Eminem fan. It's very complex to explain. I would actually like to write an essay and use quotes from his songs. He certainly uses hateful words and is degrading to women, but if you listen to all of his songs, and not just one out of context of the album, you will see that he is passionate, self-reflecting, depressed, funny, lonely, and sensitive. He is one of the only rappers I know who openly admits about crying in so many of his songs. He also says these hateful things about his wife, but then openly admits his hypocrisy in a song, "When I'm Gone"-- He talks about how he is ignoring his daughter to write songs where he then says that he loves her so much and talks about how he causes her pain by rapping about hurting her mother who is a "spitting image" of her.

I understand people are worried about Eminem's hateful songs. Hate is horribly scary. I understand the power of words. It terrifies me to think that people listen to Eminem's songs and take them literally or try to mimic them. He does encourage homophobic, misogynistic thinking on the surface. It is kind of like racy comedians like Sarah Silverman. If you understand their image/act, it's great entertainment, but there is the risk that some ignorant people will quote what they say in a literal sense. In the song Eminem did over the old AeroSmith "Sing for the Moment" song, he says, "If my music is literal, then I'm a criminal, how the F*** could I raise a little girl? I couldn't. I wouldn't be fit to..."

I know some people who are on the other end and talk about his genius. I think he is brilliant with words and rhythm, but he is not trained as a writer, and it shows. Sure, he has cliches and inappropriate usage of swearing, but if you can get past that, he plays with words, rhythms, letter sounds, and content better than many poets. On the way to work, I try to keep up with Eminem rapping on some of my favorite tracks. It is incredibly hard; I am really proud that I can keep up while he raps a couple of first verses in songs.

I realize most people will not take this seriously, but when I get my CD burner fixed, I will gladly burn people an Eminem mix with an annotated list of songs, explaining what lyrics to pay attention to, which allusion is which, and maybe you will not write him off as another celebrity with no talent. I know too many activists who write him off too fast. Respecting his passion and talent can lead to reaching groups of people with ideas about love and respect that might not otherwise listen. I am very tired because my meds are kicking in. I hope this makes sense, I'm not rereading it. I'm going to bed. ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZzzZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzz

Healing (For Real This Time)

Well, I can't believe I have to report I spent ten more days in the hospital since the last post. It didn't feel like ten days, though. The days all blur together in there. Not going outside will do that to a person, I guess.

I feel like it's redundant for me to say that this third hospitalization was traumatic to the point of feeling unbearable at points, but still a positive experience in the long run. I realize I said the exact same thing after the first two. Each hospitalization took me further and further into my mind, digging at layers and layers that were covered in dust and spiders. This stay turned out to be the most intense of them, because I was forced to completely break down. I couldn't hide behind any protective layering anymore because I was incredibly desperate for a change with this being my third stay. One day I will write about the little details, conversations with staff, therapists, the psychiatrist, strip-searches, and my 30 minute crying spell where the nurses wouldn't leave me alone. I hope to write about it in the fall when I take my creative non-fiction course. Until then, I am not ready to write about all of that.

I honestly can't believe I have continued to fight and survive such trecherous waters. I am participating in a partial hospitalization program that is really helping me gain confidence in my ability to heal. I felt so hopeless for so long that it wasn't until yesterday when my therapist asked me how I could still believe I wouldn't get better when I already was getting better. I don't think it was just that comment that led to my good day and new found hope yesterday. We also had a very intense group therapy session that had most people choked up. The session made me incredibly angry--almost to the point of tears, but the point of the session was for us to acknowledge, accept, and not judge our feelings. I allowed myself to be angry, and it proved to be very healing.

Yesterday was the first day I could confidently say, "I had a good day" after. I was smiling a genuine smile due to my new hope, I laughed genuinely with Laura which was incredibly good, considering it was our last night together until August (unless I can afford a trip to N. Carolina). It's funny that we have only been friends for a little over a year, but due to our love for intense conversations and truth, in addition to the convenience of living 3 blocks away from each other--we've gotten used to seeing each other every day, even learned to depend on seeing each other every day. I think the summer will be a great opportunity for us both to heal and grow independently, yet still remain best friends. A group of us went to dinner to say goodbye to Laura. Then, she and I went skateboarding in the parking lot across from my house. I found five dollars in the grass on the way there. I thought, "wow this really is my first good day."

