Lazy days and mixed thoughts...

After a long day of sitting on the couch with my computer while Netflix played television shows, I find that my thoughts are not wanting to slow down or shut off. I find myself thinking of the excuses I used today to do what essentially amounts to a whole lot of nothing. Today's was that I had worked hard the past two days at my new job, and due to being sore and worn out, I was entitled to a day of "relaxation".

The excuse of being sore only lasted until early afternoon, as the soreness wore off with some quality heating pad time for my legs, back, and shoulders. After that, I could have done things that needed done. I did not. I instead sat on my computer going back and forth between Facebook and games. I did not go to the store to buy shirts and pants I need for my job, did not do any housework that was crying out to be done, and definitely did not attempt to do anything about the disaster that I call my bedroom. Any of these things would have left me with a good feeling, that "I accomplished something and now feel a bit fulfilled" feeling, which I honestly needed to feel today. Instead I sat and listened to my head telling me that I was a lazy slob who would never amount to anything.

The thing that really gets me is that, intellectually at least, I know that I will amount to something. The problem is looking at the facts and being fair with myself (according to my therapist). Today I was lazy. I could probably technically be categorized as a slob as well due to the state of my bedroom and lack of housework done. I can't mentally beat myself up for these things though.

I've been trying to look at it this way: when I walk into some one's house and see that it's a mess (or even filthy), my first reaction is to see if that person needs help. I don't automatically classify them as slobs or anything, but try to find out what their situation is. Even if they are being lazy, I will usually cheer them on or try to motivate them to do some work for themselves. In fact, if I talked to others the way I talk to myself, I would probably be called a bitch...or something worse.

I want to find a way to cheer myself on and find motivation when I feel low. I know that my depression makes this a bit harder for me than the average joe on the street, but I can't keep using that as an excuse.

I want to be productive. I want to be someone that I can be proud of. There are moments when I feel proud of myself, and I do see tiny improvements in some areas. I just need that inner me to stop telling me that I'm not improving fast enough. So here we go, here I am stating what I know that I believe about myself and what I am capable of.
I believe I am worthy of love.
I believe I am capable of loving others.
I believe I am capable of loving myself.
I believe that I am intelligent.
I believe that I can learn to ask others for help when I need it, and accept it when they are unable to help me.
I believe that I have the love of a great God and personal Saviour.
I believe that the love of my God and Savior are available to me 100% of the time.
I believe that I can learn things and apply them to my life.
I believe that I will never reach perfection on this earth, but that I can strive to be the best me possible.

There's much more, but it feels good to get this much out...and also to take it back in.

My Safe

I think that I have sort of meandered away from the point of this blog, which was to talk about how I am learning to function despite my depression and anxiety. So, on that note, I am going to discuss some coping I have been doing lately.
One of my favorite things my therapist taught me was a certain type of visualization. See, I have the habit of repeating negative things over and over in my head, as well as obsessing about certain things in my life. One of the things I obsess about the most is how others view me and how I can fix their problems. Oh, also how they annoy the living crap out of me.
Back to the visualization. In this visualization I am to envision a box. I don't know what other people make their boxes out of; cardboard, wood, a nice reed weave would be quite popular I imagine. Not mine. My box is a safe made of the strongest metal I know of...mithril. I don't care if it is fictional, that shit is not letting anything in or out. My mithril safe has a combination on it that is super secret; no one knows my combination but me.
So what do I do with my box? Simple. I put things in it that are causing me anxiety at the time. Let's use an example. Sometimes I think of a certain man; I think of him a lot and it is often not helpful to my relaxation. To deal with this, I put the man in my safe and I lock it shut. When the man is in the safe, I cannot think about him. If I do think about him, I throw him back into the safe.
Now we come to why I like this visualization the most; I have to set a time when I will let the thoughts out of the safe and deal with them. Example: if I can't stop thinking about something when I am trying to fall asleep, I put it in my safe and allow it out in the morning. Another situation would be when I have to work or go to an appointment. If I am thinking of my sisters' problems or how much I can't stand my mother, I lock them in the safe with their release date being when my task is done.
I find this to be something that has been a help to me lately. I can't think of everything at once, and if I am anxious my concentration level falls fast. It's nice to be able to get things done while also giving myself time to deal with my emotions. I still dissociate a bit by zoning out into the television or playing games on the computer, but I find my productivity rapidly improving.
The real test of this exercise will come with this start of a new job that I am facing. So far I haven't had to use my safe due to being too busy, but I know the time will come when I will have to. It's harder to do when there are other people around, yet I have faith that I can do it. If people around me keep telling me that my faith inspires them, it is sure to be true, and I will succeed in what I need to do.

