Two less

Two less people in the world.
Two less people who smiled, laughed, cared...

Two people who lost the battle this weekend.

My heart is broken, my mind is a mess. I don't know how to stop this. Could I have stopped these two?


Reach out. Reach inside yourself and find your strength. Sometimes strength is just eating, or moving from the bed to the couch. Take care of yourself and to hell with other people. Good for the marathon runners, business owners, mothers and fathers...but if you woke up today you are winning.

Story? What Story?

This article explains a lot of what I wish I could say.

"If the situation of our story is historic we may be tempted to shape the story to a presentable narrative arc with redemption and a happy ending which may not represent the reality of the problem for others." 

"While we applaud people for their bravery in sharing their personal stories, we often forget to continue to applaud their bravery for dealing with the results."

I am stuck in the in between.

I am not well, but I am not broken.

I can be paralyzed by a panic attack one day and having a dance party with my cat the next.

I can smile, interact with people, and even be funny. But the truth is, I'd rather not be alive (please understand that this is not the same as being suicidal).

This is my normal, I have trouble understanding why people are afraid to die. I lie awake at night wishing I could take the place of a mom dying of cancer.

So yeah, I want to tell my story, but it isn't finished. But I am more than my dark days.

[as are you]

I should be afraid to die, right?

"Maybe, you have to be dying to understand. But there’s this thing that happens where death stops being scary. What starts being scary is hope, because it's not true."  

I still have hope, but I also understand reality. I may never stop feeling like this, and that's ok. There is a purpose that I may never know.

Dying doesn't scare me. It'd be kinda nice I think. Apparently that's not normal.

Saving Lives

Today I had to refill my anti-depressants. This lady and her daughter were in line ahead of me. The daughter (teenage) started talking about how she wouldn't want to work in a place like this (mental heath clinic), she wanted to save lives. 
Her mom replied, "You don't think these people save lives?"
For her sake, I hope she never has to find out just how life saving these doctors and medicines are.

Thoughts Now That I'm Old

I frequently think "I wish I could move to Orlando and be a part of City Beautiful...or Chicago with Jarrett Stevens...Especially my second fam and One...

But maybe I'm here for a reason. Ten-ish years ago I was planning for a future in France with a dog.  But after puking my guts out in a hotel in Paris I had doubts. A few years later I got sicker than a dog in Indonesia.

A professor wisely told me "If God calls you, he calls your stomach too."


After college my world fell apart.


So I'm here...recovering from and fighting against depression. Trying not to take a blade to my skin. Trying (and failing) not to isolate.

I want to help people. I want to love people. But I also want to be alone. My introversion is ridiculous. And I hate it. I feel so guilty because I feel called to connect with other hurting people...but mostly I just want to hide.

I keep thinking about the phrase "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." It's not exactly hell I'm afraid of, it's missing my purpose because I'm too wrapped up in myself. I don't want my broken mind and soul to stop me from spreading the love that I know exists, even when I don't feel it.

Scar tissue that I wish you saw? Not so much...

I have scars.  Mistakes? Expressions.
Lots on my thighs. *Sigh.*
Many, mostly faded, on my inner left arm (thank you summer '08).

Then there are there recent ones. The ones that still feel like friends.  Friends who made mistakes, who I'd like to hug and comfort, and say, "try again."
My angry broken window mistake...

That mistake that cost me so much, but showed me how far people would go to care for me. I don't deserve them.  My mom.  An angel.  I could never compare to her.  She started out wanting to be the best, to do the best, to do RIGHT. And she did. It's unspeakably brilliant and selfless and Christ-like and I couldn't ask for a better example.

Now how about the left arm? The arm that met the fate of the iron in a dismal fit of self loathing.

This is the real crowd pleaser it seems.  Children cry "a boo-boo!" I say yes, "a boo-boo..." Sigh.

Oddly enough, plenty of adults mention my scar as well.  