After skateboarding, Tammy and Danielle joined us for some good ol' fashion fun of watching capsules with sponge creatures inside desolve in hot water inside of our big, bright blue cookie bowl. We tried to guess which capsule would be which creature. I cheated and guessed mine was one of three creatures...it proved to be none of the three.

Today at partial, I slept nearly all day during the groups. I think it was the time changes the doctor made in my medication and the fact that I took my night time meds later last night so I could stay up to hang out with Tammy and Laura for one last night. I can't believe how I would just dose during our meetings. I slept through a video too. I felt like I was 95, or something of the sort.

Friday will be my last day of the partial program. I am much healthier or confident than I have been in ages, but I'm still nervous to return to the real world. It's amazing how emotionally and physically draining mental illness can be. After all of that, I will move home. It won't be long and I will start work. I hope the kiddies can help my healing process. They are just overflowing with love. It's contagious.

How Does it Feel?

I spent another 8 days in the hospital since the last entry. The second hospitalization was just as life-changing and traumatic as the first one. I not only hit rock bottom, but was dragged along it--unfazed by the scrapes, burns, and even broken bones. Despite the hospital experiences contributing to, even causing, the broken bones and trauma, I know my experiences there were incredibly powerful and positive. I just can't believe how my perspective, priorities, relationships, and writing has changed in such a quick time. 

I'm currently not writing. I'm still pretty fragile and wounded from the hospital. It's hard to have any sort of obligations, even when it's something I enjoy. In fact, I didn't even want to write this. I am fighting my apathy and lack of concentration because I need creative outlets in my life. I feel creatively dead, but I am starting to get excited for my creative rebirth. I feel it coming. I know I have good material inside me. I also wanted to write this because there has been a lot of unease amongst my friends and family. Most people can't connect with what I experienced, so they feel distant. 

The first hospitalization was not planned, so I received a lot of criticism for not letting my loved ones know how bad I was feeling. I explained that I do not like to burden people, and I can tell who genuinely wants to know how I feel and who doesn't. Plus, I knew they wouldn't understand. A friend of mine said, "You didn't give us a chance to understand." I really took that to heart. 

After the first hospitalization, I let everyone know how I was doing if they asked. I told many people I was not functioning, eating, and I was scared that I would have to go back to the hospital. Many of those same people did not follow up with questions of how I was doing after that. They couldn't understand, as I had feared, and pulled away. I felt like I went against my gut-feeling to give people more of a chance, and some of the things I feared came true. Also, my honesty had everyone worried and calling me or my mom a million times a day. I hate to worry people; however, the phone calls were good because they convinced me the only option I had was to go to the hospital again. It is a good thing I went when I did because my first few days and nights in the hospital were my worst ever. I was not sleeping, so I didn't get dressed or shower. I barely showed up for group therapy and didn't talk when I did. I even thought I was hearing voices one night because my brain started dreaming while I was awake. I didn't know what was happening, so I freaked out, thinking I had finally snapped and gone completely insane. I had no hope for getting better. That is why I didn't care about group, or even one-on-one, therapy. I didn't believe it could help me. I didn't believe the doctor could help me. I just laid in bed wishing to die, wondering how I could go on living like this forever. I knew my loved ones needed me to stay alive, I just couldn't imagine where I would find the energy to do that.

After the doctor found a combination of drugs that seemed to, at least, get me out of bed, I finally felt I could fight the depression again. I am still incredibly depressed. I can't be happy or even content anywhere. When I'm away at school, I'm miserable, thinking how I will feel better when I can rest at home. At home, I'm just as depressed, and try to tell myself being back at school with my friends will help. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be there. I don't really want to be. As depressing as that may sound, I'm slowly doing better. I am eating three meals a day and sleeping a little more regularly. I set daily goals like we did in the hospital, and I am successful achieving them more days than not. I am actually doing my homework for therapy, but I'm still pretty discouraged with the whole process. I have so much work to do. I am not yet ready to take responsibility over this sickness. I just want someone to tell me I am sick so I can feel like a victim for a minute--just to lose this guilt for thinking this is all my fault. It doesn't work like that, though. Mental health, in general, doesn't work like that. My therapist keeps urging me to think deeper into my responsibility and things I can change. It scares me, and part of me still feels like I can't do it, so on bad days I wonder why try?