Getting motivated

Today my anxiety is attempting to get the best of me. I don't want to leave the house, I don't want to get ready to leave the house; I just want to hang around my house and maybe clean something if I get the hankering to. Is this an option today? No. It is not.
I have to leave my house today for multiple reasons. One of the biggest reasons is that I have to go fill out paperwork for my new job, a job I am excited for and terrified of at the same time.
It started last night; my brain began thinking about what could go wrong over and over again. Different scenarios went through my head; I went to the place without pants on, I went to the wrong place, I got there and they had no record of who I was or what I was doing there, etc. In addition to these thoughts were the thoughts of me doing something wrong. It was to the point that I actually had a nightmare about not being able to stop talking. I just kept saying these intesely personal things, and no matter how bad I wanted to stop it, I couldn't.
My morning did not go much better. I kept looking for excuses to not get ready. It helped that I had stayed at the PLP's house (PLP will now stand for platonic life partner). There was plenty to do. I did her dishes, switched her laundry, took multiple breaks to sit with the dogs, and told myself I had an enormous about of time before I had to leave. Sadly, the biggest inner push to leave came when I realised there were no more cigarettes. (For the record, I know I shouldn't be smoking and that it's bad for me, and am also aware that other people are supporting this terrible habit. However, I have no doubt about my ability to quit.)
So now we get down to business. How am I going to motivate myself? First, I am going to get up off this chair by reminding myself that I can write in my blog about actually doing something. I will then get a CD that gets me going (probably some OK GO or some Sia) and blast it while getting ready. Then I will do one of my grounding techniques that my therapist taught me before leaving the house.
Today is about to become my bitch.

The things you learn from a five year old...

So far I am having a great day hanging out with the little man in my life, my best friend's 5 year old son. He's pretty awesome. First we chilled in pajamas and watched TV, then it was time to get dressed, and now we're going to watch Ponyo; or we will watch it as soon as Netflix decides to retrieve it at a rate that is quicker than a lame snail.
I like hanging out with my little man, because he pretty much loves the heck out of me no matter what. He thinks I'm cool and asks for me to come over sometimes. It's funny that the pursuing I've wanted from other men has come in the innocent form of a five year old boy.
I've spent a lot of time in my life pining after different boys, then half-boy half-men hybrids, and finally men. I've wanted them to desire my presence in their lives and be content sitting with me in silence watching a movie or even reading a book. Don't get me wrong, I also want that passionate love at the beginning of a relationship, but mostly I have wanted companionship and comfort from a man.
The older I get, the more I realise that this is something I cannot force to happen. I have pursued quite a few men and it has not gone well for me. I end up with a broken heart, and they end up becoming absent in my life. Yet it is hard to just let it happen. I've just always had a problem believing that a man will decide all on his own that he wants to be with me.
So why am I writing this down? Because this five year old boy has begun to show me that it is possible for someone of the opposite sex to desire my attentions and affections. Obviously, it is not a romantic relationship, no pedophilia here, but it's a cute and adorable unexpected lesson that came from an unexpected source; I am worth loving.

My day was productive! I was out of my apartment before 11am, and was early for both appointments I had with people. I feel very good about this.
Here's the one downside; I am not sure what to write about today. I could write personal details about all that I did, but I want to keep them personal. So...what to do? Write about my cat.
I didn't get to spend much time with my cat today. I'm not sure how happy she was about this, but she meowed a lot when she wanted me to know it was a canned food day. After that, she pretty much kept to herself. Some days she doesn't want to snuggle with me, but with things that smell like me. She likes to lay in my spot on the bed, and I once caught her in a basket of clothes that had previously been worn.
Sometimes I wonder what she would sound like if she could talk. I think she'd be pretty sarcastic and possibly a bit of a bitch. I am 100% sure that she would use swear words. Due to the looks she gives me when she knocks things off tables, I know that she would be opinionated. She insists on being noticed when she wants to be.
Perhaps the thing about my cat is her habit of walking across computer keyboards. It's not something that happens every once in a while, but at least a couple times a day. It will sometimes bring up different icons and programs. I think she's practicing for a future career in writing or communicating with the top secret government agency she works for. It's probably the writing career; the top secret spy thing is just too ridiculous. Someday there will be a book about the everyday life of my sisters and I, a complete tell-all novel in which she will make herself the heroine. If the book sells, she's totally paying me back for busting up my blinds.

