I wanted to take some time to delve deeper into my last entry- break down each section into more detailed and constructed essays. I'll probably end up repeating some things but that's okay. Nothing wrong with a little refresher course.
Let's start with heartbreak. Instead of completely exhausting stories about the person that this particular topic was about, I'm going to focus more on the after effects of the whole thing and how I, individually, was shaped by it.
Yes, I did lose things and people and time; I'm not going to pretend like any of that was okay because it wasn't and I'm not thrilled about any of it. But the benefits that came out of it were infinitely rewarding.
I don't like the cliche thought of "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". An individual person or event did not make me wake up one morning and consciously go, "I'm starting anew- fuck him, I'm going to live life for me!". Make no mistake- in a sense I did have to start completely over, specifically mentally and emotionally. But it wasn't one of those things where I started doing yoga and took up a new hobby and told myself affirmations in the mirror every morning. I did move to a new apartment and I did revel in the fact that I was now solely in charge of my Netflix queue, but otherwise everything was the same. Each morning I put on my same clothes and went to my same job and hung out with my same friends on the weekends. Still, I noticed a palpable shift in my approach to things. I stood up for myself more and I learned how to feel again. Until you've utterly and completely lost the ability to do that- to feel- you don't realize how difficult and scary it is to get that back. I told people that needed to fuck off to do just that. I embraced more deeply the people that deserved to be embraced. As cheesy as it sounds, I began to learn and accept the value of myself. There I was, rising from the ashes- a phoenix with a minuscule but exquisite rack- ready to take on the world. Well, not totally ready, but more willing to try it out than I ever had been before.
I just kind of let life happen. One day I would fall in love again and get married and buy a house and fill with with babies. One day I would see my past as just that- the past. One day I would know that no matter what, I was good enough and didn't deserve the things I had gone through. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that all of these things would eventually happen, and for the time ever I was prepared to just be patient.
Don't get me wrong- there were aspects to this that were hard. Having to rebuild yourself is confusing and weird, but I chose to look at it as an opportunity instead of a requirement (which in and of itself was a strange revelation, as I had dedicated most of my life to being a stone cold pessimist). Once I settled into that mindset everything because much easier. Dare I say, enjoyable at times. And for that, I quickly came to realize that I was one strong mother fucker.
Sure, there are lots of things that are still uncertain. I don't know if I'll ever find a job that I can be even somewhat content with. I don't know if I'll ever have enough money to buy that house for my phantom children. I don't know if I'll ever not have photos of my other dog all around me. But I do know that I will always have my friends, and my family, and my music. And son of a gun, I did end up finding that love that I've spent the last 30 years blindly stumbling towards.
But more on that later.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Thursday, January 7, 2016
365
On New Years Eve, Facebook took it upon itself to remind me that every year on that day, I would write a status about how that year sucked and I couldn't wait for a fresh start. It was actually quite annoying to see post after post about how miserable I always seemed. And to be honest, I could have easily written the same thing this year. But instead, I figured I'd break it down in a post, the good and the bad. The reason I want to talk about the bad is because there are certain things that I have been dealing with that I want to share; not for pity or sympathy, but because I'm hoping that if someone with similar struggles can see that they're not the only one going through them, maybe they can find a light at the end of the tunnel, if not some feelings of peace that they're not alone.
I'm going to organize this entry into four sections: Heartbreak, Happiness, Family, and Love.
Heartbreak:
2015 was the year I said my final goodbye to Him, and everything that came with Him; his parents, our furry babies, and the family that we had built together. He and I continued contact up until June- putting us at seven years of back and forth, tears and fighting, anger and resentment and trust issues and lying. A doctor later described what I had gone through as 'psychological trauma'. There was a small sprinkling of smiles and laughs and commitment and hearts so full they could explode. But not much. Not enough.
I had long since fallen out of love with him, but I had certainly not stopped loving his family and the dog that he kept. Still, I had to come to terms with the fact that as hard as I had fought and pushed and tortured myself, we were never going to be We. Even though I was the one that chose to end us, it's still not something that can easily be accepted, and I hid just how hard it was from everybody- including myself. I worked hard to start over and build myself back up to a person that could stand on her own. Years ago, I would have considered our ending as a failure. But then I realized that it's ok to fail sometimes. People say that nothing is a lack of success if you try, but that's not true. Businesses fail, relationships fail, friendships, jobs, hobbies, all just flat out fail sometimes. And that's ok. It's all ok.