I'm writing this while in a depressed mood. That makes me feel like things are worse than they are. I actually have been doing better, though. I had a decent day today even. I am just discouraged with the way I feel pressure from others, but mostly pressure from myself, to automatically be better and "normal" again. I just was released from the hospital one week ago. I was in there for EIGHT days. That is a long time to be in the hospital. If I was in the hospital for eight days with a physical illness, people would allow me months to recover. Why is it that I feel like I need to be functioning like I was never ill? 

People ask me what it feels like: to be depressed, to be awake for days, to have my body ache with every movement, to be in a psychiatric unit, to be recovering, to be where I am right now.

In all honesty, I feel as though I survived a plane crash. The good news is that it can only get better and I'm alive. That doesn't make the horrors of the past or the memories of people lost go away. A good answer that sort of covers all of those common questions is that I feel like an 80-year-old woman. I have put so much energy into life, and I'm tired. My body stopped behaving like it should. I am thankful to be able to get up, walk, and even rollerblade without pain since the last drug adjustment. I don't enjoy loud noises or parties at this point. I don't enjoy playing games. I would rather sit and fall asleep in my rocking chair. Okay, I don't have a rocking chair, but I just feel like such a stereotypical old woman sometimes. I am getting younger by the week, though. 

There's hope. It's the first time in 6 months I've believed I will get better. Thanks to my incredible support system for helping me to keep fighting even when my back is against the ropes. I will win.

I might have been avoiding this...

I've been avoiding blogging since my six day stint in the psych ward. I wanted to keep it a secret, but that's hypocritical. I encourage my friends to be bold and admit any struggles with mental illness. I even go as far as to remind them that keeping it a secret makes it harder for others struggling with the same things. That was the whole concept of my project: decreasing the feelings of isolation mental illnesses create. Why would I be embarrassed about seeking help?

Now, I can't take full credit for my decision to check myself into the hospital. I have a very understanding friend up at school who stayed up talking with me many nights before she convinced me I couldn't keep living like this. I would have settled for her to say I couldn't keep living, but she meant I couldn't keep living like that. I didn't think the hospital would be able to help me unless I had actually attempted some form of craziness. It turns out, they trust you if you claim to be crazy. I guess, they would have to for liability purposes--or maybe they could tell that I hadn't been sleeping and my thoughts were racing.

I met a lot of interesting people in the hospital. I spent a lot of time alone, lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. I was fortunate enough to work every day with a great therapist and psychiatrist. The hospital was a safe environment for me to heal. It was, of course, unpleasant, but when I feel that depressed, anything is unpleasant. Plus, the hospital really put things in perspective for me. I learned school isn't everything. I also was reminded what an incredibly strong support system I have. Thank you to everyone who continues to love and support me.

I have been writing a lot of poems since the hospital. It is one of the only things giving me any sense of solace. My poetry professor was very supportive of the three I showed him. I also just won a poetry prize at my school. I'm beginning to feel like a poet.

I am supposed to return to school and work this week. I don't feel ready, but I know I need to return to some sort of normal schedule. I realize it will take a long time to really see results. That's the logical side in me talking. I actually still feel very poorly. I get my truth from emotions, so it's hard for me to believe I will get better when I am still overcome with the despair, guilt, and hopelessness caused by this illness. I feel like I will never get better. I try to let logic rule, though. When I'm paralyzed in bed many times a day, it's hard to keep believing in healing. I've asked friends and family for prayers. I try to take comfort in the connection that gives me. I am seeing a real therapist again. I am trying with everything I have to feel okay. I just still have trouble functioning. I'm always sooo tired whether I've slept or not. I also hate trying to sleep, because it forces me to be alone with my thoughts, and I hate the potential of tossing and turning all night. That only amplifies my hopelessness, so I would almost rather stay up all night by choice than try to sleep. I know I have to try to sleep to get better, though.