Taking care

My blog slowed down a bit the past few days, but in my defense they weren't the best ones. There were good moments, but the nights have been hard as of late. Enough on that; on to something different.

I have surprised myself a bit this week. It once more became apparent just how little I do for myself. Don't get me wrong, I waste a enormous amount of my time on computer games and television, but not on things that would amount to me taking care of myself. I've wanted to be honest on this blog about what I am learning as far as dealing with depression and anxiety, and to do that this time I will need to share something that I don't usually let just anyone know...

I have poor hygiene.

There, I've said it. I will go days without showering, brushing my teeth, wearing my "out of the house" clothes, or brushing my hair. I usually don't leave my house like this, but that doesn't make it any better; it's still a big way that I don't care for myself which definitely gets in the way of helping others. It isn't something that I do intentionally. I never wake up in the morning and say to myself, "You know what sounds amazing? Not showering. Also, let's make the day completely awesome by not brushing your teeth so that your mouth smells like you are a person who likes to chew on dirty socks you found in the boy's locker room at a high school!" No, it's more of a complete lack of motivation to do anything productive. I can somehow feed the cat and add things to my netflix queue, but for some reason doing the everyday things that are good for me seem beyond my capability.
Last week I went my longest stretch of skipping daily hygiene. I won't say how long it was, but it is definitely not one of my proudest moments. One night I was sitting in the recliner watching television and playing on the computer while my cat was laying on my legs, and I just told myself that I needed to get up and shower. So that's what I did. My cat gave me an angry look when I moved her from my lap, but my butt got out of that chair. I took a shower, I brushed my teeth, and I even put on lotion. I felt the best I had in days. It was around 11pm, I had nowhere to go and no one to impress, and I took a shower just for me. My cat forgave me when I snuggled her post-shower.
I said that night that I would start doing the same thing every night, but that did not happen. I am definately not going more than a day without doing any hygiene activities, but I want to get the daily habit started. And this time I want to do it for myself. I don't want to do it to be a good example to others, because I want to impress some man, or because I want to hide my depression. I want to do it because it makes me feel good, human, and like a woman who respects herself. This evening when I was getting ready to go out to tea I looked at myself in the mirror. I told myself I looked pretty, and pointed out the different things I liked about my face and body. It felt glorious. I felt motivated to repeat the practice the next day.
To help with this goal, I will keep a record of my daily self care in a small notebook I have; something like the journal my great-great-aunt kept for herself, just a bit different. I got the idea while talking to a friend tonight over tea about the journals that the aunt kept about her days. I never wanted to before, but for myself I am going to.
So wish me luck! If this goes well, I envision my isolating in my house to decrease as well. If I can love myself it will make letting others love me a whole lot easier. Let the good times come.

Oh Brain, you stinker!