Happiness:
This past November I lost my mind.
I have been struggling with depression and anxiety most of my life and I pushed and packed it down into a dark, thick, black box of hell within me. I don't like talking to people about my problems so I continued to hide them while I did my best to act happy and goofy. I hid behind sex and cigarettes and sarcasm- anything to get my mind off of, well, my mind. But that was dumb. It was so dumb. As boys left my room and my ashtray filled up, I knew this wasn't fixing anything. I came close many times to "breaking down"- including two separate occasions in the spring where a co-worker and then a friend offered to bring me into a 72 hour psych hold at the hospital- but a couple of months ago it finally happened.
I woke up one day feeling worse than usual. I had already planned on going to my mom's house that day to do some laundry, and then head back home. I walked through her front door and for whatever reason finally let myself cry in front of someone. I didn't leave for nine days.
The first two days were spent under a blanket, feeling like my life was physically escaping out of my body. I let my mom hug me and I let her bring me cups of tea with little silver spoons in them. I let her tell me that we were going to fix this and I let myself nod and say, 'ok'.
The decision was to stop everything. I had just been offered a new job and I let them know I would have to decline. I canceled any plans I had with friends. I didn't let myself think about how I was going to pay my rent or bills that month. I crawled into my little childhood twin bed with Kirby under the covers right next to me, his head on my pillow. I scratched his ears and breathed in the smell of his dog shampoo and thanked him for being my reason to wake up every morning.
When I finally went home, I lasted about four days before I was back at my parents' again. This time it was only for five days. I forced myself to start therapy sessions which I had been avoiding for years, reasons unknown. I cannot stress enough how much therapy has helped. To have someone listen to what I have to say, repeat it back to me, and then tell me why I'm not actually crazy has been life changing.
I started reading other people's accounts of their struggles with depression and found solace in the comparisons. It made me realize that all of these feelings I found to be abnormal actually were laced with normality- albeit, a very sad and unfortunate normality. I still wouldn't consider myself a happy person, but I consider myself a hopeful person. I have learned to tell people how I am feeling instead of letting things fester into something awful. I have learned to find relaxation in my music and my painting and my writing. I have learned to stop comparing my life to everyone else's. Everyday life is still pretty terrifying to me but bits of excitement are starting to sneak in and that's pretty cool.
Family:
A significant chunk of my depression was influenced by some medical issues that I have been dealing with over the past few years. I struggle with ovarian cysts and a hormone imbalance. For me personally, this causes a myriad of flat out annoying symptoms. I experience chronic nausea and dizziness. Almost every minute of every day I feel incredibly ill. Most mornings are spent with a wet washcloth on my neck, breathing into a brown paper bag so as not to pass out or throw up. I'm afraid to go out with friends, go on vacation, and go to work. All three of these things have been greatly affected, causing me to pass up on way too many opportunities to count. People sometimes get on my case about how I don't drink a lot and don't stay out very late at bars, parties, etc. The truth is because lots of the time, I can really only stand to be out for a couple of hours before needing to lay down. It sucks, plain and simple.
Anyone who has experienced cysts also knows that they suck. They're painful and annoying and can cause irregular cycles and crazy changes in your body as they shoot laser beams of hormones throughout your insides. The past couple of years have brought a new batch of weirdness, as my hair started falling out- half of my right eyebrow is all but gone- while a beautiful layer of peach fuzz has crawled up my body and face like ivy. In certain light I look like the early stages of a blonde Chia Pet. I would be lying if I said this didn't bother me, but the fact of the matter is there is nothing I can do about it.
