Slow Change

And so it goes

Life, or survival

Because surviving is what I’m doing most days

Wracking my brain, trying to figure out how I made it through

Years of starvation and body hatred

To get to now

Fighting for my life with my own self

Begging this reel of horror behind my eyes to stop

For just a moment

The more I fight, the harder it gets

I was comfortable with my war on food, on my body

It barely frightened me at all anymore

And then just when I was getting a grip

My feet fell out from under me

And I was lost

Wondering how I could make it through the gauntlet of anorexia (did that really happen to me?)

And then be struck with a blow that knocked the wind out of me

Not what I was or wasn’t doing

Just some disconnect, some chemical imbalance

Disruption

Sometimes it’s hard to notice such a slow change

And then, out of nowhere, I’m facing my worst fear

And shutting out, shutting down

Sleeping like I’ll never sleep enough

And the tears won’t come, no matter how many times I blink

My eyes are dry as a desert

Yet there’s a storm just inside

And finally, I cry

The tears won’t stop

At work, running errands, driving down the street

All a blur, just like my past

Did I ever imagine I’d be here?

I put all my focus on healing

On feeding myself, my soul

And no matter how hard I try, I can’t heal this

Beast

Depression

Crippling, blinding, headache inducing

Thoughts running around and around on repeat

Numb, again

I always wondered what came first

Depression, or eating disorder

How could depression not have come first

When its grip on me is like second nature

•••

It’s been a tough 2018 already, guys. I’ve begun writing so many posts, and abandoned them out of fear. Fear of honesty, showing what’s really going on behind my “hi, how are yous” and “I’m good, thanks”. Fear of dismissal, of being found out. It’s real life, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Not calling the psychiatrist, because her nurse makes inappropriate jokes about mental health, and giving up too easily when I couldn’t reach the doctor myself. By some miracle, I got in to see the psychiatrist this past week, and she upped my mood stabilizer (god knows it wasn’t stabilizing anything at that point). It felt like a relief, and yet it was deja vu. I’ll probably be there again, after a similar episode, in a month or two.

She says “you’re at the lowest dose, and really nobody stays there. We’ll just have to keep adjusting it until you get to the dose that’s right for you”. And though I knew that was coming, and I nod and say OK, it’s not OK. Because going through that again, putting my husband through that again is not OK. I’m at the mercy of two little white pills and one huge orange capsule that work together (or don’t) to fix a breach in my brain. And I’m tired of trying, but of course, I must. Often, things get worse before they get better. It’s just another storm to brave and more habits to break.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

I can feel it seeping into my pores, slowing down the clock 

And I thought I was done with this, done with the chains that shackle my weary limbs

My arms, once raised in a semblance of victory, are now weighed down with linked metal that I can’t break 

“My heart hurts” I say in silence every day 

Hours tick by, slowly. Slowly

I wait for an epiphany, for the chemicals in my brain to adjust themselves 

I wait to feel OK again, to wake up with hope for the day instead of dread 

Racking my brain, trying to find something to help me cope 

Questioning why I feel so much, and is it just me, or do others feel it too

Pleading with myself to find a reason to move forward, to try. Fearing outcomes (I don’t want to have to put the work in again, I don’t know if I can)

How will I ever survive? I wake up at 5:30 and can’t fathom getting through the day, let alone a whole week

I live for the weekend, cocooned in a cloud of darkness and warmth. Numbing my mind with words, living for the abandon of sleep 

Unsettling, this feeling inside of me. This weight like a brick in my chest that is pulling me down 

Sometimes darkness seems like my only companion, my only friend 



Leaving

The following is yet another writing of mine on depression. Depression plays a big role in my day to day life, dictating my thoughts and actions. When I am depressed, hunger doesn’t matter, my needs cease to have meaning, and I feel as though I am literally living a lie.

I’m leaving for a while 
Maybe a better word is “disappearing”

I don’t know how long, or exactly where I’m going

You may see the shell of me
But I’m not there
I float and stumble through days
Filling the hours that are sticky like honey
With anything that will get me through 
I miss you, and all of the things I enjoy 
I miss happiness and lightness 
Smiles and laughter 
I hate that when I leave I am taking them with me 
Sometimes their ghosts creep in
A glimmer of better days
And I feel a spark of hope
Emotions are like a candle flame 
There for one moment, and then extinguished 
I’m leaving and I miss you 
Miss this adventure of life
My head is heavy 
With pain and confusion 
Exhaustion 
Maybe if you speak loud enough 
Look me in the eyes
I will come back

Winter

I didn’t want to write this post. I didn’t want to even have to think about admitting what’s been going on lately.