I don't really know what to write about today. If I think about what I did, or what I was thinking about, I suppose I could write about my sister.
As previously written about, I am in my late twenties, while my sister is a pre-adolescent. Last night she stayed here at the apartment, so this morning I had to wake up and get her ready for her early martial arts class. I don't know if you've ever tried to get a pre-adolescent ready for something in 30 minutes, but it is one of the most frustrating things in the world. What doesn't help is that, like myself at her age, she moves at the speed of a three-legged turtle. This amounts to an early morning test of patience for yours truly.
So, at this time, what would be something that would make the situation worse? Oh, I know! Two other siblings who butt in and try to help with the situation by giving the small one multiple directions while I am trying to keep her on track. Then they actually snap at her, and at me, when she gets frustrated and I try to correct her behavior. Never mind the fact that I have worked with children for years; I am told that I need to stop telling the older sisters how to handle the younger sister.
There is nothing that angers me faster than someone not listening to what I say when I know more about how to handle a situation better than they do. Nothing will make me yell, fight, or devalue some one's efforts or opinions quicker than someone not objectively listening to the knowledge I am trying to impart. I have little patience for stubborn refusal, and absolutely no respect for stubborn idiocy. This may sound harsh, but it is the way I think. I mean, if I am making a table and a carpenter comes up saying, "Ma'am, I have been a carpenter for three years, and I'm afraid your measurements are wrong and your table will be crooked," I would listen to them; I would double check my measurements. Why would I do this? Because that person would have more knowledge and experience of the task at hand. I don't think this is a difficult concept to grasp.
After this, I spent most of my day trying to figure out if my annoyance was due to logic, or my own emotions and habits of trying to save people and situations. I didn't get my answer, although I was leaning toward logic, but the very question gave me pause. Since my therapist told me that I need to spend at least 30% of my energy on myself (out of 100%), I've felt conflicted. I've thought over all the reasons why this is a silly notion and even wondered if my pro-bono therapist doesn't understand the concept of living a life of helping others. At that point, I got annoyed at myself.
I have to take my own advice. I need to stop annoying myself. Don't get me wrong; I am not telling myself I am an idiot, belittling myself for not realising this sooner, or thinking of punishing myself for thinking wrong. No, I merely see that it's not such a bad thing that I know all the things that I know. Had I not had all my experience trying to help other people, of working in a behavioral health setting, it might be taking me a lot longer to realise the things I need to do. I can be thankful for that, instead of seeing it as another failing on my part for not following what I've known for years.

Loving Yourself

I had my first real therapy session today in a while. A lot of things were talked about, and thankfully little of it was my past. I didn't go in with a whole lot of expectations, but I was helped a bit.
I have an assignment this week. I have to look into the possibilities of going back to do the one thing I had tried to do for myself. Having said that, there are obviously some little things that I do for myself; I eat, drink, go to the restroom, and sometimes hang out with friends. Yet even those things are done primarily with others in mind.
See, I have this need inside myself to save and fix other people; mostly I want to please other people. I pick people somewhat at random, but my ultimate goal is to help them in some way. I have always thought of this as being something I am meant to do. I mean, the bible even tells us to think of others before ourselves. It's my Christian duty to love my neighbor as myself.
Here's the problem...I don't love myself. I am opening myself up to a lot of vulnerability by admitting this, but it's true. I have this negative tape that plays over and over in my head telling me all these things that I do wrong. I have had many people tell me this in the past, and have also heard from therapists and friends, that I can help others in a more productive way if I spend at least a little time on myself. The problem has always been that I didn't believe them.
Now, through this downward spiral I experienced, I have seen the truth of this. I am currently unable to help people in the ways I have before. There is no joy or happiness from the job that I had committed myself to; there isn't even a feeling of accomplishment. There is nothing, a large gaping hole of nothing.
I am beginning to see that I have to care for myself if I am going to be able to care for others, to be able to truly experience the love of others. I know that it's going to take me a while to learn to do this. It will most likely be a struggle that lasts a lifetime, but I see hope for the future.
One thing I know will help is reminding myself of the truths of God's love. The other - working slowly on spending little amounts of time for things I need to do for myself. This week I have the assignment to look into what I would have to do to go back to school. This was the chosen assignment because I chose to go back to school for myself, and not for anyone else. If I complete this successfully, I get to reward myself with something I enjoy...a book. For those who know me, this shouldn't be a surprise, but it is something that has be a bit excited.
Tonight I feel some hope. And for tonight, that's enough.

Humbly Pill Popping

I didn't write on here yesterday. Things happened, and by the time I was able to sit down, I just didn't have the energy or will.
Today was interesting. I had my first appointment with the man that prescribes my medication. I think he was a nurse practitioner instead of a psychiatrist, but he was really nice and seemed to know what he was talking about. Even with that, I still find it somewhat uncomfortable talking with someone who is prescribing medication that will somehow alter the way my brain works.
It's never fun having to take a psychotropic medication. There are usually quite a few side effects that are not at all pleasing, and there's always the worry that they may do something they aren't supposed to do. I've been taking something for mental issues since I was a very young adolescent, and it is something that I have never enjoyed. It's easier to take them, and remember to take them consistently, than it used to be, but there's still that 11 year old girl's fear that people are going to intuitively know what I'm taking and judge me as a waste of time.
What I am more interested in is getting my therapy started. I understand that I need to take these pills to level my emotions out; I don't think that they are going to instantly solve my problems or automatically make me a better person. I do hope they help though.
Other than getting medicated, I am realizing that I am continuing to be bombarded with lessons in humility. Over the past few years, I have become an increasingly judgemental person. I try to keep it in my head, but graceful is something I have not been. Now that I am a recipient of an amazing amount of grace from quite a few people, I feel that the judgemental side is starting to very slowly melt away. It's a good thing that I've seen come out of this low point in my life, and something I hope to remind myself of over the next few days.

