Awake

Posted on July 26, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7-25-14 1:23pm

I am awake.
I am alive.
Nothing bad happened.

We talked about radical acceptance. “I don’t like it. I don’t want it. AND I can tolerate it.”
I added, “AND I can love it.” I am awake.

I told her I want to wake up. I shared some past. I curled up tight in a ball. I talked about fear and confusion. She allowed me to feel what it’s like to be scared and confused, to stay with it. For me that’s new.

I notice I’m having trouble remembering. I was skipping around the numbers.

From the ball I took a chance and uncurled. I laid on the floor, moving my fingers and toes. Then I went upside down – plowish pose. Things were instantly better. I’m calmer upside down. I struggled in my head to find the courage to ask to do a back bend. When I did I shared the arguing in my head.

Soleil put her feet on my back and supported me as I peeled off the well. I opened my eyes to look at her briefly. I felt sheer freedom, relief. Then an overwhelming wave of nausea. I’ll call it emotion. I stayed with it for as long as I could then came down and put my hands and forehead on the wall. I breathed heavily. I was awake.

I learned the emotion is much stronger and closer than I thought and that I can access it when I want. I can be awake and have nothing bad happen. I can sit with and love my scary thoughts and the parts of me thinking them. I also noticed how real and very close my past is. I don’t want to run anymore. I am weak, and that’s okay. I want to integrate. I think I’m ready. We work together.

Lately I hear music almost constantly. The numbers in my head fight and change course. I feel pressed. I must always be working. I don’t want to wake up one day when I’m 50. I want to live life now. And take a nap. Soul-searching is exhausting.

I am awake.
I am alive.

(continued 7-26-14)

I felt.
Identified a want/need.
Allowed myself to want.
Let my self ask.
Used courage.
Took a chance/risk.
Asked for what I wanted.
Was honest about feeling scared.
Asked for help.
Trusted that she wouldn’t hurt me for asking.

Trusted her.
Experienced the uncertainty.
Stayed with it.
Participated.
Let go into the pose.
Embraced the feeling of freedom.
Let myself feel it.
Acknowledged pain when it came but didn’t stop even though I felt scared.

Watched the sensations grow
– pins & needles & burning in my left hand and arm
– extreme nausea
Chose to move up and sit back even though I was scared to get in trouble
– rested my hands and forehead on the wall
Watched myself breathe deeply, heavily.
Did not judge the moment.

What did I practice?

Patience for me
Trust
trusting me
trusting she wouldn’t hurt me
trusting her words
trusting her to support me
trusting my own judgement
trusting what my body tells me to do or not to
trusting my instinct
trusting God
Staying in the moment – present/awake
Staying with a feeling
Feeling
Telling the truth
Being Real
Being Michelle
Just being
Allowing myself to be happy, playful, and do basketball court angels

When I was scared I curled up so tight in a ball. I didn’t know I could get so small. I took a chance when prompted to uncurl. The dance is stuck in me. I must get it, let it out. I must set me free.

(listened to RadioLab)

Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam

Posted on July 18, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7/17/14 3:17pm

Do you want to stop dissociating? (therapist)

I want to not feel trapped. I want to not need to escape reality. I want to get what I need and to know that I have it. And what I have it for. I want ME.

I’m so exhausted. I fight but I can’t get out of my mind. I want to cut the pain out like a tumor. Just GET it OUT. I rarely cry. I’m surrounded by fog. My life is a lie it seems but only to me. I’m the one who can’t quite reach it.

Put on a smile. Dress nicely. Run to catch up. What day is it? Who cares? Just follow the box. This meaning is big-picture stuff. Just keep trodding along.

(slow deep breath, confusion)

I don’t want to be sick. It has benefits but not worth dying for. Why stay propped up on toothpicks when you could run? Have you tried?

(shutting down)

Tuesday I had a strong response and shut down in group. B- was the trigger. I didn’t say anything. (falling asleep) I want to be able to read menus again. I don’t know how I’m doing right now. When Ashley states it objectively it sounds bleak. I can’t remember what I’ve done or am doing. I’m very reactive. I can’t make decisions. I zone out driving. I hear music or racing thoughts or nothing. I get hot or cold for no reason. I’m not interested in people or activities or life. I’m having a really hard time making my bed and handling finances. I’m not brushing my teeth. My hair is falling out. I’m gaining weight. I’m picking again. I’m thinking in pictures. I can’t tolerate reading email and I’m not responding in a timely manner to text or voicemail. I’m not interested in tv. I have nightmares and wake up sweaty. I’m tired. Head pain and stomach pain are literally mind-numbing. Dr. T says I’m falling apart. I am.

I’m working really hard. I don’t know why I’d do that if I didn’t want to change. Groups and therapy are stressful. Who would volunteer for that? I’m not a glutton, nor do I like punishment.

Oddly, I don’t feel angry or offended at the question. One would think I would be better by now, might think I’m not trying. I just feel sad. It’s a question I’ve asked others. Do you want to get better? Yes. I do. Life is better than treatment. But life is trying to eat me. Or so my brain tells me. I do what the voices tell me.

Honestly, I do not want to be present for this. But if I don’t experience it I won’t have a chance to remember. “I feel like a hamster,” I kept telling them. Trapped and people are watching me. They gave me Risperdal and Depakote. “I broke the stone statue” led to being under close observation. I don’t speak the language. Shawna tries but she rarely “speaks Michelle.” I don’t want my own language, don’t want to need translation. I just want to be, to understand, to experience just what’s real. I imagine it might be boring but I want the opportunity to try.