One woman asked if it was a spider bite, as it resembled her friend's reaction to a spider bite.

 Others just ask what happened.  I suppose some would consider this rude, but I've been so desensitized to such thing I don't even recognize it.

Today, a couple in my line mentioned my scar.  I continued going through the motions, but he said something shocking..."I know you went through something bad, but now they're like fallen flower petals."

Through pain comes strength, and strength is beautiful.

undeserving, again

As much as I've failed and betrayed, I am astonished by the ideals of Truth that remain in my brain and heart, and the chances I get to share them.

God, Devil, Self

I never thought of it like that, but yeah.

Somewhere along the way I heard someone speak about the devil using selfishness as a way to attack us, and I totally agree.  So, putting both ideas together kinda explains our ridiculous drive to rock it out on our own and never ask for help, and also our struggle to be happy with ourselves.

More than anything or anyone, I want to be friends with myself...
Why is that so hard?

really, it does...

The shadow really does prove the sunshine...

My honest story and why you should be real too

There were two distinct times today in which I was sure I was going to die.

#1...after a breakfast and mid morning snack of koolaid and year-old nutter butters, my stomach decided it wouldn't cooperate and I spent the next 30 minutes to and hour waiting to expel a peanut-buttery back cherry liquid mess. But, since I have such a mental block against throwing up I just had to wait it out.

#2...Calls to the insurance company and wrecker service had been made, so my business for the day was handled. But my body was still freaking out. Around 4pm I experienced my first all-out chest contracting, stomach knotting, anxiety attack. It felt like the muscles in my torso were being ripped apart. Clutching a heating pad and whimpering, I finally fell asleep and woke up in significantly less pain.


I've mentioned before that bad days scare me. Today I got a reminder of the not-so-distant past when I could do little more than lay in bed and cry. This reminder caused even more crying, and fear that the dark days were returning. Its all very discouraging. In these times my prayers are usually limited to one word pleas of "Help!" or "No..." or, most common, just "God..."

I don't share this for pity. I just want to be honest. This kind of stuff is a reality for more people than you realize. Admitting you've hit the bottom is hard, and often humiliating. But this is real life guys. Pain is real. Being honest and telling our stories and knowing that they matter is vital, even if they don't always receive the reaction we hope. Our job is to keep sharing, honestly, and breaking down misconceptions and proving that pride is detrimental to community.


Some words that encourage me a little:

The darkness wins too often. Broken things build themselves in silence. People feel alone. People give up. People talk about this stuff like it's math or they don't talk about it at all...
We're trying to fight for people with kindness, with words that move, with honesty and creativity. We're trying to push back at suicide with compassion, with hope. We're pointing to wisdom, pointing to medicine, saying that hope is real, help is real. We're fighting for our own stories, our own friends and families, our own broken hearts. We're saying there's nothing we can't talk about, nothing off-limits. We're kicking elephants out of living rooms, making room for life...
Don't give up. Don't give up on your story. Don't give up on the people you love. Hope is real. Love is real. It's all worth fighting for.

-jamie tworkowski
TWLOHA

To be honest, its hard for me to believe these words tonight. But I'm trying. I'm looking for the compassion and hope, but these are hard to see through the tears. If you pray, please include me and all the others searching for hope tonight.

self-diagnosis?

I'm almost scared to say this, but I think I'm getting better...

I've made it through four days of "real" work and haven't ended up in the ER. Not to say it hasn't been rough, there were periods of extreme distress dispersed throughout the past two weeks, but the amount of time spent in crisis-mode is getting (slowly) smaller.

During one particularly dark time I found myself simply googling "suicide" in search of any hint of light. One site had something that stuck with me, so I went back to it tonight...

