I want to be a better person. Someone who knows what they're doing in life. And knows how to control themselves. Someone who doesn't say too much or too little. Someone who is kind and loving, but doesn't love the wrong people too much. Doesn't give so much. Doesn't need so much. Someone who can be happy and feel peace for more than a minute.
I want to be better. I want this anxiety to go away. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I want to eat and live and play and work and have fun. I don't want to live here alone. Alone with the memories, the ghosts haunting me. They don't go away. I can't bury them, I can't un-know them. I can't make the memories fade. Or the pain, or the hurt. Or the joy that doesn't exist anymore. I can't make someone love me if they don't. Or admit their feelings if they do. I can't make the world better. I can't stop him from crying, stop her from feeling pain. I can't bring the dead back. And I can't make the living live more. I can't change anyone. I can only change myself. But I always seem to go right back to where I was. Not a happy place. In the background. In the foreground...but I'm still invisible.
Why do I always feel left out? Not good enough? That I don't belong? I'm not like everyone else....I'm not like anyone else. We say that we're all unique, but that's not true. So many people are similar. And follow the crowd. Hate because their friends hate. Or their family. Stick up for someone who's wrong, instead of the person who's right. Loyalty? What about compassion? Understanding? I don't understand people. But I know more than I did. And it's not good things.
I have trust issues. And abandonment issues. And fears. I overcome them...or just live with them. I can't change who I am. I can't stop this. I can't be a different person. The person who others see? It's not me. People are always disappointed when they get to know me. I'm not what they expect. They look at me and see? What? They talk to me and they should know. But they don't. Dates are never successful. I'm always too quiet. Well...I've changed some. Speak out more...very opinionated. Maybe defensive. And very much lacking in patience. But still, I'm me. Always will be. I can't become whatever it is that I'm supposed to be. And I'm sorry. I have a destiny and I'm failing. I can do better...but I don't want to. I just don't know how or I'm unable physically or falling apart mentally. And I know I can do better. But I don't. Can't. Won't. Maybe better doesn't exist. Maybe this is all there is. I hate it. And I pray.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Acceptance
For more years than I can remember, I asked, "What's wrong with me?" There was never an answer. I always felt different from everyone else around me in some way. When I was a kid I wondered what I did to be punished this way...because that's what life felt like to me -- a punishment. I felt unloved and unwanted, even though my parents told me they loved me every day. The kids at school liked me even though I was too shy to talk to them. But I was strange because of my differences. I lacked confidence and self-esteem and I spent most of my time by myself. I had mood swings and depressed periods and felt like there was nowhere that I belonged...even my own home. And I always knew that I would leave that city. It wasn't my place.
As I got older, I still wondered what was wrong with me, but I knew that it was just the way I was made, the way I was born. I did nothing wrong as a child...I just saw the world a different way than others. I knew things and felt things and saw things that others didn't. Or didn't admit to. People really aren't as open-minded as they like to believe. Because when you talk about something different, something unusual or uncommon or supernatural....they pull away. Give you that look like you're crazy. I've been called crazy a lot. Among other things.
The problem is that I started to believe the things people said about me. I didn't realize it was happening and it took all these years to develop. Of course, some of the emotional abuse was caused by myself. I'm harder on myself than anyone else. And I know that no one will ever hate me as much as I hate myself. But I could always see the good in me too. The beauty, the talent, the intelligence. Even when people put me down, I knew that I wasn't as bad as that. I knew there was better in me. It's just hard to see past all the flaws. I see ALL of my flaws every time I look in the mirror. And not just the external ones.
It's hard for me to forgive myself my mistakes. It's hard for me to move on and let things go. I dwell on issues, over-worry, overreact. I've tried to change myself so many times over the years. To fit in, to be heard, to be normal. But I'm not, I can't. I am who I am. All I can do is improve. Be a better me, someone that I can be proud of. And I am proud of myself -- for having the strength to speak out, for pulling myself up when I fall, for still living after all the pain, for working hard, for helping others. I've done good things. And I can do more.