Today my dad asked me what it felt like to be sick like this. It's the first time he didn't just tell me to cheer up. He did say that he didn't understand how I could feel hopeless when I have so much going for me, but he listened to how I feel, and I was honest. It was a big step for both of us. I just hope I can get better soon, so everyone can stop worrying. I hate making people worry.

I like this song and the colors in the video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5Yv16AumGw

Update...for lack of a better title...for lack of a better quality entry

It's Spring. Finally.

A lot has happened in my life. I was sick for three weeks, which may have killed my spirit. I am doing everything in my power to live life fully; I do not want to settle for a zombie-like state again. I am trying to be awake: physically, mentally, and spiritually.

I am still a bit sick--doing much better, though. I had two ear infections: talk about unnecessary pain and discomfort. I felt like a bat in a cave for a couple days there; I could barely hear.

I went to Spain for a week. It was amazing. The old architecture is sublime--enough to make you understand how miniscule you are in the big scheme of things. It was great seeing Kristin again and being able to hang out with both her and Laura all week. My friendship with Kristin is interesting to me, because we have both changed so much since high school. We changed separately, though, and it somehow brought us closer together. We are closer now, despite the fact I rarely see her. In high school, I saw her multiple times a day. We had mostly the same classes and then, of course, had soccer practice, games, and cross country...not to mention, hanging out in the same group just for fun in the evenings. 

I think of the same type of things with Leslie. Leslie and I have been best friends for almost ten years now. In fact, we joke that we are having a "ten year anniversary" party next fall where we will make wedding-like invitations with a black and white photo of us slow-dancing on the front. She and I have changed so much, and our friendship as evolved even more. Having so much history with one person is a beautiful thing to me; I think that is what makes families so miraculous to me, too.

I am supposed to be grounding myself from my computer and phone to write all day. I figured blogging is a good compromise to get me warmed up and writing. I need to write poetry right after I finish this, though. I'm doing well in my poetry class. I met with my professor for like an hour, and he helped me a lot. I am getting more confident as a poet; however, I am not keeping up quantity wise. I am just as skilled as many, but having trouble producing enough poems for my portfolio. I am supposed to have 15 poems done by the end of the semester. I have only completed 4, and the semester is half done. I am really going to need to be more disciplined. It's hard to be creative when I have been sick and corpse-like for a month now. Today will change that, though. I am going to write for hours...even if it kills me.

I was at a party last night, and had the strange experience of having 2-3 guys hitting on me very forwardly and one girl was, too. It was so strange to have so many people wanting to talk to me. I actually left early because it was kind of overwhelming. I have a couple good guy friends, though. The one, in particular, was watching out for me and drove me home, which was nice. 

I never have much confidence with guys, but for some reason, this semester, I have had a lot of guys ask me out. I go out with a couple here and there. I have one friend I hang out with pretty regularly where I feel like something more serious could develop, but we are both loners and don't like obligations or having to call people all the time or explain where we are all the time, so I don't see a relationship developing any time soon. I'm okay with that, though. School keeps me so busy that I don't need extra obligations in my life.

I leave for Minneapolis on Wednesday morning. I will be there for the weekend at a conference, and then at Purdue presenting at a conference the following weekend. My life is going to be spinning out of control shortly. I need to take advantage of my last free Saturday for a while to write, write, write!

Stuck on Patience

I'm too busy. I turn 21 this weekend. I go to Spain in less than two weeks. I'm getting impatient with my medication. They are switching it again. It makes me impatient with myself. It makes me impatient with others. Most times, patience is a good thing. I think there are a few times when it's not. I tried to find some quotes about it just because I don't have time to be insightful. Why not let others say it for me?