I don’t want to lose my superpowers, just to put them away for awhile. Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam.

Love, Michelle

PS – I want out of my body. It hurts not to move or dance. When offered opportunities I freeze with fear. GET IT OUT.

Still Worth Saving

Posted on July 18, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7/14/14 2:05pm

Still.

(several sighs)

I feel my throat burn and face and hands tingle. The chaos floods back in quickly. I drew my picture. Then I colored out the anxiety.

Today I let go.
I am worth saving.
I am still worth saving.

Still. That implies that I was before.
I’m also still okay.

I feel nauseous and scared.

(go outside)

(stretch, toes in grass, look at sun & upside down trees)

I am okay.
I’m afraid of the pain.
I’m afraid of the pain being real.
It’s everything I want.
If I go through it, will it subside?
If I come to life, will I want to be in it?
Will I be able to get back out?

I am okay.
I’m still okay.
I don’t know what that means.

I’m accessing. I’m getting closer to her. I’m letting her take over me.

I feel frustrated because today it’s different. I went from chaos at an 8 to a 0 with Soleil. I practiced trust and truth, hanging on and letting go, listening. (wave of sadness). Then chaos clamped down like a dungeon door trapping me in when I left.

(image in my mind of me begging at the door when the back of my cell had no wall)
Just turn around.
You’re still okay.
It’s okay to save you.

Remember today, resist self-sacrifice.
Eat. Move your body. Believe.

That’s all ’til next time.
Over and out. –

I am not broken

Posted on July 9, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7/8/14 11:55 am

Hear music:

It’s not over.
It’s not finished.
It’s not ending.
It’s only the beginning.
When God is in it, all things made new.

It played in my head before and resumed again.

I visited the dungeon. I sat with 15. She gave me a button. I’m not broken. And I’m not sure I believe it.

I’m not broken.
The button is real.
The sickness is real, but I am real too.

I talked about my kidneys and Ashley. My body held all of my sins and strife in a hollow ringing dark blue ball in my back. My body said to let go. Let go. I can’t follow the pattern of movement and change. Hands, feet, rocking, stretching. A whirl in my head like a blender. Then we were there. I went to the dungeon. I went to see 15.

Mom says not to go down there, that she’s bad and deserves to be punished and alone, a disgrace to the family. She eats spaghetti. But she’s not. She’s just a little girl looking to be loved. She’s not broken. I’m not broken. It was cold there. She sat on the floor instead of the bench. The door was open. I sat next to her. I didn’t say a word.

Her hair was stringy, eyes big. She was younger than me, scared but she didn’t run away. She just watched me. I wasn’t scared of being caught like before. I didn’t try to change or convince her. She’s not broken. I’m not broken. This isn’t our fault.

I feel nervous as I write this, like someone is watching and will find out and get me.

(someone screams in real life – look up)

She gave me a trinket, a small button with an anchor on it. It was dark blue and textured. She is the anchor and she is not broken. She is REAL and I have to save her. Or do I? Maybe I could just be her friend, hold her hand. Maybe she can teach me.

I decided that maybe I could take her a picnic. She had a very important message for me – “You have to dance.” The phrase comes to mind, “Don’t let me die in vain.” Is she really dying? I want the time to love her. She’s not broken. I’m not broken.

I set a goal to dance with some videos this week and to re-query Trisha about space. In order to be successful in teaching while sick, I need to drop my pride and be open. That is hardest for me. It’s why 15 is in the dungeon and why I don’t teach kids. I’m terrified.

It’s a made up fear.

No it’s not.

Kind of.

Okay, a little. But SOME of it is real.

Yes.

Plan for the ending.
Then LIVE.

Touche. Live.

Almost everything scares me. I stuff the fear inside the blue ball. Shame is placed in the dungeon. Sadness lives in my core. Anger stays in my head. Before the ball, fear burrows everywhere wreaking havoc on all of my cells. Uncertainty or loss take my breath. Overwhelm lives in my throat. I hold tight to the spiky pain. It makes me dizzy and confused. And exhausted.

I’m not broken. (deep breath)

I need to visit and learn from her. She survived. She’s real. The button is real.

All of the worries and fears of a few hours ago are gone. God gave me Soleil and 15. I prayed on a dandelion that God would set me free. I pondered the insight of a eucalyptus before it sheds. (My foot tingles) I remembered I grew like a tree last year and the tree on my wall to symbolize that.

I’m growing.
I’m real.
I’m not broken.
And I’m hungry.

It doesn’t matter what I lose.
God is holding me.
He has always provided, always will.
It’s not my plan.
It IS my life.

I’m not broken.
I’m real.
I have to dance.

I feel dizzy.

—

I just looked down at my anchor button and realized it’s a J for Jesus. (smile) Praise God. Yes, He is my anchor.

I am not broken

Pain is a hat

Posted on July 1, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

6-30-14 2:07pm

Pain is a hat.

Pain is more of a hat than a liver. It can’t hurt me. It’s not part of me. Letting go isn’t loss. Hanging on isn’t gain. Pain is a hat.

I just finished with Soleil. Amazing session. I started out very agitated, scared. I talked about being scared Dr. Nicolas will be mad and afraid to go back to being sick. A small dot in my stomach was me.

I laid on my back and she put her hand on the dot. We talked. I couldn’t trust, was still scared, so she held my hand. It was grounding. She was real. My hand felt real. She touched my forearm (real), my upper arm (real). She stretched out my arm, pulled. It was the reach of a line, a dance stretch. It opened up the inside of my upper arm, like when I twirl. I joined my other arm. I was calm. So calm. I felt pleasant joy. No anxiety. I listened to the tick of the clock, felt my heartbeat in my stomach. And I remembered what I told Ana – that maybe the pain/feeling doesn’t want to be there either. Am I fighting a friend, an ally?