I'm slowly learning to accept myself. The good, the bad, the ugly. I have for the most part. But right now I have to learn to accept this mental illness, this "thing" that consumes me day after day. I fight it, I deny it, I reject it, I'm resigned to it. It's a part of me, no matter what I do. I can't make it go away. I can't make the thoughts and emotions stop. I can't make the depression and anxiety not exist. That's what I tried to do for so long. As a teenager I "made myself better" and pretended that everything was ok. It was all I could do then. I had no help, no resources. And no one accepted this as reasonable behavior. So I had to become "normal" to protect them from the real me. So they would never see what was behind the smile.
There were reasons that I didn't get help as an adult, even when I was first diagnosed years ago. I didn't think medication would work for me and I was leery of psychiatric help. Which I still am to some extent. But the pain was too great and I could no longer "make myself better", so something had to be done. I was honest with my new doctor and she started me on antidepressants, and eventually anxiety meds and sleeping pills. It was supposed to be temporary, just to get through the worst of it. Then I was supposed to learn how to cope on my own...through techniques and therapy. Well, it's been 2 1/2 years now and I'm nowhere close to being ready to go off of the medication. It does work and the newest ones are making me feel more clearheaded and motivated and upbeat. But it's still a daily struggle. I still have the anxiety, the dark thoughts, the worries. The nights are hard again. And with the improved mood comes the guilt and regrets -- for the things that I have not done and are supposed to be doing. All of the things I let go while I was depressed and unmotivated and weak. I'm still underweight and cannot leave the house everyday because I don't have the physical strength. There's so much that I want to do and I'm not able to do it. And that's frustrating. I feel useless and worthless and lazy. But I know in reality I'm just sick.
And so, that's what I have to accept. I have some answers to "What's wrong with me?", and the new question, "Why is this happening?". I know that I have major depression due to a chemical imbalance. I know that I have anxiety that comes out of nowhere sometimes...seeming without cause. I know that I'll always have suicidal thoughts, even though I plan to never act on them. I know that I self-harm by emotionally abusing myself and starving myself...and sometimes hitting myself. Denying pleasure and good health because I feel that I don't deserve it -- usually because someone I love is suffering. I know that I'll always be haunted by the past, that the memories won't go away. I know that the pain that I feel...the bumps, the bruises, the breaks, are a part of me. Some scars never heal. Some wounds never close. And I know there will be more pain in the future -- more death, more grief, more loss. But also joy. Happiness? It's hard for me to let myself be happy because when you're up that high, it's a long fall to the ground. And I will fall again. I have to accept that too. I'll never be cured, my life will never be perfect. There are ups and downs. We all go through them. Some people pretend that they don't have bad times, that anyone who talks about anything negative is just bringing everyone around them down. Well, the reality is, that humans feel emotions when something bad happens. You can ignore it and deny it, but it's still there. Some of us just feel comfortable speaking it and admitting it. And then we get past it. That's strength.
People with mental illnesses are viewed as weak. Unstable, crazy, weird, flawed. But I think we're the strongest of them all. Because we know what it means to hit the bottom, to be so close to the edge of life and death...and make that choice to keep going. Pick ourselves up and get on our feet. We overcome the obstacles...and then excel. We defeat our demons...no matter how many times they attack. And when the monster is inside of you, that's the hardest fight of all. But we do it. Day after day. It was never as hard for me as it is now. A lot has changed...I have changed. Events have changed me, shaped me. I can't say I'm grateful, because I don't like the person I am now. That's why I don't believe that everything happens for a reason...some things just happen. They just happen and you can let them destroy you or you can move on. Keep moving forward.
So I've taken the first steps. I got help, I keep fighting through the ups and downs, do research to understand this condition better, talk to people with similar issues, accept that this is who I am now. Accept that there IS something wrong with me. That I'm sick. That I need medication to feel better, to function. But I know that I can deal with it. And maybe I can beat it. I'm stubborn enough to try.
As I got older, I still wondered what was wrong with me, but I knew that it was just the way I was made, the way I was born. I did nothing wrong as a child...I just saw the world a different way than others. I knew things and felt things and saw things that others didn't. Or didn't admit to. People really aren't as open-minded as they like to believe. Because when you talk about something different, something unusual or uncommon or supernatural....they pull away. Give you that look like you're crazy. I've been called crazy a lot. Among other things.