What was and what could be

It's hard to find motivation when it's so easy to sit around. Yet, when I need to sit around, I want to be up and about doing different activities. Life's often that way, wanting what you don't have, or not knowing what you have until it's gone.
I talked with my cousin, sister, and platonic life-partner (best friend) about my grandmother today. Grandma passed very unexpectedly this past April. My aunt and cousin received a phone call from a neighbor that she was gone. The neighbor had seen my grandfather sitting on the front porch and was worried because he knew that my grandfather had demensia. When the neighbor approached my granfather, my grandfather said that there was a strange woman laying on the kitchen floor. The neighbor sent his young son inside, and they found my grandmother laying on her back against the fridge.
I heard this news on a day that I was feeling an immense amount of pain due to my fibromyalgia; in fact, it was when I was on my way home from an urgent care clinic. My first thought, and the thought that still remains, was that I did not spend enough time with her. Despite her flaws, of which I am aware, I thing that my grandma was an amazing woman. I can go into all the details of what kept me from going to her, but they are all excuses. The bottom line is that she loved me, and I have no idea if she knew how much I loved her. I don't think I did a very good job of showing her that love. I did not realise all the chances I had to be with her until she was gone. I'm starting to get to the point that I can forgive myself, but I'm not there yet.

On the other hand there are people that I give love to who do not reciprocate, or do not desire, that love. I spend large amounts of time thinking of people whose thoughts are not with me in the same way. Here is a (very) short story I wrote a while ago that will give you some idea of this second point...

            Would Woman A be more likely to give her love to the man if she knew of the existence of Woman B? This is not a case of a man romantically linked to two women, but a sort of triangle of hope. The man is infatuated with Woman A, who says she isn’t sure if she is ready for a relationship, says she needs time. Woman B has had the man on her mind for years, through his relationship with another, and a sporadic friendship between the two of them.

            Woman A and Woman B have never met. Woman B, through the discussion that flows between two friends, has heard of Woman A from the man. As is typical of the giver of feelings unreciprocated, Woman B has also gained what limited knowledge of Woman A she could through sources both flesh and material. After all of this, Woman B is left to wonder how Woman A could be so selfish and short sighted to keep the man stringing along with her hesitation.

            For instance, would it change a thing for Woman A to know that while Woman B tries to give of herself to the man, the man leaves her company to be with Woman A? Would it matter that Woman B has waited her entire life for a man to find her worthy of chasing, loving, admiring – only to watch women like Woman A shrug off what she so treasures? Woman B thinks not, so she consoles herself by hoping happiness for the man. Woman B consoles herself by reminders that Woman A is of a closer social and economic status to the man; that Woman A would be able to physically match the man in shape and form. Woman B tries to convince herself that the man would be happy with Woman A, because she wants the man to be happy almost more than she desires her own happiness.

            Yet Woman B sees that she and the man could be happy together. Woman B sees the similarities in their souls, the light of intelligent minds meeting, the calm passion of their talk. Woman B wants to show the man what she sees, but fear and past failures cause her to fear so she makes due with small hints dropped here or there in conversation. Woman B desires the man’s presence over the presence of others in her life, and her heart warms at the sound of his voice. She feels excited and anxious, yet strangely safe when he is around. If not for Woman A, Woman B would stay forever the man’s friend, content with the time given to her.

            So now, in the middle of the night, Woman B is left wondering if things would be different if her heart were seen. She wonders if there is a point to making her feelings known to the one whose happiness she desires to be wrapped in with her own. She wants to have the man know so that he can leave now and cease to show kindness that can be mistaken for deeper emotion; to go and be happy without her so that she can be happy alone. Most of all Woman B wants to change her thoughts, so that she can rest for the night instead of thinking of the man and Woman A.

So those are my thoughts for today. I guess it basically amounts to the grass being greener on the other side. Sometimes it's good to put things in perspective so that you can decide what is worth your time and efforts. May I someday figure out how that works.