"It is very strange that the years teach us patience - that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting." --Elizabeth Taylor 

"Patience has its limits. Take it too far, and it's cowardice."--George Jackson

"There will be a time when loud-mouthed, incompetent people seem to be getting the best of you. When that happens, you only have to be patient and wait for them to self destruct. It never fails." --Richard Rybolt

"Patience is the companion of wisdom."--Saint Augustine 

"Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew." --Saint Francis de Sales 

"You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have patience."--Stanislaw J. Lec 

"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue."  --Ambrose Bierce

"To develop patience, you need someone who willfully hurts you. Such people give us real opportunities to practice tolerance. They test our inner strength in a way that even our guru cannot. Basically, patience protests us from being discouraged." -Dalai Lama

Past Lives

In my class on Buddhism, we are talking about reincarnation. I thought I knew what it meant, but it's actually viewed as a negative thing, the kind of thing one strives to rise above. We talked about how American culture values immortality so much, that we think of reincarnation as something good. We have such a shallow view of it all. For example, Laura and I always fight over who said they were a dolphin in a past life first. Or a guy I met at a party who I had a lot in common with, joked we must have been married in a past life. I don't literally believe in past lives, but I've been thinking a lot about my past, which sometimes feels like a different life--or even different lives.

I don't like thinking about my past much, because it usually makes me angry. I put up with a lot of things I shouldn't have. I beat myself up over things and people not worth it; I never fought with my parents, argued with unfair teachers or coaches; I just did everything with a smile. People respected me for that, but they shouldn't have. Now I'm seeing how weak I was. I know it's not worth wondering what would be different if I had been the person I am now then, but it certainly crosses my mind sometimes. Would I have moved across the country to go to college? Would I have the same friends? Would I be more independent, or even a better writer?

***

I have two exams, tons of reading, and lots of Spanish homework to be doing, but all I can think about is this essay I'm working on about a bad memory from growing up. It takes over my mind and emotions. I don't like the power words can have over me sometimes. This blog entry is me compromising with myself by letting me write out some of the emotions without getting back into the intense essay that was enough to keep me tossing and turning at 2am even after taking Benodryl (which I am so glad I took, because it eventually took over and let me sleep). 

Tossing and turning at night is horrifying for me. Even if it's only for a little bit, it is too similar to my nights of insomnia. It's a time where repressed thoughts gnaw at my stomach, a time when death feels near, a time when I can't escape my own mind. 

This entry is not real enough, but I don't think I can dig any deeper when people read this. I used to be so determined to convey truth. I suppose I still am, when it comes to my real writing, but I just don't see the point in working so hard to put myself into words that people will skim, over-think, or blame themselves for. That all seems like a past life. I don't need to make people feel guilty for things they may or may not have done, even if I feel like some may deserve it. That sort of vindication is most definitely new. I think I'm experiencing some sort of rebirth. Is it an upgrade or a downgrade on the scale? I'm not so sure.

In all honesty, I have been avoiding blogging. That last entry was just so optimistic and meaningful. It's kind of hard to follow...not to mention, I am still not feeling well. I am physically better. I sleep half-way normal hours, can function  more days than not, and I even have moments of happiness...all things I am incredibly thankful for. I don't know if I chose to forget how slow of a process getting better is. I remember saying that it felt like it took me a year to fully recover from the last depressive episode. Yet, for some reason I don't remember it being this difficult and slow. I guess, I'm just impatient.

I have been trying to write a lot, since this is my last week off work, and without any major quizzes, exams, or papers. This is going to be an overwhelming semester. I don't want to stop writing creative prose like I did last semester. I let my poetry class take over my mind, which is okay, but I miss essays. I'm working on my first essay in a year. I don't think I'll complete the first draft any time soon, but it's nice just to be writing in a more fluid manner. I like poetry; it really does take over my mind. I still am not okay with it being my only genre to work in. I'm not strong enough in it, and it is less therapeutic than writing essays. It doesn't force me to self-evaluate as much, or at least not in as deep of a manner. I'm also trying to read and write a lot of poetry. My poetry class is incredibly demanding. I hope I can keep up. I think I will be okay if I keep reading and writing poetry a few times a week. It will help to keep my mind functioning in that poetic way: observing sounds, digging deeper into emotions and images.