The problem is that I started to believe the things people said about me. I didn't realize it was happening and it took all these years to develop. Of course, some of the emotional abuse was caused by myself. I'm harder on myself than anyone else. And I know that no one will ever hate me as much as I hate myself. But I could always see the good in me too. The beauty, the talent, the intelligence. Even when people put me down, I knew that I wasn't as bad as that. I knew there was better in me. It's just hard to see past all the flaws. I see ALL of my flaws every time I look in the mirror. And not just the external ones.
It's hard for me to forgive myself my mistakes. It's hard for me to move on and let things go. I dwell on issues, over-worry, overreact. I've tried to change myself so many times over the years. To fit in, to be heard, to be normal. But I'm not, I can't. I am who I am. All I can do is improve. Be a better me, someone that I can be proud of. And I am proud of myself -- for having the strength to speak out, for pulling myself up when I fall, for still living after all the pain, for working hard, for helping others. I've done good things. And I can do more.
I'm slowly learning to accept myself. The good, the bad, the ugly. I have for the most part. But right now I have to learn to accept this mental illness, this "thing" that consumes me day after day. I fight it, I deny it, I reject it, I'm resigned to it. It's a part of me, no matter what I do. I can't make it go away. I can't make the thoughts and emotions stop. I can't make the depression and anxiety not exist. That's what I tried to do for so long. As a teenager I "made myself better" and pretended that everything was ok. It was all I could do then. I had no help, no resources. And no one accepted this as reasonable behavior. So I had to become "normal" to protect them from the real me. So they would never see what was behind the smile.
There were reasons that I didn't get help as an adult, even when I was first diagnosed years ago. I didn't think medication would work for me and I was leery of psychiatric help. Which I still am to some extent. But the pain was too great and I could no longer "make myself better", so something had to be done. I was honest with my new doctor and she started me on antidepressants, and eventually anxiety meds and sleeping pills. It was supposed to be temporary, just to get through the worst of it. Then I was supposed to learn how to cope on my own...through techniques and therapy. Well, it's been 2 1/2 years now and I'm nowhere close to being ready to go off of the medication. It does work and the newest ones are making me feel more clearheaded and motivated and upbeat. But it's still a daily struggle. I still have the anxiety, the dark thoughts, the worries. The nights are hard again. And with the improved mood comes the guilt and regrets -- for the things that I have not done and are supposed to be doing. All of the things I let go while I was depressed and unmotivated and weak. I'm still underweight and cannot leave the house everyday because I don't have the physical strength. There's so much that I want to do and I'm not able to do it. And that's frustrating. I feel useless and worthless and lazy. But I know in reality I'm just sick.
And so, that's what I have to accept. I have some answers to "What's wrong with me?", and the new question, "Why is this happening?". I know that I have major depression due to a chemical imbalance. I know that I have anxiety that comes out of nowhere sometimes...seeming without cause. I know that I'll always have suicidal thoughts, even though I plan to never act on them. I know that I self-harm by emotionally abusing myself and starving myself...and sometimes hitting myself. Denying pleasure and good health because I feel that I don't deserve it -- usually because someone I love is suffering. I know that I'll always be haunted by the past, that the memories won't go away. I know that the pain that I feel...the bumps, the bruises, the breaks, are a part of me. Some scars never heal. Some wounds never close. And I know there will be more pain in the future -- more death, more grief, more loss. But also joy. Happiness? It's hard for me to let myself be happy because when you're up that high, it's a long fall to the ground. And I will fall again. I have to accept that too. I'll never be cured, my life will never be perfect. There are ups and downs. We all go through them. Some people pretend that they don't have bad times, that anyone who talks about anything negative is just bringing everyone around them down. Well, the reality is, that humans feel emotions when something bad happens. You can ignore it and deny it, but it's still there. Some of us just feel comfortable speaking it and admitting it. And then we get past it. That's strength.