The worst thing that my body has done to me has to do with my ability to have children. For the past five years, every annual exam form my gynecologist has come back with pre-cancerous cells. I know that as women near 30, this is actually quite normal. However, if anyone has ever experienced a colposcopy, I don't need to tell you twice how wretched the follow up procedures are. (Side note- last week my latest test came back completely free of yucky cells. You're all invited to the party in my head). My doctor has told that due to the cysts and some other problems, there is a good chance that I won't be able to have a child the old fashioned way. While I know there are numerous ways to get pregnant, it's still a crushing thing to hear. (Another side note- this is why I have always hated when people would tell me that Emmett was 'just a dog' and I needed to get over not having him anymore. Aside from that just being a terrible thing in general to say to somebody- especially someone going through a long-term breakup, Emmett has always been and will always be my kid). I have always felt like I am a mother without a child- I have such an intense urge to have children, I can't even really describe the feeling. I have horrible dreams about being pregnant only to lose the baby, or have to give the baby away once it's born. When I wake up from these dreams, it takes awhile to compose myself before I can get out of bed. I have had multiple ultrasounds and it's so sad to lay there and see an empty uterus on the screen, framed with giant cystic masses. When a woman gets an ultrasound, it's supposed to be so you can see the life growing inside of you, not the absence of one.
This is another thing I am taking day by day, and another thing that I hope by mentioning, someone else with the same experiences won't feel so alone. Much like depression, I have researched the journey's of others and am comforted to know that even though I will never meet these people, we're all in it together.
Love:
Instead of pointing out a dumb blonde moment, he smiles and calls me Hunny. Whenever I feel like I'm spiraling out he reminds me that I'm taking every step that I need to take to get to where I want to be and that I'm doing great. He bought me new socks when he saw that all of mine had holes in them. He offers me bites of his food without me asking because he knows that as a girl I never want my own food, just bites of his. When he wakes up the first thing he does is turn over and puts his arm around me. There are times when he bugs the hell out of me but not once have I ever considered taking a step back. All of this, and that's how I know.
I'm going to organize this entry into four sections: Heartbreak, Happiness, Family, and Love.
Heartbreak:
2015 was the year I said my final goodbye to Him, and everything that came with Him; his parents, our furry babies, and the family that we had built together. He and I continued contact up until June- putting us at seven years of back and forth, tears and fighting, anger and resentment and trust issues and lying. A doctor later described what I had gone through as 'psychological trauma'. There was a small sprinkling of smiles and laughs and commitment and hearts so full they could explode. But not much. Not enough.
I had long since fallen out of love with him, but I had certainly not stopped loving his family and the dog that he kept. Still, I had to come to terms with the fact that as hard as I had fought and pushed and tortured myself, we were never going to be We. Even though I was the one that chose to end us, it's still not something that can easily be accepted, and I hid just how hard it was from everybody- including myself. I worked hard to start over and build myself back up to a person that could stand on her own. Years ago, I would have considered our ending as a failure. But then I realized that it's ok to fail sometimes. People say that nothing is a lack of success if you try, but that's not true. Businesses fail, relationships fail, friendships, jobs, hobbies, all just flat out fail sometimes. And that's ok. It's all ok.
Happiness:
This past November I lost my mind.
I have been struggling with depression and anxiety most of my life and I pushed and packed it down into a dark, thick, black box of hell within me. I don't like talking to people about my problems so I continued to hide them while I did my best to act happy and goofy. I hid behind sex and cigarettes and sarcasm- anything to get my mind off of, well, my mind. But that was dumb. It was so dumb. As boys left my room and my ashtray filled up, I knew this wasn't fixing anything. I came close many times to "breaking down"- including two separate occasions in the spring where a co-worker and then a friend offered to bring me into a 72 hour psych hold at the hospital- but a couple of months ago it finally happened.
I woke up one day feeling worse than usual. I had already planned on going to my mom's house that day to do some laundry, and then head back home. I walked through her front door and for whatever reason finally let myself cry in front of someone. I didn't leave for nine days.
The first two days were spent under a blanket, feeling like my life was physically escaping out of my body. I let my mom hug me and I let her bring me cups of tea with little silver spoons in them. I let her tell me that we were going to fix this and I let myself nod and say, 'ok'.
The decision was to stop everything. I had just been offered a new job and I let them know I would have to decline. I canceled any plans I had with friends. I didn't let myself think about how I was going to pay my rent or bills that month. I crawled into my little childhood twin bed with Kirby under the covers right next to me, his head on my pillow. I scratched his ears and breathed in the smell of his dog shampoo and thanked him for being my reason to wake up every morning.