I think I need some type of spiritual retreat. Maybe I will isolate myself one of these weekends to read and write for fun, do Yoga, meditate, and just be for a while (in addition to the millions of pages to read and write for class). I worry it will result in me lying in bed, feeling sorry for myself, though. I just need to find some way to dig deeper into myself and step back from my real life for a moment. I don't know when I will have time to do this. I am trying to use Thursday nights as a night to keep a date with myself. I go to the coffee shop, get a cookie, and write for hours alone. I hope to do that as many weeks as I can, but I am going to play indoor soccer soon. That will be Thursday nights, not to mention, most people don't like being told that I can't hang out because "I have to go to the coffee shop alone." It's funny that this society is so put off by introverted people. 

Small Epiphanies

Below, is what I wrote in my journal until 2am last night. It's a beautiful, hard-covered journal with inspiring quotes on each page. I usually use crappy notebooks so I don't feel pressure to write a masterpiece, but my friend, Elise, gave me this as a gift, and I love it! It is perfect for capturing my new found optimism. I'm still going to use my crappy notebooks for writing practice and useless journaling. This journal will be used to capture my spiritual journey over the year: both good and bad. I want this to be a more meaningful journal. I look forward to being able to capture my growth in it.

 This was a quote on one of the pages I wrote on:

"Happiness is the absence of the striving for happiness." -Chang Tzu

********************************************************

I just got back from Jon's house. Tonight we gathered in a circle to talk about how the past Omega trips influence us today, current concerns, and dreams for the future. It proved to be a very spiritually healing night. I'm praying again. I'd been thinking about it for a while, but I made the decision tonight.

There's been several factors influencing my desire to return to faith. I've been really moved by song lyrics, reading Anne Lamott and Natalie Goldberg, and conversations with friends. I don't want to ignore the fact that my biggest reason for returning is because I can't imagine going through another depressive episode with  nothing to believe in. Is that needy or childish? Maybe, but I left faith because I believed in a god out of fear. I realized that was stupid. What kind of higher power needs me to believe in it, or will punish me for not believing? Plus, believing out of fear is selfish, because I am only being pious to save my own ass. What kind of higher power rewards that?

I'm no longer afraid of hell because I don't believe in it. I don't even believe in an afterlife. I don't want my new faith to be distorted into something it is not. I'm still not a Christian. I love Jesus' ideas, but he was human. Non-believers are quick to point out Jesus's shortcomings and anger. Humans make mistakes and have parts of themselves they are not proud of. Why should I let Jesus' teachings and goodness be discredited because he couldn't always practice what he preached? Who has never done something hypocritical? One of my favorite quotes is," It's easier to preach ten sermons than to live one." I try to practice what I preach, but sometimes fail. I'm learning that I need to accept my humanity with dignity. I can't keep punishing myself for my inability to achieve all of my goals--especially those that deal with morality. I forgive others ten times more than I forgive myself, which not only hurts me, but it limits my ability to grow and reach other people. How can I help other's to love everyone, including themsevles, if I don't love me? I'm not talking about arrogance--loving myself so much that I stop self-evaluating and putting in the effort to make change--I'm also not suggesting I abandon my high standards. I want to know real love for myself and life. I feel real altruistic love for my friends and family. Natalie Goldberg said something about how we need to stop seeing life in black and white, and acknowledge that love is not mutually exclusive with betrayal and hurt. She said real love is being able to say, "This person really let me down and betrayed me. I'm going to hold them accountable, but I love them." I love my family even though they've all made me cry. I love my friends even when they let me down. I know these people love me in the same way. I need to love me in this way.

I've told several people that I believe life to be like a relationship: Sometimes you hate it so much, you wonder why you're even with it. Other times, you love it so much you are in awe that it's with you...but most days, it's just there.

I need to accept, maybe embrace, the idea that life is supposed to have darkness. I think depression has a time and a place. I also cannot let that trick me into believing that I shouldn't take anti-depressants because I'm supposed to/deserve to be depressed all of the time. Life is a cycle, and all emotions can teach us something. I need to begin acknowledging emotions that I have been taught to repress because they are bad. Some of these emotions include: anger, sadness, fear, shame, guilt, humiliation, pride, jealousy, and disappointment. I need to acknowledge those emotions and not make myself feel bad for feeling them. 