People with mental illnesses are viewed as weak. Unstable, crazy, weird, flawed. But I think we're the strongest of them all. Because we know what it means to hit the bottom, to be so close to the edge of life and death...and make that choice to keep going. Pick ourselves up and get on our feet. We overcome the obstacles...and then excel. We defeat our demons...no matter how many times they attack. And when the monster is inside of you, that's the hardest fight of all. But we do it. Day after day. It was never as hard for me as it is now. A lot has changed...I have changed. Events have changed me, shaped me. I can't say I'm grateful, because I don't like the person I am now. That's why I don't believe that everything happens for a reason...some things just happen. They just happen and you can let them destroy you or you can move on. Keep moving forward.
So I've taken the first steps. I got help, I keep fighting through the ups and downs, do research to understand this condition better, talk to people with similar issues, accept that this is who I am now. Accept that there IS something wrong with me. That I'm sick. That I need medication to feel better, to function. But I know that I can deal with it. And maybe I can beat it. I'm stubborn enough to try.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Writing...
I saw this quote on a friend's post on Twitter this morning:
"The purpose of writing is discovery. You do not know what you yourself think until you put it into words."
It's very true. When I write I can express myself like no other way; I can say all of the words in my head that don't come out right when I speak. I can phrase things the way I want and create my own personal form of poetry. The words flow from my soul and I can figure out what's going on inside of me. I've been letting myself write freely, letting the words come as they may, with no rhyme or reason, no editing, no planning. It helps to release this way and get the negativity out of my system. I've been finding out a lot about myself -- some good, some bad. But I know myself better now.
I still keep journals, which are private and only seen by me, but for the past year I've been making some of my writing public because it's more therapeutic. Writing in a journal still feels like keeping my thoughts to myself and holding the emotions inside. Which eats away at me and causes emotional damage. But there are some things that I don't trust others to know...or I don't feel comfortable sharing. But I've come a long way and have some good friends and family members with whom I talk to regularly. That's my form of therapy.
I know that eventually I will need professional therapy. I just don't feel ready yet. I have a lot of other steps to take in my healing and I have enough new things to deal with. So many changes. The newest meds seem to be working well and my head is much clearer and I feel more motivated. I still have a lot to overcome though. A lot to figure out. I have to let myself take the time and go slowly. That's the hardest part.
"The purpose of writing is discovery. You do not know what you yourself think until you put it into words."
It's very true. When I write I can express myself like no other way; I can say all of the words in my head that don't come out right when I speak. I can phrase things the way I want and create my own personal form of poetry. The words flow from my soul and I can figure out what's going on inside of me. I've been letting myself write freely, letting the words come as they may, with no rhyme or reason, no editing, no planning. It helps to release this way and get the negativity out of my system. I've been finding out a lot about myself -- some good, some bad. But I know myself better now.
I still keep journals, which are private and only seen by me, but for the past year I've been making some of my writing public because it's more therapeutic. Writing in a journal still feels like keeping my thoughts to myself and holding the emotions inside. Which eats away at me and causes emotional damage. But there are some things that I don't trust others to know...or I don't feel comfortable sharing. But I've come a long way and have some good friends and family members with whom I talk to regularly. That's my form of therapy.
I know that eventually I will need professional therapy. I just don't feel ready yet. I have a lot of other steps to take in my healing and I have enough new things to deal with. So many changes. The newest meds seem to be working well and my head is much clearer and I feel more motivated. I still have a lot to overcome though. A lot to figure out. I have to let myself take the time and go slowly. That's the hardest part.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
My Thoughts
I guess some of you noticed that I deleted my blog post from yesterday. I don't like to censor myself and I believe that everyone has a right to vent and release their pain through writing. I did release and I believe in everything I said. But I didn't feel right leaving it up there...partly because I'm feeling low and don't have the confidence to stand behind my opinions. And partly because I didn't want anyone to take my statements the wrong way and get offended or hurt. I made general statements about "friends" based on situations that I've been involved in or have witnessed that were bothering me at the time. Mostly dealing with life comparisons and feeling inferior because others seemed to imply that their experiences or emotions or pain or grief were worse than mine. Maybe not directly, and no one has said anything recently to hurt me that way, but the words are out there.