Pain is just a hat. I can take it off and still be me. It and emotion and life are experiences. I choose pink glitter. I can change hats every day. Or leave one on for years. Or wear more than one at a time. Or I can wear no hat at all.

Some hats have magical powers. When I wear them I transform or change, but they don’t affect the real me, the foundation. Except the ones that are tattooed on, but those are more like skidmarks, scars, memories.

Pain is a hat.

(pause)

So, I guess it doesn’t matter what I go through, whether I’m sick or treated or not. Telling Dr. N doesn’t make the hat more real. Taking medication to remove it doesn’t remove me. Pain can’t hurt me. It’s a hat. Pain is a hat.

Thank you, God. Thank you.
For Soleil, and for hats.

—

Remember realizing Dr. N isn’t mad at me. I’m mad at me for not getting better. I want this fucking done. Get in the game, bitch. He just wants me okay.

My head hurts.

Getting better or healing and the process are no less painful, but I’m no longer afraid to do it. Me minus illness still equals me. I may be ragged but I’m still here, fighting, waiting for you.

I want a gluten-free brownie.

Me too.

—

I’m hungry but I don’t want to move or leave. I’m sitting in the sun in the parking lot. I hear the cars. They seem real. (run my hands over all of me) When I touch me I seem real. Then it fades quickly away.

A baby fell on its head in my car.

No it didn’t.

(sit under the trees)
(notice the breeze)

Train!

I don’t feel safe to drive.

(clasp my hands together)

I’m real.

Choose to hold on to the happy. Why not?

(13) I have to tell Dr. N.

It’s okay to be scared.

I agreed to tell Ashley when I need to use a skill to drive. I don’t want to . Where am I going? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?!

TICKLE FIGHT! :)

—

Dr. N called me back. I told him I’m okay. I was at the moment. But I’m not.

I remember with Soleil God was a big fuzzy purple shoe bag that scooped me up. It was dark inside and I was trapped, so scared. I couldn’t see. He pulled the drawstring tightly closed when life was dangerous and let me look out the top when it was safe. Life was land.

Sometimes there are reasons we cannot see.

(13) I don’t want to wait here. This is stupid.

Is my life a sheltered workshop?

I am happy :)

Posted on May 31, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

5/31/14 10:03am

My soul is filled with the joy of the Lord. JESUS!

(deep breath) I am happy.
I am happy.

Last night I sang a solo at my choir concert. I am so proud! I was so nervous. I started learning it around 3pm. 2 hours in the car with Whitney Houston, 20 minutes with a karaoke track from iTunes and a lot of prayer. The devil fought me telling me I couldn’t do it, that I was worthless and needed to die. Not today, sir. Get out of my house. JESUS!

My head hurts so bad.

There were only 16 people in the audience – all family of the choir and a few church members. None of my friends showed up. I was so thankful to have my mom.

I read from Proverbs and prayed that God would sing through me and to me, that He would give me the courage to open my mouth and use me as a vessel for His word, keeping my focus only on Him. This song is a vocal dance for Jesus. JESUS!

My whole body trembled. An hour or so before, I hit a wall – weak, dizzy, close to tears, barely able to eat. I sat down a few times during the concert but decided not to take my PRN for my heart that I sometimes do during concerts. I didn’t want to interfere with the Spirit. My head and mouth hurt all day. I had decompensated to confusion, yelling at cars, then not moving. But I did it. Just for God. No practice with the choir. A lick and a prayer. All for God. Only for God.

The look on Ken’s face as I sang was priceless. He exchanged looks with Janet. I smiled genuinely. He didn’t know I could do that. Neither did I. :) I got so many compliments after, the best in an email from another choir member. He said:

I listened to the recording of the concert tonight on the way home and I am almost speechless regarding your rendition of “I Love the Lord.” I couldn’t really hear it when we did it, or I would have said something afterwards. I am just floored by the range, the intensity, and the emotion that you put into that solo. Wow. Just magnificent. Thanks for making tonight one of the best nights I have ever spent performing music. Those 16 people in the audience were definitely in the right place at the right time.”

I watched the video when I got home. It is the first time I’ve been proud of my work, didn’t hate the sound of my voice. I felt free.

Today I am still proud. My head and mouth hurt a lot. I feel nauseous. I’m eating kettle corn on the couch. Not the best idea after serious mouth surgery but I’m afraid to make oatmeal. I feel overwhelmed. I’m trying to settle, breathe. My doctor and therapist are both out of town so it’s me and God. He’s got this. (wink)

Thanks for listening.
May you be blessed.

At least I’m not scared…

Posted on February 14, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

2/14/14 6:45pm

I feel suddenly very dizzy & tired.

(lay on the floor, deep breath)

Today I saw Ashley and told her about total system shutdown yesterday. I told her I’ve had that in the hospital but that it’s not a reason to go in and she asked if I want to be in the hospital. No. I answered clearly, outright, without pause or thought. I just realized I was right. I don’t desire to be inpatient right now. That’s huge.

Last year on Valentine’s Day Dr. N wanted to discharge me. I wasn’t ready. I was scared and angry 1 day off Elavil in pain with no Seroquel in my system. We sparred and he admitted he was angry at him, not me. He gave back my Seroquel. We bonded. I was ready the next day. I don’t want to be in the hospital. That’s very new for me.