I know winter is coming every year. I know it gets to me in all of the worst ways. I used to think it was just the cold and lack of sun. Now I think it goes much deeper than that.
When I enter into this season, I always think everything will stay the same. And why shouldn’t it? After all, it is supposed to be “the most wonderful time of the year”.

So when I found myself feeling down and extra tired, crying at appointments and shutting down at the drop of a pin (I.e. My husband making me a half sandwich which I refused to eat, my car not starting on one of the warmest days last week, etc.) I should’ve probably spoken up for myself, and made an appointment with my doctor.

I didn’t though, and ended up having to play phone tag for part of an afternoon with the doctors nurse, who said I should make an appointment.

It was a relief to get an appointment with my doctor and see her within two days. I’m now on a little bit of a different plan with her on the medication side of things, and I’m hoping this change will help, and keep me moving forward.

It’s been hard to take care of myself these past few weeks. Of course, a great option for me to choose would be to accept care from others when I’m in this state, and yet I chose to stubbornly refuse it most days.

Self care can come in many different forms. I never thought of taking my medicine as an act of self care, and now I do. If I’m not consistent in listening to my body, brain, and whole self, then I’m not practicing self care (I do realize how ironic it is, that I’m talking about self care while actively not taking care of myself very well).  

Even if I feel like I’m doing everything wrong lately, at least I’m still showing up for appointments and taking my medications. I’m still waking up and going to work. And I’m still planning to do my best to enjoy the rest of this week. At least there’s that!

Wake up

When sleep feels like the only safe place.

When dreams are nowhere to be found.

Feeling like I must have an aura of pitch black following me around.

Anorexia was never an act of not physically being able to eat, rather it was a refusal. 

Learning early on that it was easier to abstain than put myself through the guilt and shame.

Now ed is silent, because a new voice has taken over.

Depression. The kind that feeds off itself (or is that depression in general?).

Still going through the motions, to get through the day. Collapsing and shutting down at home.

I keep reminding myself where this road could lead. I don’t want to go back there.

Something intuitive tells me this could be a breakthrough.

Maybe there is something more I need to learn before I’m ready to heal.

Maybe, like the labyrinth, depression is something I keep looping back on. 

Maybe there is something unvisited deep inside me.

I find myself thinking that no wonder I ended up here, ultimately.

No wonder I developed an eating disorder at the age of 13.

No wonder I had no friends.

This depression is deep, and I’m not sure I’ve even glimpsed the bottom; I may still be standing on the edge.

And if this is exactly how I felt when I was a new teen, an eating disorder would feed off of this behavior.

Nothing holds much interest, besides sleep. 

I am no longer hungry, and I freeze  at the thought of food passing my lips.

I’m scared, because this darkness is finding me more and more.

I thought things were looking up, and now I’m losing hope.

I know better days can and will happen.

I know this too shall pass.

It’s the holding on that’s exhausting. The guilt and sadness I feel for my husband, for not being present.

And I know I’m priveleged, I should feel gratitude for all I have.

I know my problems are typical “white girl” problems. Trust me, this weighs on me too.

Learning to take care of myself, it’s hard. Often it means I have to do things I’d prefer not to do.

Thankfully, I’m hanging in there. An appointment with my doctor, therapist and dietitian, all within this week.

I know I’m going to be OK, as long as I keep showing up, in life and at important appointments.

Focus

Sometimes, things seem to be going well, almost scary well, like the calm before a storm.

I felt that way these past few weeks, I woke up, excited, knowing I was going to go out and work and see people, and have meals to fill myself up!

Motivation and a sense of new beginnings began following me around, and I accept it, holding on with hope in my heart.

Then, something happens and I stumble and fall on a knee, or scratch my palms with dirt and grit. I lose my hold on all of that hope.

It’s like letting so many helium balloons go, up into the wide open sky.

