Bedside Tables Make Me Happy

TW: Discusses depression/suicide

Wow! It's been two months since I've written, and boy were there a lot of ups and downs. At first I stopped writing because things were really hard, but lately things have just been good. Not like amazing. But good enough.

When I have my lows, they are low, like, I-wanna-die low. My antidepressants made those thoughts go away mostly. But every once in a while, something awful happens, and it's like I'm suddenly reminded of every other awful time in my life. It all rushes back to me at once. Since my antidepressants, I would only feel really low a handful of times a month, but they also were more like fleeting thoughts, or at most I'd feel that way for an hour or two. But not days on end. I can get myself out of that headspace more easily now. But the thoughts would still occasionally come. 

I would like to mention that I am not, nor have I ever been suicidal. The thoughts are more like please god just let me be done. Or perhaps like maybe if I'm lucky someone will plow into me while I'm driving. They are awful thoughts. But they happen. 

The thing is, I don't really think they've happened at all in the last month. I've just felt fine. Happy with the day-in-day-out. I have been really enjoying the little things. I enjoyed the rain. I enjoyed hot cocoa. I reorganized the furniture in my room (don't ask me how, it was a struggle, but I did it, and I was proud), and it made me really happy. I have a new (to me) bedside table and I love it. It's bigger so I put candles on it, and it has a shelf (cubby?) for my current books and some extra crossword puzzles. It has literally made me smile every day since I put it in my room. Who knew I could be so happy about a new bedside table?

I think the awful month before this last one somehow changed my mindset. It kind of opened my eyes to certain things in life. Maybe it just put things into perspective for me. I don't know. It did remind me a bit of how badly I struggled before my antidepressants. I've come far, and I've been doing a lot better, and I am thankful to be in a space mentally where I can once again just appreciate life itself. 

So that's my update. That's where I'm at. Just happy to go along for the ride. And I'm happy to share that ride with you all again now. Hopefully that means I'll be writing more often again, because I do enjoy sharing my life with people, and hearing others' thoughts about what I write. 

Until the next one-

A Cheesy Blog Post

Sometimes I wonder why. 

Why am I here? Why are we all here?

Why do I exist in this way?

Why is it that we get this one life, just for it to be so fucking difficult?

To learn. That's what they say. Life's lessons. Everyone has their own issues. But why did I appear on this giant floating space rock, lucky enough to have the human experience and yet have to do it with paralysis? Kinda rude, God. 

I was served a shit sandwich. I somehow turned it into manure to grow a pretty awesome garden for myself, but I still wonder why I was served a shit sandwich in the first place? And the thing with the beautiful garden you grow for yourself is that sometimes you still have to deal with the leftover shit from the sandwich, and also other outside shit that comes along too (thanks, birds). Most days you don't notice it, but others it's all you notice. Is this making sense to anyone? 

So yesterday I was having a rough day (outside shit), and I was crying on and off, and I was in physical pain. I was feeling irritable and tired, and I felt like I couldn't deal with anything. But I tried to pull myself together. I was going to turn my day around. I had plans with a friend, and that was a good thing. Then I learned something from someone else that made me once again upsetti spaghetti. I was sad and overwhelmed, and felt like it was just the icing on the cake for my day. And then I drove home and pissed myself while trying to get out of the car. 

Right in front of my house. Didn't make it to the bathroom, and pissed myself right in the street. I'm not talking a little bit. I was sitting in a fucking puddle. Now THAT was the icing on the cake. 

Fuck you, world. 

It totally sucked, and today sucked too. But now, I am feeling better, and it's funny. I peed myself just feet away from my bathroom, because I can't hold my bladder very well!

It used to happen all the time, but it hadn't in ages. It's like life was reminding me, in an annoying way, that it can always get worse. But also that it can get better. So I peed myself once recently. Who cares! That's way better than before, when it was an almost daily occurrence. 

So anyway I've talked enough about my bladder now; the point is that sometimes life sucks, but sometimes the sucky stuff can be kinda funny. And you pick yourself up, dust yourself off for the millionth time, and you face the difficulties again. But you are stronger now. 

I still don't know why these are the cards I have been dealt, but they are my cards nonetheless. I think eventually they will be a winning hand, and maybe then I'll understand that they were the cards I needed all along.

That was so cheesy of me, but you get it. The point is that shit always seems to get better eventually. 

How I Feel About Love

TW: Mentions of depression, self-harm, anxiety, panic attacks, and death. 

Love is such a weird thing. So complicated and beautiful. 

I've been deeply in love twice before. Somehow both experiences were entirely different feelings of love. The first time was exciting, and new, and passionate. It was a fiery kind of love, but also the kind filled with daydreams about my wedding one day. It was like I was blind in love. I don't want my relationships like that. All fairytale, and in your head, just walking straight into heartbreak of some sort. I was obsessed. Like he was the best thing on the face of the planet. It wasn't healthy, but hey, I was fifteen. 