I could go on forever about things I need to do, but I am beginning to believe that the key to happiness is balance, but only when balanced with self-acceptance for falling short. I almost wrote the word "failure" in the place of "self-acceptance," but even the word "failure" terrifies me. Natalie Goldberg also said we need to stop seeing success and failure as mutually exclusive. She said, "out of the great failure comes the great success."

Now, I realize I'm on this happy, spiritual high right now. This often leads to disappointment, because I build up the idea that I will make all of these positive changes, but I fail to make them. I don't want this to be like that. I think all I can really take away with me right now is the idea of being more forgiving of myself. Self-hatred is not only toxic for me, but it is toxic for everyone who comes into contact with me, because it's just plain negative energy. Negative energy can be highly contagious.

I want to be the kind of person who is so self-accepting that I love life and my joys, and even sorrows, radiate with light. There's this quote we use in our S. Dakota group about how it's our light, not our darkness that scares us. It also says something about how our playing small and dimming our lights does not serve the world, and letting our light shine helps others to do the same.

Of course, I am terrified of being completely healthy. I've formed my identity around my depression. It's comfortable for me to hide in its darkness. Plus, I'm afraid of standing out, even though it is all I dream of. I think I am finally ready to meet what lies in my future with courage. I want my light to be so blinding, it helps illuminate others so they can produce blinding light.

Writing this, I feel happy. We prayed and reflected using medicine cards tonight. We each drew a card with an animal on it. The animal is supposed to help tell us where we are at and what we need to do. Jon believes we all pick a card that "calls" us and no one ends up with the wrong card. I don't feel quite that strongly, but I think the cards can be used like spiritual horoscopes, in the sense that they give us a new lens for viewing our day. It's then up to us to apply it to our own lives. Jon read us what each animal represented and what they were calling us to do. I drew a spider. My first thought was, "I don't like spiders."

When Jon read everything the spider represents, it was like everything I wanted to hear. The spider represented creativity. It said that I need to stop to celebrate something I created and congratulated me (The first thing I thought of was my project). It also suggest I do a lot of journaling. This is the most passionate journal I've written in ages. My pen keeps flowing and my thoughts are racing, but not violently like normal. Tonight, they are gentle, letting me be wherever I need to, letting me hang on each word and idea.

The spider also suggested taking a new, creative approach to my life. I've never been readier for such a change in my life. I don't even think it will be drastic actions. I think it will just be combining all of the advice and buried treasures I've gathered from stumbling around like a drunk in the dark. Now that I am sober, I know to collect all of the treasures, dust them off, and keep walking. I know that despite the fact I am no longer stumbling, I will not walk in a straight line. There will be obstacles I cannot even imagine, curves that blind me, hills that burn my muscles so much I want to quit but give me a great ass in the end. For now, I'm enjoying leaving this goddamn tunnel, and just cruising the straight away on a sunny day.  It might rain again tomorrow. I plan to carry an umbrella. I know it won't protect me completely from getting dripped on or getting chills from the cold. 

I can't help but be incredibly excited and embarrassed about my huge change in mood (partially due to drugs) because I know I am overflowing with idealism and optimism, which do not survive well in the real world. I know there's a lot of people out there who believe/worry that I will be hurt and jaded by life. I don't think hurt and maturity have to taint me. I'm also aware that I have a lot of maturing to do, so I don't want to be naive enough to think I will always be this passionate...but at the same time, if I can work my way out of two major depressive episodes in three years, I have to believe I don't have to let suffering and life kill my spirit.

I know depression will always be something I struggle with throughout life. I don't want to surrender to it, though. I can't let it kill my spirit, even though I know it already did kill it--twice, but somehow I find a way to revive it. When I'm in a major depressive episode, I believe that the depression is the real me, and that I never got better, and never will. I'm sure there will be another time in my life when I return to that. I hope to be able to look back at this journal entry and feel comforted by this new found enthusiasm for life. I know I will only feel sadness in that moment, because I will feel like I failed to keep the disease away again. I will feel discouraged, and tell myself I was so naive and foolish to write this. I don't think this is me being naive. I'm not denying future suffering, or even full-out relapses (even though I would like to believe that will never happen again). I'm only allowing myself to acknowledge my pain and suffering, stop being angry with the mess I made again in this episode, and be thankful for this newly discovered hope.