I start to overthink. I lay in bed, or kneel to put my boots on, and I think “Ok, I don’t know what today will bring…” and if I don’t take that thought and use it to propel myself to the next step of the day, I might get lost.

If I don’t consciously make a decision whether or not to eat, if I’m not gently easing into the mindset that what I’m doing and going through is for me, and that if I want to do well and be well, I must eat…

It’s exhausting. Trying to turn down the whispers and scratches of anxiety in my ears, often is only successful if I stop and tell myself to focus.

If I’m paying too much attention to calories, focus. If I’m worried about my next meal, focus. Trying to stop and bring all of my thoughts into one place.

Getting through the day. Focusing on that next step.

And some days are easier than others. And I don’t know why.

I’m working on learning what make “bad” days so bad, and how I can try to turn a “bad” day into more of a “good” day, so I don’t keep revisiting the same patterns over and over.

I know it’s going to take help, and time. I know it’s going to be hard. I’ve known that for a long time.

Nobody is perfect and it’s not a waste of time if I learned something.

Going to the river

I had an appointment today, and after thinking about it for a while, I decided to write to get it out. I’m always anxious about my appointments, and I usually leave them feeling good. No matter what your inner dialogue is telling you, if you aren’t feeling yourself it’s a good idea to just talk. It helps. Today when I left, I felt relieved. But I also felt swollen with grief. It’s hard for me to talk about my deepest inner feelings, especially to a professional. I used to keep quiet because I didn’t think anyone really cared. The way my therapist responded to my words today is not the way someone would have reacted to me a year ago. She responded with sincerity and concern, but also with interest. I am not here to glamorize suicide by any means. It’s a very highly arguable subject, and I’d be the last person to ask about how to sway someone the other way. I left my appointment feeling slightly shaken,  and slightly proud. Proud I can be in a place where I can reasonably tell my inner dialogue and thoughts during my darkest moments, and yet not have them overtake every single day of my life. A year ago, the story I told today would have probably landed me in a psych ward. My therapist did use the word “commit” today which freaked me out a little bit. I got so caught up in being open and honest, that I forgot how fragile this subject is. Thankfully I am stable 90% of the time now and can feel free to go over my feelings with my therapist without fearing being whisked off to a small bare room.

The words below are from my own memory, and are not a word for word quote.

I’d also like to point out that September is Suicide Prevention Month, so I think our conversation was quite timely. I’m not “in the well” right now, so don’t freak out. This is just me being my most transparent. I don’t want to feel this way, and I want to prevent my severe depression, if possible.

 

Does the depression remind you of anything in particular? I know you used the dragon with two heads to symbolize ed. What about the depression?

“Ummm, I guess I compared it to a hole in one of my blog posts, but I’ve started to think of it as an old well. I imagine I’ve fallen into the well, and those who love me have thrown down a rope. They’re trying to save me, but I’m not sure if I want to be saved.”

That’s what I thought of when I read your post too. I also thought of this…(rummaging in drawers full of little figurines used for sand-tray therapy, she pulls out a coffin and sets it on the table in front of me) the depression…this coffin doesn’t mean it symbolizes death, but it’s heavy and dark.

“Yeah.”

Do you ever think about hurting yourself when you’re this depressed?

“Yes, when I am in that severely depressed state, like a few weeks ago, I have.”

Have you told the doctor about this?  Do you have suicidal thoughts often?

“Only when I’m really depressed. It just takes me back to the early years of ed and how that felt. I was always in that dark place. I’ve talked to Dan about it before.”

Did you ever have a plan, or imagine what would happen?

“Yes.”

(smiling sadly)

“I would go to Dairy Queen and get a Blizzard, because I never allowed myself Blizzard’s. Then I’d drown myself in the river. And I mean, I grew up in a house…well, my dad hunted, so there were guns. I knew where the key was to his workshop door. Or I thought about the kitchen knives.”

(eyes welling up)

What stopped you from ever doing anything? Have you ever gone to the river?

“Well, Dan and I were talking before once, and he said to imagine my little brother, and how my parents would have to explain to him what had happened. Guilt…and fear. I’d, well, I’d be dead, but thinking about how it would hurt everyone who loves me…I’ve never gone to the river.”