Although I'm getting better, I feeling like I'm taking the rugged backroads to get there. According to this article,

Suicidal people meet the formal criteria for PTSD...Many of us are haunted by memories of acute crises, acts of self-injury, or extended periods of severe depression. Like citizens of a besieged city, we lived through periods of time in which we had a realistic and unrelenting fear that we would soon be dead. We suffer PTSD simply from having been suicidal, independently of whatever particular traumas may have contributed to our becoming suicidal, such as abuse during childhood or exposure to the violent death of someone else. Our “suicide PTSD” is also distinct from whatever traumatic events may happen as a result of being suicidal, such as involuntary hospitalization or job discrimination. Undoubtedly, most of us suffered many types of traumatic events in our lives, and these events and their consequences need to be addressed in recovery. But the suicidal crises themselves may be events that induce PTSD.

It goes on to list common conditions of those who suffer this suicidal PTSD, several are more real to me than I'd like:

• Problems with memory.
• Avoidance of things associated with the traumatic experience.
• Persistent anxiety.
• Fear that the traumatic situation will recur.
• A feeling of being powerless over the traumatic event. Anger and frustration over being powerless.
• A feeling of being helpless about one’s current condition.
• Being dramatically and permanently changed by the experience.
• An inability to experience the joys of life.
• Feelings of being alienated from the other people and society in general. “I am different. I am shameful. If they knew what I was like, they would reject me. I don’t belong in this world. I’m a freak, an outcast.”
• When people with PTSD try to return to normal life, they are plagued by readjustment problems in the basic elements of life. They have difficulties in relationships, in employment, and in having families.
• Left with unexpressed rage against those who were indifferent to their situation and who failed to help them.
• In personal relationships there are problems of dependency and trust. A fear of being abandoned, betrayed, let down. A belief that people will be hurtful if given a chance. Feelings of self-hatred and humiliation for being needy, weak, and vulnerable. Alternating between isolation and anxious clinging.
• No sense of having a future, or, the belief that one’s future will be very limited.
• Loss of self-confidence, and loss of feelings of mastery and competence.

A lot of the time I just don't know what to do...I've forgotten how to be a real person. Mentally, I can think of where to go and what to do, but emotionally, its like I'm paralyzed. I lie in bed and try to will myself to do something, anything, but I'm completely overwhelmed so I don't move. Yesterday, when I straightened my hair and put on makeup before work I felt so victorious. Its not overcoming laziness, its prying myself out of death's grip and falling into the realness of reality, where tasks are manageable and time does not stand still.

Today has been a partial success. I was supposed to work until five, so I didn't worry much about this evening and how I'd occupy myself, but they sent me home around two-thirty. I got two quasi-major errands out of the way and finally took care of some stuff online...then I laid in bed for two hours. I spent another two hours telling myself to eat something and plan a laundromat trip...paralyzed...

I want to be normal...I want to be functional, or at least be able to blame my lack of activity on laziness.

This is ugly. Reality/alternate reality is ugly. If you read all this ugliness, you're a rockstar. Excuse me, I have to go be overwhelmed now...

October 23rd

my view: 9:30am




my view: 11:30am



How did I go from one to the other in a matter of hours?


The Story:
Being bipolar means (in very loose terms) swinging from highs to lows. . . Well I'm not bipolar, but I have my swings. Instead I go from normal to very low, very quickly. . . very, very low. At my lowest point today I talked to my doctor and he reccommended I go to the ER at UAMS and at least have a psych consult to get a second guess on my med situation. So I did. Well, insert Joe Cocker music here.

Going in, I wasn't a fan of hospitals, but UAMS is ok. They did what they had to do, they treated me incredibly well, and when I wanted to go home, I got to. There was a lot of waiting around, but its a hospital and to be expected.

Now for the plan. . .
My thoughts: Let's go back to the last thing that worked. So the EMSAM patches and dexedrine begin next week. It will still talk some time for my body to adjust, but I'm going to try my best to deal with it as it comes.

I've been without employment for nearly a month and a half. Thats gotta change. But first things first, and that means my mental health.

So let's hope and pray that November brings better weather, cause its been a stormy year from the start.