I know that some people have it worse than me...and others have it better. I've gotten both comparisons -- that my problems are minor because this horrific thing happened to them. Or that I'll never have what they have (happiness, a family, a good job, etc) unless I get over my issues or move on and act differently. Be better...be like them. I'm not them. I'm not anyone but me.
I just don't feel that anyone has the right to judge someone else and determine how they should feel or act or react to situations. Because everyone is different, everyone copes in different ways. The most traumatic event for me may not have shattered another. I'm on medications as a result of my aunt's death...that was the trigger that "unbalanced" my brain and made my occasional depression explode into thoughts darker than any I could imagine. I never though I'd be where I am now...uncontrollable anxiety, thoughts of self-harm. So many different meds. Makes my years of emotional self-abuse look like a children's game. It's a struggle every day. But others in my family found better ways to cope. They're living their lives. And they weren't any less grief-stricken than me. Some, like my grandparents who lost their youngest daughter, or my mother and aunt and uncles, who lost their sister, were more broken. Are still broken. They will never heal...I don't think any of us will. But can someone on the outside say that that event is less important, less painful than their event? It's all relative and one person's pain will always be major to that person. Maybe I'm weak and that's why I can't cope. Or maybe I feel so deeply that I took this pain to a higher level...a pain reserved for a different kind of death. I don't know.
This is my battle, my struggle. I'm fighting to stay alive. I'm fighting to be able to function in society and handle all of my responsibilities. Which I do. So maybe I'm stronger than I think. I'm just trying to find my place. And be the best person I can be. And as I said yesterday -- this is for me.
I know that some people have it worse than me...and others have it better. I've gotten both comparisons -- that my problems are minor because this horrific thing happened to them. Or that I'll never have what they have (happiness, a family, a good job, etc) unless I get over my issues or move on and act differently. Be better...be like them. I'm not them. I'm not anyone but me.
I just don't feel that anyone has the right to judge someone else and determine how they should feel or act or react to situations. Because everyone is different, everyone copes in different ways. The most traumatic event for me may not have shattered another. I'm on medications as a result of my aunt's death...that was the trigger that "unbalanced" my brain and made my occasional depression explode into thoughts darker than any I could imagine. I never though I'd be where I am now...uncontrollable anxiety, thoughts of self-harm. So many different meds. Makes my years of emotional self-abuse look like a children's game. It's a struggle every day. But others in my family found better ways to cope. They're living their lives. And they weren't any less grief-stricken than me. Some, like my grandparents who lost their youngest daughter, or my mother and aunt and uncles, who lost their sister, were more broken. Are still broken. They will never heal...I don't think any of us will. But can someone on the outside say that that event is less important, less painful than their event? It's all relative and one person's pain will always be major to that person. Maybe I'm weak and that's why I can't cope. Or maybe I feel so deeply that I took this pain to a higher level...a pain reserved for a different kind of death. I don't know.
This is my battle, my struggle. I'm fighting to stay alive. I'm fighting to be able to function in society and handle all of my responsibilities. Which I do. So maybe I'm stronger than I think. I'm just trying to find my place. And be the best person I can be. And as I said yesterday -- this is for me.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Beautiful
Why are you so beautiful to me?
How can I see your glow?
It's not a vision meant for me
It's not something I should know
But when the sunlight hits your face,
And my heart picks up its tempo
How can I deny that you are special
Worth more than just a memento?
There's power in your smile
And kindness in your heart
But there's a toughness deep inside
And still, that's only part
I don't know all of you
I suppose I never will
My time may be limited
But I'm taking all that I can steal
If I get my way, you'll never know of this
For I only want your happiness and a life of eternal bliss
And all of that is not with me, that's something I surely know
But you reach out to me and all I can do is let you go
For my friend
8/9/10 ~ NM
How can I see your glow?
It's not a vision meant for me
It's not something I should know
But when the sunlight hits your face,
And my heart picks up its tempo
How can I deny that you are special
Worth more than just a memento?