The Closet

I'm crying out, I'm breaking down,
I am fearing it all,
Stuck inside these walls,
Tell me there is hope for me
Is anybody out there listening?
-From the song "I'm In Here" by Sia

I used to hide in closets. This isn't metaphoric, I literally would go into a closet for a period of time, just because I wanted to. I didn't do it because I was in any sort of danger (though I was told to get into a closet when there was a tornado warning, but that's completely different).
It started when I was around 3 or 4 years old, and I know this because I have very fond memories of the closet in my bedroom at that time. I shared a room with my younger sister, and we had this closet that looked like a typical swinging door small closet, but it was highly misleading. When you stepped in and looked to the left, there were a series of shelves that went towards the back like steps. To my incredibly tiny 4 year old self, I thought they were steps for a giant. When you got to the top shelf you could look back down over the height to which you had crawled with the satisfaction that I imagine a mountainclimber would feel. I would take certain things up there that I liked; a favorite doll, stuffed animals, blankets, my rainbow cased pillow were just a few of the things that I would surround myself with. It was my space, and in it I played and imagined the things that my 4 year old mind could.
I don't know exactly when the closet became a safe place for me. I'm sure it started in that bedroom, and carried on throughout the moves we made. No matter where we lived, or who we lived with, we had a closet. The things I took in there with me changed a little as I grew. A favorite stuffed bear I received from a friend when I turned 8 remained a tried and true friend, but the rest went away to be handed down to my sisters or friends of the family. I started taking a flashlight in with me; not for fear of the dark did I need the light, but for aid in reading words on the page of a book. Often it was a place I felt that I could pray, that it was somehow closer to God.
I don't know if anyone knew about my closet hidings until I told them, and most people who know only found out recently. In fact, I only say that I used to hide in closets because it has been nearly a year since I sought solace in one. Yes, this habit carried over into adulthood. After my granfather and grandmother passed last year, I would take their pictures into the closet to look at. When I was rooming with three other people in 2009, I picked the room that had two small doored storage areas not because they reminded me of Narnia (which is what I told people...it was like 1/2 true), but because one of these areas was carpeted and I pictured a nice retreat for myself.
I say all this because I've been wanting to sit in my closet lately. I know it sounds unbelievably immature and quite strange, but I feel like it would make me feel better. It's like the world evaporates around me and I'm in some sort of safe cocoon. I found this feeling with a human being only once and with God quite a few times.
I guess want I want is to feel safe, and I feel drawn to things that I think will give me that feeling. I don't know how to ask someone to let my lay my head on their shoulder for a while. I'm not sure how to say, "I want you to hold me." I'm afraid of the answer if I were to ask someone to just sit with me while I finish a task.
So I go to a closet. The closet has never left me, told me I was too much to handle, ignored me, coveted another, or any other negative. I want this with a man again, and I want this with God again. I know that with God, I need to remind myself of the truths that I know, and that just might be enough to push the need for the closet away.

To share or not to share...

I have about 0-1 motivation on a scale of 100. The most productive things I have done thus far today were putting water in the Brita pitcher and brushing my cat. My mind has been busy though.

I watch the show "Monk" a lot. If you haven't seen it, it's about a former detective with OCD, a panic disorder, and a load of phobias. I absolutely love it. The love is recent, though I did like the occasional show now and then before. Now I can't get enough. I will literally sit for hours watching the show while doing different things on the computer. It's a complete waste of time, but it feels good.
The reason I love Monk so much is because he's miserable, scared, and intellegent, which are things that I feel I relate to. It's nice to be around someone, even if only on a television show, who is going through something similar to me. When I watch it I feel understood.
I'm beginning to really understand the need for people to be a part of a group that is comprised of people struggling with similar things. I think that it's something I didn't see practiced openly when I was young, but am seeing more and more as an adult. I've attended AA meetings as a part of a previous job, and I understand why people return to them. After the first few meetings, you realize that people really can't judge you because they've been in similar situations.
Why didn't it ever feel like that at church? Being an open person, there wasn't much I did that was not eventually found out by my fellow church goers. I never knew what they were going through though. This wasn't just at church, but in most situations with people I knew; work, community, friends - no one spoke openly about struggling. Everyone said they were "fine" or "OK".
There has to be a balance between telling others too much, and keeping everything to yourself until you break. Right now I have one person who I go to with most things, yet one person isn't enough. I know if I am to be healthy, I need to spread it around a bit. It's scary, I don't know exactly how to do it without going to one or the other extreme, but I am going to take it on.