(awe…)

I think I’ve found meaning and purpose this year, though I’m not sure what they are. I feel grounded. I have a self. Self. Hm.

Getting better doesn’t have to mean letting go.

Really?

I saw Margie walking out of the parking lot. I didn’t even stop to say hi, nor did I feel the urge to, nor feel guilty for not stopping. Huge. I am making some serious progress… I am tempted to compare that progress or myself to someone normal, but I don’t know what that looks like.

(distracted by group)

I am doing better.
I’m scared to be doing well.
I’m scared to do better. I’m scared to do worse. At least I’m not scared to be scared anymore.

(OCD scuffle)
Breathe.

I wish it was Tuesday

Posted on November 30, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

11/28/2013 10:29pm

Dear God,

I wish it was Tuesday. My voice is stuck inside me and nothing reaches the page.

I’m sitting in the car outside Mesa Vista. Light from Cog lights my page. I feel myself falling in slow motion, like a feather through Jello. Life moves quickly around me. I feel lifeless. Can’t move. Can’t stop. Another holiday out of touch. I need to catch this one early.

December is coming. Tomorrow’s Black Friday. I’m about to break. Double on Wednesday. I need so badly to be held. God? What are you training me for? What do you need me for now? I need you. I need a lot of things. I don’t want to end up back in the hospital and that’s the direction I’m headed.

Red flags

Self-harm
Dissociation (more frequent & intense)
Desperation/Agitation cycle
Nightly dreaming
No interest in food (ED + decreased appetite)
Increase in blood pressure
Episodes of tachycardia
Weak/Dizzy
Depersonalization
Derealization
Really out of it
Increase in switching
Intense need to be held
Confusion
Decrease in personal hygeine
Severe fatigue
Rocking
Racing thoughts or no thoughts
Feel my face hanging, heavy
Late frequently
Anhedonia
Can’t complete tasks
Catastrophize more often
Don’t care about my appearance
Not feeding animals
Sleeping in makes me feel worse
Soul-crushing depression
I just watch from behind the glass

Coping Skills I’m Using

Day list (when I remember)
Walking Ellie
Sticking to a schedule
Eating nut bars
Deep breathing
Singing
Watching NCIS
Decluttering
Sensory distraction – light, temperature, sound
Scented candles
Getting out of the house
Eating regularly
Rocking
Chewing gum
Projects

Triggers

Driving
Mom
Too busy – outreach, S, appts
No music nights
No free/down time
Money problems
Ankle injury
Gluten-free transition
-‘s episode, –
J/M/S drama – trust
Brother’s HD
DBSA business woes
Heartland scuffle on Monday
Clogging – Quarternote end, dying, teaching, etc.

What do I need?

Modified schedule w/emphasis on self-care
Talk to my providers
back to Day List
Go back to the bus half time
Meet with a dietician
Go back to Dizzy’s
Start writing again
Find/schedule more alone time
Go back to the gym
Schedule garage time
Pray

Let go.

Schedule – weekly
Menu

Incubation vs Hibernation

Posted on September 9, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

9-3-13 2:22pm

I was thinking about my life today while driving to Eastlake for a pickup. My doctor says I’m making so much progress, that he knew I had potential but never expected me to come this far. But where am I? Where am I going?

I’m not headed in any particular direction. It’s a day to day struggle to stay alive. I’m not in school pursuing a career. I don’t have a husband or kids. I’m floating, stagnant, goal-less. Well, I do have 2 goals but I’m not doing very well on them. I’m temped to starve to death or maybe just walk in circles. When I think about it I freak out. (deeep breath) Is this the end of the yellow brick road?

The word incubation came to mind followed by hibernation. I have stopped almost all events and responsibilities. I am tired. But I don’t think I’m hibernating. I am largely motionless but I am being nurtured and growing. This pause in my life is productive. My mind is catching up to me.

I feel very nauseous, head pain, weak.

I am incubating. If I don’t die, I’ll hatch. I will arise into my new life and follow the path wherever God leads me.

I’m scared to leave this place. I’m not moving forward. I am being carried. The angels are around me. My breath…

Incubation is painful like physical therapy. I am stretched and molded and melted, filed and rearranged. My body is trying to kill me. Maybe I need to die to live.

I really feel faint.
I need to lie down.
And see Dr. Collan.

Right now I feel panic like last night. I’m hovering on a subject so painful, raw. I want to go back to USC.

WHY did you take that life from me?
Why even show me or care?

My life is over. I want a new one. I want to die.

FG – If the new life was different but as fulfilling as the old one, would you stick around?

Hell, yeah.
I need. I just don’t know what.
Jesus.

I’ve walked right out of my shoes. Now I walk on air – off-lifing. Where am I headed, running in circles in an incubator. I’m not ready to leave. But I’m close. I want a better life, to be free. That’s progress. In hibernation I shut down and rest. It rarely involves conscious growth.

I’m helping S- tonight. I’d rather be working on the Comfort Drive. I need to prepare for my mom’s trip and I need someone to help me improve my backing.

I feel overwhelmed but I’m here, incubating. I will be here as long as it takes. God help me.