And fear about what, dying?

“Well, dying. And pain. And I mean, I don’t know where we go when we die.”

Did anyone ever know you were having these thoughts when you were younger?

“No. I talked to my mom, but I’d never tell her this kind of thing. Because, her favorite word is ‘joy’…”

Okay. And have you felt this way lately?

“Not since that last time I was really depressed. It’s more of an option, running in my mind in the background when I’m very depressed.”

 

 

Escape to the lake

When you feel lost, the best place to go is home.

Evanston Illinois holds a multitude of bittersweet memories for me. Some very recent, and some in the distant past.

The last time I was here, my sister and I had to walk miles in the dark to retrieve her car that had been towed.

The time before that, my husband and I spent days exploring the city and walking until our legs felt like they were rubber.

And before those memorable, lovely trips, it was all of my sisters, me, my mother, and my grandma. Piling into the car with grocery sacks full of snacks and Caprisun. Grandma always supplied the toll money, and I always dug into the snacks as soon as possible. 

Childhood trips to Chicago stole my heart. Cramming into my aunts apartment. Visiting the lake, and bringing back loads of sand in our suits and towels. Visiting the American Girl store and Water Tower Place. Eating new foods, trying deep dish for the first time. Crying when we got in the car to go home.

I’m not crying today, as we pull away from the curb and make our way back home. It makes my heart hurt, thinking of the memories of trips with grandma. Of a time before I was sick. I was always on the lookout for my grandpa, hoping chance or fate would bring our paths together.

I looked for my grandpa and then I remembered. I saw a man that looked like him, and wondered what grandpa filled his days with. 

Thanks to my aunt and my mom, I became the recipient of a two night stay at a gorgeous bed and breakfast. I took a day off from work and my husband and I planned a two day trip to Evanston. 

At the time when I booked the stay, I was excited for time away, and then a week before the trip, I went a little psycho. I’ve been so-so on my eating. My self care has kinda gone down the drain. My motivation? Nowhere to be found. 

I hit on this a little bit in my previous post, but whatever depression has been hounding me, tried to follow me to Illinois. I went from being OK, to being suicidal in under 24 hours. Most days last week I woke up happy, and by the late afternoon I was down.

Sunday night I stuffed quarters into my wallet and gathered my bags. Just half an hour ago I was sitting quietly in a chair, ripping at the skin on my hand with my fingernails. I was avoiding eye contact with my husband, the one who has been with me throughout these past few years of highs and lows. He wouldn’t let me leave the room, because I was acting crazy. I still found a way to hurt myself.

Less than 24 hours and we were to be in a fancy B&B. I don’t think either of us wanted to spend a few days alone with me. 

We cut it close, but we made it. And I am so glad we did. It turns out I needed a change of scenery to get me out of that rut (for now). A beautiful soaking tub and heated floors didn’t hurt me either.

Now I am on a quest. I want to find a way to feel like I did for the past two days with food. I am so exhausted of the repetition day after day. Saying no when I really want to say yes. I want to enjoy food and feel OK about it while I’m eating, and after the meal as well. It’s so easy to eat a granola bar and say it’s breakfast. I know it’s not enough, and my stomach tells me as much, but it’s beyond my ability to choose a meal.

I want to eat for me, and not for someone else. I want to be all the approval I need. I have a few big changes coming up, so I’m prepared for the worst (or as prepared as I can be). For now, I plan to try to keep depression and anxiety at bay, and repair the damage I have caused. Permission doesn’t have to come from anyone other than me.

A plate of spaghetti

Oh how I wished my car would spontaneously combust 

Or that somehow I would lose control of the wheel

Because I definitely had lost control

I was manic

The anger and hatred bubbled up inside

And how I wanted to cry. Sob until there was nothing left

I can’t cry for myself anymore

I am a lost cause

Anxiety builds in me

For this month that is already going so fast

My birthday month

I always have trouble on my birthday

And I wake up feeling so content

Knowing these happy moments won’t last

I’m a ticking time bomb

I am dangerous 

I should start wearing “caution ” signs

I long to love myself in some way 

If not for me, for him

Somehow I always fuck things up

It must be in my DNA

I can’t love myself, so I hate

Oh, you didn’t know this about me?