That break up destroyed me then. Or at least I thought so. I didn't really date anyone for years after that. I could never bring myself to actually go on a date. In college I tried to date, but I would have massive anxiety whenever I tried to go on dates. I would make myself physically sick from anxiety. I would cry to my mom that something must be wrong with me, because I was practically incapable of going on a date. 

I moved to Germany when I was 21. Something about the experience made me more confident in myself than ever before. I started casually dating people, and I had a great time. I also told myself I was not going to get in a relationship with someone while I was studying abroad, because I didn't want to have to do long-distance. It just seemed like getting into a relationship in a foreign country was a sure way to get heartbroken. With no serious intentions with anyone, I didn't have anxiety about dating. 

Then after about a year in Germany, I met him. He was persistent. He knew he wanted me. There was something about him that just allowed me to let him in. He was kinda dorky, but in a charming way, and his eyebrows were over-plucked, and he spiked up his hair. He was kind of unexpected. Maybe not exactly someone who I would have thought of in that way before. 

I was showing my friend how to use Tinder (the dating app), and as I was swiping, I saw him. We had met before one time. I thought to myself something along the lines of, "meh, why not." I didn't really think much of it until he messaged me. It felt pretty quick after that. The more time I was around him the more I wanted to be around him. I really liked him a lot, but I wasn't intoxicated by him. I was nervous around him on our first date. We went to a market, and I remember almost having a panic attack. I told him about my anxiety, and he was great about it. He took things as slow as I needed, and my anxiety went away. We were together almost a year. 

I have never been myself so much around another human. He saw me in all of my moments. He was my best friend and so much more. I could tell him my biggest fears and share every piece of me without fear of judgement. I never loved someone like that ever before. It was real love. Not that silly high school bullshit. I knew his flaws and loved him anyway. (We did fix the eyebrows though, haha). 

After breaking up, my world shattered. I shattered. I genuinely thought I could never be put back together. It was like the air was taken from my lungs. Something inside of me just snapped. I can't even say it's fully  better now. I'm still wounded, but I'm over the big stuff. I couldn't stop crying. For months, I just cried every day. I started self-harming. I think it was a control thing. Something I was in charge of. They were straight and uniform, like tally marks on a chalkboard. It wasn't about the pain, because I don't even have normal pain sensation on my thigh. I literally prayed I wouldn't wake up in the mornings. I'm not even religious. I had never been in such a dark place before. 

I started taking Lexapro. It helped me get back on my feet, so to speak (insert paralysis joke here). I started going to weekly cognitive behavioural therapy as well. Both made me functional again. It's been two, very long years. During my first year back home from Germany, I had crippling depression. Then this past year I have had an overwhelming amount of anxiety. I was not living my life anymore. I felt like I was crazy, and like nobody liked me. I felt worse than before, but in a very different way. I went from almost emotionless other than crying, to overemotional and high-intensity and panic attacks for a year. There was a phase in between those where I was doing quite well, and thought I was "back to normal" again. It obviously didn't last. Now that I am back on my medication, I am great again. 

I have been thinking so much more clearly about things lately. Not being clouded by crazy emotions. I was having a lot of highs and lows before. Now I'm mainly having highs, or at least being more positive about things that would've upset me before. I'm able to look at the "bright side" of things more easily now. 

I think about love sometimes. For a long time I felt like I would and could never love again. I would never love someone like that again, and nobody could ever really love me anyway. That was bullshit. I am lovable, and deserving of being in love again. He wasn't my "one great love" never to get another. It has been a great revelation. 

I am finally open to that love. Ready to fall into it without hesitating so much. I could only get to this point by letting go of the anger and pain first. I needed to find the bright side of a thunderstorm-of-a-situation to fully move forward. I finally did. 

Even though things ended horribly, I feel so fortunate to have loved someone so fiercely. Whether or not he really loved me the same doesn't matter. I learned the true depths of love that I am capable of. It is the most beautiful thing to realize how much love you can have in your heart. I learned so much about myself from that experience, and that is worth all the pain I felt. I am stronger than ever before, and I know what I deserve. 

In the last year, I have only been interested in like 3 people enough to even consider anything more than platonic friendship. After the first two people, I really felt like I was unloveable. But now I think it is possible again. I'm ready for it sometime, when it's ready for me. In the meantime, I'm just happy with the ride. 

I know this blog isn't my typical life update, but it is something important that has been on my mind, so I wanted to share my thoughts. If you stuck around to this point, thanks for the support! I'll try to write again soon. 

In the Better Days

So here I am- two weeks later, and back with another blog post! Am I going to stay consistent with these now? Who knows. I do know that for the last two weeks I have been slowly gaining more motivation to do things. Even though my lexapro is still not fully in effect, it disrupted the anxiety/panic attack cycle. That alone has made my life massively more enjoyable.

In the last two weeks, I have been more social than I have been in months. A couple days ago, I ate three full-sized meals throughout the day (because I had the energy to make them, and no nausea from anxiety!). I actually have a good appetite again, and I am very happy about it. I also have been doing my makeup in the morning more often. I have been sleeping better, and waking up earlier. There have been SO many positive changes. 