Since 2009

Posted on September 9, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/13/13 3:18pm

What’s different now than in ’09 with Marc? I’m embracing the fact that I’m alone. Dr. N taught me that not all people leave and that I can be safe. Jim taught me how to face my fears through ERP instead of cognitive reasoning. DBT gave me a set of skills to use when I’m freaking out that work. I became closer to God and reassessed my priorities and relationships when I thought I was going to die. I started developing a sense of self. Now I am not so desperate and needy. I started developing systems to get me through the day and track my progress. I faithfully attended DBSA both sharing and learning new tools. I surrendered the pain and defined acceptance. I started doing things for me, in particular attending jazz gigs and making friends with non-crazy (or at least non-diagnosed) people. I gave up and found life. My mom is nicer to me now. I rarely scream or freak out or run away. I use assertiveness daily. I don’t take bullshit anymore. My need for an intense attachment to one person has diminished greatly. I feel more safe, supported. I’ve learned and practiced more boundaries. I’ve moved away from the cognitive approach. I stopped going to school. I found a doctor and therapist who meet my needs. I need the hospital less. My HD phase has passed. I am free.

I forgot to tell Dr. N today that I’ve been thinking about school. I want my degree. I think I’m ready. I think I’d like to major in social work. I should try WRAP and PET first both as prerequisites and to see if I could handle it. I think I might. I don’t think I’m ready for full or part-time. Maybe one class at a time. I have scholarship money I need to use…

(walk around)

I stood up for myself when threatened at Scripps. I walked away stronger, determined. I took care of me.

I learned to say no and to say yes. I’m doing much better with change – if you can imagine. I’ve dealt with health issues bigger than me. I’ve been broken and risen up again, not through ashes but rules. I learned how to observe and listen, to practice empathy. I catch myself earlier in the process so I don’t blow. I’m learning to stand on my own.

Voyage 200

Posted on August 8, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8-7-13 7:42am

I woke up early today. Mom and Don left for his MOHS. I ate oatmeal outside. My body is tired but I’m awake. Two of my fingertips are part numb. I am lounged on the couch.

I did something risky last night. I listed my Voyage 200 on Amazon. If you’re not familiar, the Voyage 200 is an incredibly fancy gadget, also known as a calculator.

For me it was a status symbol. Only a few of us had one. I would often borrow the teacher’s. Then I convinced the Department of Rehab to buy me one. I treasured but never used it. It’s still in the box. It’s been 5 years.

I love math. I always have. I got an award in the 5th grade for being the only student to ever ask for “more math please.” It was a puzzle, a game. It could twist my brain.

I loved calculus – especially my teacher. She was great. She made learning fun and turned it into a small group experience. I had 2 semesters with her. Then we had a falling out. It was more of a nuclear detonation. I had been in the hospital and was unable to drop her class. Instead of giving me an incomplete, as we’d discussed, she failed me. I haven’t gone back to math since.

I’ve held on to this calculator as a sign of hope, of what could be. I don’t want to let go of the dream. I was smart. I wanted to finish school. But every time I try I end up back inpatient. Yet the calculator is always there in the corner of the living room, both taunting and reminding me of what I could’ve been. What I still might be.

Now my need for money has surpassed my need for memory and it’s time to let it go. (deep sigh) It’s the only thing I own that’s worth anything. That’s a little disheartening to me. I think I’m ready to let go. I’ll most likely cry when it sells.

Voyage 200, here’s to the separate voyages ahead. May you find a safe, loving home. And may I find peace of mind.

Weeds

Posted on August 4, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

7/28/13 8:45pm

1 Awesome thing – Weeds.

Weeds are amazing. I know they have a bad rap for appearing in unwanted places, but have you ever considered their character?

A weed is hearty, a rebel. It roots itself wherever it can, often going to great lengths to survive. Sure they grow in grass but they are different. They hold on. They own the land, claim their own. They are strong.

Weeds are mighty. I find them in treacherous spaces, pushing through the cement, reaching out down the path – rooted along the way. They don’t just fight. They survive. They come back from the dead.

My favorite flower, in fact, is a weed. Dandelions. A wish on a stick. I use them to wish and pray. A co-habitable abomination, I say.

On occasions I am blessed to see a single blade of grass or forming leaf appear through the sidewalk or far into the road. It made it! I can too! I want to be like a weed. Hearty, filling, true.

I also like pulling weeds. It is strenuous yet relaxing to be in the dirt, one with the earth making peace. I see my results. I feel the struggle. I absorb the release. I feel it let go. We are free. The soil is turned. My preferred get more nutrients. I can sleep.

I say ’til death do us part and I love weeds all the way.

I feel so happy here on the floor.

All I Can Do

Posted on June 29, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

6-29-13 10:15pm

I feel sad. I just went walking. And praying.

(long pause)

My heart is heavy.

Janet is dead.
Libby is gone.
Joe didn’t show.
The sisters are fucking.
The ocean is cold.
My eyes are dry.
I might have cancer.
I’m alone…

Otherwise things are okay.
I want to go home.

Hear “All I Can Do (Thank You)”

The picnic was fun today.
Not sure if I’ll make it through the fair tomorrow.

Being set free

Posted on June 14, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

6-14-13 10:36am

I woke up today feeling good. God is moving me quickly in a new direction. I’m not sure toward what but I am following as best I can, sometimes running to catch up. The past week has been bad, complete with temporary paralysis, aphasia and severe SI. But right now, in the moment, I feel good. I see color today. I am taking my mom to join my gym. I’m hoping we can spend some time working out together on our shared goal of getting healthier and losing weight. It will help to have something in common.

I’m moving forward in my room. I bought new wall art, a butterfly shower curtain I had intended for the bathroom but will work perfectly for the closet, and started condensing boxes in my closet and garage. I have a vision of a new white full bed and new mattress covered beautifully in the comforter and sheet set I had at USC. A regal safe place to lie my head. I want to build a home for myself. The hospital is the only place that has ever felt safe and I consider it my home. But it’s changing and I’m changing and I need my own safe place.