Well I’ve worked hard to hide it

Maybe hoping somehow these false feelings will take

I can’t bear to see the sorrow and pity I conjure 

So I run away

I dream of not being able to find you

Of fights that will never happen, because we speak in whispers and sobs

What if I were to disappear 

Leaving dusty roads and storms in my wake

Would I be free?

Would you?

I cringe at the pain I have brought upon this union 

For better or for worse has never been either or

It’s been worse and I know it

I’m selfish 

Believing this cloud only covers me

Apologies are not enough

I wish they were

But wishes are things for dandelions and eyelashes 

Dreams fading on the horizon before they ever fully appear 

I wish to be a woman who loves fiercely and gives freely 

A woman who treats others as she treats herself (because finally these two things are aligned)

A woman who sips coffee and ruminates over times past

Instead I smile falsely 

Walking like a zombie silently pleading that familiar face not to notice me

It started with a plate of spaghetti 

Slipping sliding noodles 

All over the floor

It ruined my day

But then I moved on

Two days later, here I am again

My heart feels shriveled

“Like a cocklebur” I voice to my husband 

How to move on?

I sit in my chair, listless and weightless 

I imagine tomorrow and can’t see anything but sadness 

I can’t speak, this cloud is covering me completely 

This piece was written earlier this week when I had a severe depressive episode. I’m still trying to bounce back, but hey, I’m here. If anyone reading this has had sudden highs and lows (after a trigger or otherwise) I’d love to hear your story. I have a suspicion my mood swings could be related to medication, but I haven’t received a professional opinion as of yet.



In the dark

A memento of depression 

The pit is ruthless. Once you fall in, it feels like there is no hope. 

Sometimes giving in is easier. Maybe this is the only way to truly feel.

You tripped and fell in, or you got tired and saw the dip in the soil, knowing what it was. Your feet carried you there just as much as your heart.

Your heart feels swollen. With pain, darkness, fear, sadness…the list goes on.

You see, in your minds eye, the bottle of little tan pills on the countertop. You take them, but sometimes the pull of the pit is stronger.

You don’t know if there is a way out, and quite frankly, you don’t know if you care. If someone threw a rope to you, would you catch it and hold on? You are uncertain.

Here, you sit with your pain. Your thoughts are on a repeating loop. You want to hurt, you want to feel.

The pit hasn’t always been here. This ground used to be flat and predictable. Safe. You don’t know where it came from, or what made it. An act of God? Or is it an apparition?

Maybe it’s all in your head. The twisting in your gut tells you this is real though. The hatred, the endless, fierce hatred tells you this is real. The walls are rough and crumbly. Maybe you can find a foothold.

No one told you about this place. You didn’t know a place like this even existed. Sometimes you feel a flicker of hope, but you dash it out. Better to feel dead inside, hollow. 

You hear voices, shouts and hollers. It is the ones you love. Are they upset, that you have ended up here again? Are they tired of this pattern you can’t seem to break?

You know others have fallen in too, at different times. You see where they have chipped away at the rocks and scooped out dirt in an attempt to get out. They’ve survived, and you will too. It’s just a matter of how long this will last. 

A few days go by, and you are so tired of this place. You make an attempt to rally your spirits, your eyes search out the handholds from years past. You think you see a way out, but it is never certain.

Believing is half the battle. The air up here is so fresh. How you’ve missed the blue sky. Everything looks better on solid ground.

Your path isn’t the same as anyone else’s. There’s no “cure” no quick-fix. You can’t even say how you got out of that dark place. 

There’s no saying when you will return to your wallowing and hiding. It creeps up on you like a shadow. It’s not the unknowns that you fear though, it is the actual moments when you are down in the pit that are the worst.

You can warn someone about the dark holes that they might one day find themselves in, but you can’t take their place. 
You can tell someone “I’ve been there too” or  “it gets better” but words don’t always heal. You can go into that pit with them, but you can’t pull them out. 

Being in the pit isn’t a choice, but you can choose to try to get out, over and over.

Here’s to those that do. Here’s to those that don’t. Because this isn’t a contest, it’s an illness. Here’s to you, the hurting and broken down. Gather your strength. See yourself through another day.

You don’t have to live your whole life in the dark.