I have been spending a lot more time with my amazing brother (love you, Kev!), his awesome girlfriend, and his new roommate. We have watched movies together (if you haven't seen Prey yet, you need to) and played Mario Party (I swear I will win eventually!). I also got to see one of my best friends a couple times. 

For the first time in a while, life has just been good. It feels like my brain is quiet, tranquil. I'm not constantly going in circles about something that may or may not happen in the future. Not worrying about everything all the time.

I am dancing. I am singing. I am laughing. I'm looking at things from a glass-half-full perspective now. Hopefully things will continue to go in this direction. I am sure there will be some bumps in the road- there always are- but I feel confident things will still be mostly good.

Before I wrap this up, I want to include something not so great that happened to me today. Even though it's unrelated to my mental health journey with lexapro, it still is something that affects my mental health in a way. Today I went to the local coffee shop, and I opened the door for myself. Often times people are very nice and open the door for me, but of course, I am able to do it myself. The door is ADA compliant, as most doors are, or at least should be. As I opened the door, an older woman said to me, "good girl." 

I am not a dog. I do not need praise for completing extremely basic tasks. I am a grown-ass woman. A badass woman. I happen to be disabled, yes, but that does not make me less than an able-bodied person. So stop fucking patronizing us. I am not an animal. I am not a child.

I wanted to include that so that hopefully other people can learn from it too. We all have a lot to learn. 

I would like to leave this post on a good note, so I will finish by saying this: Life can always get better. Even when you feel like giving up, know that there really will be better days ahead. I know because I am in the better days.

Little Miss Lexapro

Almost two years ago, my life changed. I moved halfway across the world, back to my hometown. As if that wasn't enough, I also experienced the greatest heartbreak of my life thus far. I was broken, but I got better.

I was on antidepressants for a little over a year, but have been off of them for about 10 months. They saved me. I lost myself, and they helped me find my way back. I took them for the deep depression I had been in. I am not depressed anymore. Not like that. I am happy to be alive. Yet at the same time I have not been happy.

Instead, I have been anxious. Approximately four months ago I had the first of many panic attacks in a long time. It lasted a whole day, and even when the panic attack stopped, the anxiety didn't. After some days, it faded. Maybe it was a couple weeks, I don't really remember. Since that time I have consistently been having panic attacks and anxiety pretty much every week.

Most of the anxiety revolves around my health. I don't know how to stop it. I sprained my knee a few months ago and then pulled my back muscles at the same time. I felt so awful, it sent me into a spiral. I went to the hospital for muscle spasms, and they were concerned I was having a relapse of Transverse Myelitis. I was not worried about it, but it was still stressful. The MRI tech went home already so they decided to give me a CT scan. On that scan they found a nodule in my lung. Another thing to worry about. 

If it's nothing, it's nothing. If it's something, it's probably cancer. That's scary, but they said there was a 90% chance it was nothing. You cannot give those odds to someone with a rare disease. I have beat odds before. In bad ways and good ways. Percentages don't mean shit to me. Somehow I didn't let myself obsess over it.

Two months later, I got another CT scan. "The nodules look good. No cause for concern," they said. Nodules. Plural. There was only one on the previous scan. I pointed out that fact, and was told my scans would be sent to a pulmonologist for review. Cue me worrying. After a couple long days, my amazing doctor (really, she is incredible already just as a resident) called me at like 7PM and told me that everything truly was good. Turns out the first scan just cut off before the other nodules could be seen. They likely were there all along, and are so small that they don't think they are anything to worry about. Relief. Or so you'd think.

Recently I had a migraine that caused temporary kaleidoscope vision and peripheral vision loss. It was terrifying. I felt like I couldn't catch a break. It's like my body hates me. I started to feel lost again. This time, not in depression, but anxiety. I didn't feel like myself at all. I was consumed by the anxiety and panic. I finally broke.

It's been a week since then. I called my doctor and immediately started back on my antidepressants. They work for anxiety too. Hopefully I will notice the full effect in a month or so. The side effects have actually already inadvertently helped with my anxiety. Can't have intrusive, obsessive thoughts when you are spaced out. Or when you are so nauseated all you can think of is trying not to vomit. Today the nausea finally calmed down. I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning, where I will ask her to help me find a new therapist. I feel optimistic for the first time in a while. I am feeling like I'm getting myself back.

I think the main thing I have come to realize with all of this is that I might just be a lexapro lady. I stopped taking it because I felt like I had something to prove. I wanted to show myself that I didn't need medicine to be happy, but off of it I felt like my brain wasn't mine anymore. 

It's okay if I need the medicine. I don't need to prove anything to anyone. I take medicine for my bladder, and I've never felt like I needed to prove my bladder worked just fine without it. So why do that with my brain? I need the stability that lexapro provides me, so that I can enjoy life and live in the moment. It's okay. I'm not broken. I just need a little help, and I am glad I am finally accepting that help again.