I stopped BrainPaint on Monday. My mom turned 65. My psychiatrist is going on vacation. We’re battling my insurance to get one of my meds. I have new neighbors. That is a trip. More about that later. Our house is infested with brown widow spiders. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m really spacey and I can’t remember anything. But in this moment I’m happy. I started doing GRAPES again last week. Today my E goal is to do 5 minutes on a machine at the gym. I don’t want to but I did get dressed. I am floating through my day. I feel the happy wearing into confused.

I’m scared to go to Dizzy’s. It doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t been going to jazz things in forever and I’m afraid C will be mad at me. I feel ashamed that I forgot, afraid I’ve been replaced. A friend pointed out a few weeks ago that since I got out of the hospital I haven’t gone back to my life. I guess not. Another jazz friend wanted to know where the fuck I’ve been and if I’m ok. A valid query. I didn’t tell him I forgot. Until he confronted me I had no idea I wasn’t going to jazz. I had no memory. I don’t remember what I was doing and when I do I don’t care or get scared. My slate has been wiped clean – without the use of ECT. ;) I do remember praying for a release from all of the pressure and stress and things I was tied into. I guess this is it. It does feel freeing to have no idea what’s going on. (stare…) I don’t know what day or month it is and I don’t care. I forget what time it is. I forget to take my meds. Not good. I forget to eat. I don’t know where I’m going. I miss deadlines and appointments. Usually this would upset me but I don’t really care. It takes a lot to get me agitated these days. It’s like BrainPaint erased that response. I like it. Except when I need to feel upset and I simply feel nothing. Either way, I’m moving forward.

I feel like I’m being moved by God’s current down the river that is my life. It is moving so fast that I can’t see the shore. I close my eyes and feel myself move. He carries me. He brings me through the rapids, over the falls and safely to shore. I just have to let go. I put my arms out. I am free. I hear this song a lot. I am a child of the one true king. :) I have nightmares that tell me different, that scare me. They’re not me. I’m being set free.

Childless

Posted on June 4, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

6-4-13 9:53am

(quiet…)

3889496500_43c9344b44

There is an issue going on at a group I attend. It is heated and ugly and hurtful. I had been handling the situation rather well, even people’s anger at me, until someone said to me yesterday he thinks the problem is most of the people there are “childless.” (pause ) Childless.

(quiet…)

I just stared at him. I said I don’t see that as a or the problem. He said for people with children it’s different… Right… It is the equivalent of saying his views matter more because he got someone pregnant. A grand justification. A rather easy excuse to cut many people off, I say, not deal with feelings. Hate is much easier than truth. I went on about my way but the word kept coming back. Childless.

Yes, I am childless. I have no biological children. I have not given birth. I’m not a foster mom. I don’t babysit. I don’t care often for others’ children. Oftentimes children annoy me. Not by choice… I didn’t wake up one day and decide not to have children, set a goal of dying alone in a house full of cats. I am aware there is a timeline on motherhood and that I’m a good portion into it… Childless.

The word keeps coming into my head. Childless. (deep breath)

I think that men have it easier than women. The person weilding this word pointed out most of the people in the group are childless. I don’t think that’s true. In fact, a good many of the men in the group have children they or someone else care for. A man may complain about paying child support but isn’t caring for the kids. It is harder for a woman to walk away. Like a lion pride, men can fuck and walk away. The women do the work. Most times. If we can’t or choose not to, there are other options. Options of course we will be hated forever for. But yes, it’s the fault of the childless that I don’t hate sex offenders.

I have dealt well with being attacked on many sides in the current situation. For this one I have no defense.

(quiet…)

God Bless the Queen

Posted on May 5, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

“I have a message for you. You deserve the best.
Don’t settle for anything less.”
– Pastor

purple flower

Something weird happened to me in church today. I usually greet Pastor after the service but I was talking with someone so I hugged him when he walked by. I said, “It’s nice to see you.” He placed his hand firmly on my shoulder, looked me square in the eye and said, “I have a message for you.” I said, “Okay.” He continued, “You deserve the best. Don’t settle for anything less.” I said, “Okay…” And he turned and walked away. (???) I know God was speaking through him but I’m not sure why.

I asked Diane later why everyone was crying today and she said, “Because Pastor has liver cancer.” I said, “I know. But he had cancer last week too.” And he’ll have it next week as well. She said folks are realizing the mortality of the pastor, a mortality I’m well aware involves family for them. I feel no emotional attachment to the issue. I guess it could be considered rude. I feel it is a calling.

I joined the choir of this church in February, maybe March. God told me to and I listened. I wasn’t sure why. I’m not particularly fond of the music, though it’s beautiful, and the closeness of the people frightens me. But I know I am supposed to be there and I like it. I am learning to love hymns and to socialize with people. There’s something I haven’t told them. I don’t understand it fully but I know why I’m here.

The pastor is going to die. Maybe 10 years from now, maybe tomorrow. But he is. I felt it my first day there and it hasn’t gone away. By nature in new situations I look for a system, a pattern of operation. I want to know how things work and where I fit in. I need to know the rules, the standard operations, where they keep the toilet paper and which row I’m supposed to sit in. I look for areas of need and devise systems to improve them. Here my ideas aren’t warmly welcomed. I realize I’m on someone else’s turf and I need to back down. But I’m here for a reason.