There's power in your smile
And kindness in your heart
But there's a toughness deep inside
And still, that's only part
I don't know all of you
I suppose I never will
My time may be limited
But I'm taking all that I can steal
If I get my way, you'll never know of this
For I only want your happiness and a life of eternal bliss
And all of that is not with me, that's something I surely know
But you reach out to me and all I can do is let you go
For my friend
8/9/10 ~ NM
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The pain is so deep...
I haven't felt like writing. Haven't had a need to, I guess. I do it to release what's inside, get the thoughts out of my head. I always have a lot of thoughts, dreams, plans. When they overwhelm me, that's when I need to let them out. Instead of holding them in like I did for the first 30 years of my life...
It's been a tough couple weeks. Tougher than usual, I mean. I've been struggling so much lately, but I've had so many hits in the past 2 weeks. So many losses, surprises...and not the good kind. I can't control life, can't control what others do or even what happens to me. I can control my reaction to it...and I admit, my reactions are not good. But I persevere. I get back up whenever I fall. Always...so far. I worry about the day when I'll be so far gone that I won't be able to get back up. When I won't keep trying, keep hoping. Sometimes I want that to happen...that loss of control, that lack of self. Just so I can rest. It's hard to keep fighting. Day after day, the same battle. I thought I'd be past this by now, I thought I'd be over it. Done with the meds, moving on to a better life. I'm not. I'm still here and it just gets harder. More people, more things to worry about. And I keep falling.
I can only give so much. I forget about that. Or maybe I'm just too stubborn to acknowledge it. I give my all, put my whole heart and soul into everything I do. That's who I am, I can't be any less. I expect that from others -- that same gift back. I don't always get it. Sometimes it's looked at with puzzlement, sometimes it's rejected, sometimes it's returned. Or exchanged for something else, something less valuable. I have to stop caring so much. Stop working so hard for everyone else. I'm completely burnt out. I can't give to everyone...can't give to anyone. Not what they really need. People leave. I'm not good enough. Well, I can't care anymore. I have to focus on myself. Learn how to be selfish. Not worry about what others think. Not give everything. It feels...wrong somehow. But necessary, I guess. People don't understand. Or misunderstand. Or it doesn't matter enough to try to understand. I don't know. I don't understand other people...never have. But I get tired of being alone. In a crowded room I'm more alone than if I'm by myself. But that's life. My life.
One day I'll have more. Or there will be nothing. But I won't do things halfway. Not for anyone.
It's been a tough couple weeks. Tougher than usual, I mean. I've been struggling so much lately, but I've had so many hits in the past 2 weeks. So many losses, surprises...and not the good kind. I can't control life, can't control what others do or even what happens to me. I can control my reaction to it...and I admit, my reactions are not good. But I persevere. I get back up whenever I fall. Always...so far. I worry about the day when I'll be so far gone that I won't be able to get back up. When I won't keep trying, keep hoping. Sometimes I want that to happen...that loss of control, that lack of self. Just so I can rest. It's hard to keep fighting. Day after day, the same battle. I thought I'd be past this by now, I thought I'd be over it. Done with the meds, moving on to a better life. I'm not. I'm still here and it just gets harder. More people, more things to worry about. And I keep falling.
I can only give so much. I forget about that. Or maybe I'm just too stubborn to acknowledge it. I give my all, put my whole heart and soul into everything I do. That's who I am, I can't be any less. I expect that from others -- that same gift back. I don't always get it. Sometimes it's looked at with puzzlement, sometimes it's rejected, sometimes it's returned. Or exchanged for something else, something less valuable. I have to stop caring so much. Stop working so hard for everyone else. I'm completely burnt out. I can't give to everyone...can't give to anyone. Not what they really need. People leave. I'm not good enough. Well, I can't care anymore. I have to focus on myself. Learn how to be selfish. Not worry about what others think. Not give everything. It feels...wrong somehow. But necessary, I guess. People don't understand. Or misunderstand. Or it doesn't matter enough to try to understand. I don't know. I don't understand other people...never have. But I get tired of being alone. In a crowded room I'm more alone than if I'm by myself. But that's life. My life.
One day I'll have more. Or there will be nothing. But I won't do things halfway. Not for anyone.
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