When I finally went home, I lasted about four days before I was back at my parents' again. This time it was only for five days. I forced myself to start therapy sessions which I had been avoiding for years, reasons unknown. I cannot stress enough how much therapy has helped. To have someone listen to what I have to say, repeat it back to me, and then tell me why I'm not actually crazy has been life changing.
I started reading other people's accounts of their struggles with depression and found solace in the comparisons. It made me realize that all of these feelings I found to be abnormal actually were laced with normality- albeit, a very sad and unfortunate normality. I still wouldn't consider myself a happy person, but I consider myself a hopeful person. I have learned to tell people how I am feeling instead of letting things fester into something awful. I have learned to find relaxation in my music and my painting and my writing. I have learned to stop comparing my life to everyone else's. Everyday life is still pretty terrifying to me but bits of excitement are starting to sneak in and that's pretty cool.
Family:
A significant chunk of my depression was influenced by some medical issues that I have been dealing with over the past few years. I struggle with ovarian cysts and a hormone imbalance. For me personally, this causes a myriad of flat out annoying symptoms. I experience chronic nausea and dizziness. Almost every minute of every day I feel incredibly ill. Most mornings are spent with a wet washcloth on my neck, breathing into a brown paper bag so as not to pass out or throw up. I'm afraid to go out with friends, go on vacation, and go to work. All three of these things have been greatly affected, causing me to pass up on way too many opportunities to count. People sometimes get on my case about how I don't drink a lot and don't stay out very late at bars, parties, etc. The truth is because lots of the time, I can really only stand to be out for a couple of hours before needing to lay down. It sucks, plain and simple.
Anyone who has experienced cysts also knows that they suck. They're painful and annoying and can cause irregular cycles and crazy changes in your body as they shoot laser beams of hormones throughout your insides. The past couple of years have brought a new batch of weirdness, as my hair started falling out- half of my right eyebrow is all but gone- while a beautiful layer of peach fuzz has crawled up my body and face like ivy. In certain light I look like the early stages of a blonde Chia Pet. I would be lying if I said this didn't bother me, but the fact of the matter is there is nothing I can do about it.
The worst thing that my body has done to me has to do with my ability to have children. For the past five years, every annual exam form my gynecologist has come back with pre-cancerous cells. I know that as women near 30, this is actually quite normal. However, if anyone has ever experienced a colposcopy, I don't need to tell you twice how wretched the follow up procedures are. (Side note- last week my latest test came back completely free of yucky cells. You're all invited to the party in my head). My doctor has told that due to the cysts and some other problems, there is a good chance that I won't be able to have a child the old fashioned way. While I know there are numerous ways to get pregnant, it's still a crushing thing to hear. (Another side note- this is why I have always hated when people would tell me that Emmett was 'just a dog' and I needed to get over not having him anymore. Aside from that just being a terrible thing in general to say to somebody- especially someone going through a long-term breakup, Emmett has always been and will always be my kid). I have always felt like I am a mother without a child- I have such an intense urge to have children, I can't even really describe the feeling. I have horrible dreams about being pregnant only to lose the baby, or have to give the baby away once it's born. When I wake up from these dreams, it takes awhile to compose myself before I can get out of bed. I have had multiple ultrasounds and it's so sad to lay there and see an empty uterus on the screen, framed with giant cystic masses. When a woman gets an ultrasound, it's supposed to be so you can see the life growing inside of you, not the absence of one.
This is another thing I am taking day by day, and another thing that I hope by mentioning, someone else with the same experiences won't feel so alone. Much like depression, I have researched the journey's of others and am comforted to know that even though I will never meet these people, we're all in it together.
Love:
Instead of pointing out a dumb blonde moment, he smiles and calls me Hunny. Whenever I feel like I'm spiraling out he reminds me that I'm taking every step that I need to take to get to where I want to be and that I'm doing great. He bought me new socks when he saw that all of mine had holes in them. He offers me bites of his food without me asking because he knows that as a girl I never want my own food, just bites of his. When he wakes up the first thing he does is turn over and puts his arm around me. There are times when he bugs the hell out of me but not once have I ever considered taking a step back. All of this, and that's how I know.
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