When Diane got in her car accident there were angels with her. And they were in the church when she returned, and they were with the pastor. A heavy presence centers the ground, prepares it for his message. He glows gold. He knows he is dying. I know that we all are. I feel a purpose for me in this transition but I’m not sure that it’s welcome. When I look around, I see areas of change, things that can be improved. I have ideas. They are not ready yet. I am careful not to mention my ideas much. They are seen as an intrusion on established customs. They do it their way. If this were DBSA, I’d be -. I hate -. -‘s always wantin’ to change things. I like them my way. But sometimes her way is better. In this case, it doesn’t matter whose way things get done as long as they get done.

My mom says I’m cold for caring more about the logistics than the emotions of the people. Yes. I guess I’m cold. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. I care deeply for these people. Deeply enough to fight for growth and change, to pick up where some upset person left off, to continue the business of a church when its people are in mourning. The pastor is going to die. I don’t feel sad about that. I feel a little joy. This man who is so close to God will get to meet Him. And what a lovely meeting it will be. My soul smiles when I think of it.

I know I don’t have the normal social reactions most people do. I think God blessed me with my coldness for a reason. I just want to help. I don’t process things the way others do. It is a blessing and a curse. One of my providers thinks I have Asperger’s (high functioning autism). At first I was totally against the idea. Change. Fucking change. But the more I look into it, I agree. I need to talk it over with my other providers. In this situation it allows me to be functional with a lack of emotion, but I can’t understand what’s going on because it’s not happening to me. I don’t think like that. I plan. I live by systems and order. I expect tragedy. I live.

All this to say, God spoke to me through the pastor today and I’m not sure what it means. But I’m pretty sure it’s important. God bless the queen.

Benefits of Pain

Posted on April 10, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

4/10/13 9:35am

Forces me to slow down, to be mindful of each thing I do
Refocuses my attention on God
Shows me what is and isn’t important
Humbles me
Makes me greatly appreciate the little things when they come back
Gives me permission to take care of ME
Allows me a space to heal
Reminds me this is His plan, not mine
Increases my empathy towards others
Purifies me
Reminds me of all my blessings
Shows me how frail I really am
Causes me to seek help
Causes me to want to apologize & forgive
Breaks down my walls/barriers/facade
Lets me cry
Takes my focus off of thoughts & feelings
Gives me new perspectives

I am thankful for pain.

Even dark clouds pass

Posted on March 15, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

3/8/13 7:31 am

I just woke up to pouring rain. It’s my birthday. I take this as a sign God is washing away my pain. From the comfort of my bed I see blue sky under the dark dark clouds and it’s taking over the sky. It never left. It was just temporarily covered.

I am warm, comfy in bed propped up against three pillows in a soft shirt my friend gave me and my Cookie Monster pants. Bright orange and pink socks on matching palm tree sheets. God is good.

I got out of the hospital on the 15th. Nineteen days. The most painful experience of my life, to my conjecture. And probably the best. 19 days. I don’t want to forget those days.

I went in for a severe mixed episode, rapid cycling from suicidal & lethargic to euphoric or agitated energy about every 20 minutes. I had two doctors because Dr. N was on vacation the first week. Dr. H was great. She put me on a new med that calmed the cycling but it caused such bad muscle problems that I could barely walk. I had dystonia in my legs, stomach & back. But my mood was great. At first. Until the pain wore on me and I couldn’t take it anymore.

When my doctor came back (sunshine) we stopped all my meds in 2 days to start over, find a baseline. We’d reached a deadlock. Ah, the pain. We expected either my body would get better and my mind would get better or my body would get better and my mind would freak out and we’d fix it.

Instead, my mind did much better than expected and my body flipped out. (remembering) Pain. Attacks of being stabbed in the neck with burning knitting needles that would break like thunder into muscle spasms all over my body. Out of control blood pressure. Random spikes in bp and pulse. The muscle spasms at night hurt so bad I couldn’t move or talk. They became constant. My face twitched so bad I couldn’t see straight, made me dizzy. My fingers were constantly tingling & freezing. My feet tingled. The roof of my mouth tingled. I wasn’t sleeping or eating. I became frail, which was pleasing to me but angered my doctor. I hid under the table from the voice in my head, heard an unfamiliar one for the first in a long time. My hands would stop working & turn cold and purple. My doctor didn’t know what to do.

God sent me angels. I could see and feel them with me. He spoke to me. He came as a hummingbird. All around me was God and I was never alone. I cried out to Him to take me home. I was so scared but He was not. He told me, through the words of my mouth and a cloud, “Don’t take your eyes off me. It is written,” quite firmly. I knew the storm was coming. I didn’t see the glory. Before each spike in pain I would hear God’s song. He gave me music. Calming songs would start before and play through and my angels were with me. I was never alone. Heart racing, shaking, body writhing, unable to breathe. They would ask if I was nervous, having a panic attack. No. I felt calm.

Many days of this wore on me. With no psych meds my mood was all over. I wanted to die. We started adding back in meds, building a new ground. The staff were amazing & my fellow patients priceless. Friends. Something finally clicked and I was ready to come home.

Which brings us to now – 3 weeks later. It is my birthday and I feel good. I can’t remember the last birthday I felt good or even semi-ok. Last year I screamed and cried and refused to get out of the car and slept most of the day, reclused. Today I feel good. It’s morning and I am awake. The birds are chirping. My kitty is watching. The clouds part and I feel JOY. Praise God!

This whole experience has drawn me closer to Him. I’m listening. I’m paying attention. I joined a church choir and am reading “The Story.” I don’t feel as scared. I’m taking care of my body, trying to lose some weight. I even want to decorate my room. Goals seem possible.

A different life seems possible too. I don’t feel trapped. I get to choose what to do and what not to. I can move in any direction. That said, I am still exhausted. Trying on shoes last night knocked me out. I am exhausted but not weary. I see the light. Praise God.

May 27 be the best year yet.
My goal is to LIVE.
My theme: Break the Rules.

Even dark clouds pass.

My Brain is a Beach Ball

Posted on February 19, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

(writing from the hospital)
2-3-13 9:20am

I was just sitting in morning meeting thinking. A 2″x 2″ metal square is depressing the front of my brain. It has a nice matte dark finish. It’s pressing on my brain. Impairing, altering my ability to think. Throwing off track the course of my eyes. Making me want to die.

I began to desire the removal of this pressing weight, but my brain might float away as it’s done in the past. Filled with the glory of the Spirit and the creativity of a child. To twirl and leap in the sunshine, to build empires in the night. To despair and fall into self-destruction from harnessing such energy.

(distraction)

I certainly don’t want that, though it’s fun for a night. Like a beach ball flying up in the air when you fall off to the side.

I started thinking of the beach ball, of its resting state. It doesn’t require compression, being held under water, and it doesn’t float away – if cared for properly. I suppose proper genetics and nurturing allow a beach ball to progress without incident. But if it’s stabbed or over or under-inflated or dried out or forgotten, you never know. Under tremendous pressure it will pop. It may also take on water very slowly, become ever so much heavier until one day it is deemed unusable and its human walks away.
My brain is a beach ball.

My brain is beautiful. Beautiful in its complexities and creativities and jerks. In its random fuck yous and kindnesses and deep appreciations. In its expression of itself and God to others. I sometimes want to hide it. I feel ashamed. I hold it under water and I pray for it to die. I hide it in the shed. I drag it through the rocks. I leave it in the sun. The damn thing is indestructible. I don’t know why it loves me. I don’t know why it sticks around.

For some reason my brain has yet to kill me or allow myself to do it. It hasn’t banned me from knowing how or walking through it many times. It just says, “Not now.” God says, “Not now.” I trust Him. He sent Dr. Harvey to sit with me last night. My brain has never left me. I have altered it, drugged it into submission, injured it, begged & pleaded. It has a passion for life. For learning and love. It holds tight all the things I’ve let go of for me, all the things I’ve forgotten. It tucks away what I can’t tolerate. My brain is amazing. I love my brain.

I really hope they can help me here to make a safe zoo for my beach ball brain so the world will be fun and I can think but I’ll be okay. I so want to be okay. Please help me be okay. Someone is standing on my brain.

My brain is a beach ball.

Me

Posted on January 6, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

(Note – Yes, I am safe.)
1-6-13 6:30pm

Just got home from RENT. I went with Taylor. Cried through most of it. Exhausted now.

I miss Brandon. I miss my theater family. I miss being me. All of the goodness that I am now isn’t ME. I miss Sarah and Mr. B, knowing I had a role, a purpose. All of that was taken from me.

It’s something we never talk about in therapy. We talk about sense of self. We don’t talk about me. Is it too late to get her back? Is she gone forever? Is the opportunity gone for me to be me? I so desperately need me.

Please.

–

I pulled a healing card today that says this, “It’s important not to get stuck in therapy. Therapy is a necessary boat that takes you across a rough river to a new shore. In time, though, you must step out of the boat and onto new earth and never look back.” There is a passage with it about not carrying the raft forever and being wary of letting supports be a substitute for life.

I don’t understand. Illness took me. Therapy took my life. Therapy forced illness to cough part of me up and became my life. I can’t get the real me back. If I let go of groups and therapy I have nothing.

I wish someone had warned me, told me, “Don’t let go! Not for anything.” But they didn’t. They were living. Now I am scared to breathe.

A little girl wants me to teach her to dance. I’m terrified. Please don’t touch me. You don’t understand.

Who am I?

I am a little girl.
I am a friend.
I am a dancer.
I am an artist.
I am a patient.
I am a child of God.
I am me.
I am not what I feel.

(“I’ll Cover You”)

I want to scream out, “PLEASE HELP ME! Someone’s taken my soul!” But no one’s there to listen, only hear.

If I can’t be who I was, I don’t want to live at all.

You couldn’t tolerate the stress of who you were.

I can’t tolerate the stress of now.

Touche.
Take your AZT.

I think if I got into a show it would bring me back. I would find me again. I NEED me.

Me is dead. She is gone.

No she’s not! I saw her last week.

Elvis has left the building.

My head hurts.
I want to die.

I know.
Do you honestly think in your state of mind you could do it?

I’ve done it before.

But not with the physical ailments.

True.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t do this anymore.

Sing, take drugs & teach.
Work your way up.
Peanuts to packing peanuts.

Fuck that.
When do we start?

I want to die.

I know.
I’m tired.

Triggers

Theater
RENT memories
B- memories
USC memories
shame about my life
missing Sarah
believing I can never have me back

Vulnerability Factors

Janet’s death
pre-existing severe depression
exhaustion
allergies/infection
headaches
holidays

Thankful Taylor is texting me. Need to take – and -.
Make a plan, Michelle. You can do this.

Writing Towards Happy

The experience of making positive change in my life

Tag Archives: reflection

Awake

Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam

Still Worth Saving

I am not broken

Pain is a hat

I am happy :)

At least I’m not scared…

I wish it was Tuesday

Incubation vs Hibernation

Since 2009

Voyage 200

Weeds

All I Can Do

Being set free

Childless

God Bless the Queen

Benefits of Pain

Even dark clouds pass

My Brain is a Beach Ball

Me