In the meantime, it seems that I should get up off my ass, and get out of my head. I'm pretty sure I told my sister I would finish the dishes at some point today, so I should probably do that. Maybe I'll even clean the bathroom.

Awkwardness and my past

There seems to be a distinct difference in the agreed upon reality of what happens in the interactions I have and the way I perceive and react to them. Take, for example, my appointment today. As far as appointments for free services go, I’m fairly sure it was routine. The building smelled like a cleaner made from stomach acid, but the workers were kind and did not seem judgmental. Despite all of this, I felt unbelievable awkward. It wasn’t just because I was applying for free help and, in essence, admitting to be someone incapable of taking care of themselves, but involved every little detail. I felt as though I would do something wrong, say something wrong, laugh at the wrong time, share too much information, or somehow make an ass of myself in general. This is how most interactions with human beings over the age of 10 go for me.

You see, I come from a background that didn’t exactly endow me with many natural social skills. My dad, the wonderfully amazing man he is, happens to be shy and somewhat timid in group situations. This seems to be changing now, but it will always be how I remember him from childhood. If only I would have taken after the shy side of his character, I may not have inherited the timidity and developed it into almost constant awkwardness. No, let us look at the parent that I had ample time to watch and imitate…my mother.

My mother happens to suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. If you don’t know what this is, you are an epically lucky person.  To describe BPD, I’ll just use this little blurb from Wikipedia about how it is diagnosed:

“The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders fourth edition, DSM IV-TR, a widely used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines borderline personality disorder (in Axis II Cluster B) as:[1][14]

A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, as well as marked impulsivity, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

1.Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5

2.A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

3.Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

4.Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., promiscuous sex, eating disorders, binge eating, substance abuse, reckless driving). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5

5.Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, threats or self-injuring behavior such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars (excoriation) or picking at oneself.

6.Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

7.Chronic feelings of emptiness

8.Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).

9.Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation, delusions or severe dissociative symptoms

It is a requirement of DSM-IV that a diagnosis of any specific personality disorder also satisfies a set of general personality disorder criteria.”

My mom only needs 5 of those symptoms to be diagnosed, but seeing as she always did say “If you can’t do something all the way, don’t bother doing it at all,” she shows all that are listed. Her favorite one is sabotaging relationships around her by being convinced people don’t like her, then pushing them away by threatening and self-injurious behaviors. Her children were not immune from this. From about age 8 on, I was Mom’s “best friend”, and she would tell me anything she had done to ruin a relationship or hurt herself, beginning with telling me the specific reasons she cheated on my dad. This just escalated to showing me her self-harm wounds, asking me to hide razor blades from her, and yelling at me while depending on me to validate her emotions. I never knew what to say, and thought that any action I made could result in my mother hurting herself. Her shame became my guilt.

And it wasn’t only her interactions with me that made me so concerned about how others were affected by my actions. I also saw how she would tell anyone, anywhere, about the personal details of her life. I mean anyone. Many checkout ladies at the grocery store know the intimate details of my mother’s mental and physical ailments.

Now here I am, having inherited two or three of my mother's errors of perception. I do place some blame on my mother for the way I interact amongst others, but I don’t think that it is an excuse for making myself feel miserable or wallow in self-pity. My mother has not been able to overcome what she struggles with, and while I have felt anger towards her for not succeeding, I also feel thankful that I do not have her brain. I am capable of fighting the negative messages that I tell myself, and I know that I have been able to have successful relationships with people around me. Looking at the bad habits and ways of living that I was exposed to, I have to also be thankful that I was able to somehow come out but half-scathed. I also know that I have been able to see my awkward nature as humorous and cute. I hope to see it that way again.

So now it’s onward and upward from here. I will continue to learn more and more about the world around me, what my place in it is, how to look at myself in a way that allows me to make mistakes. Though today has been hard, and I have struggled to complete simple activities of daily living, I feel more hopeful. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Oh, by the way, here is the link for that Wikipedia blurb, lest I run the chance of seeming perjurious:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borderline_personality_disorder

The Beginning

This is not only the beginning of this blog, but also the beginning of a new, yet old, way of living for me. I find that I have hit bottom without having to consume mass amounts of drugs or alcohol, and I have no choice but to pick up the pieces. Therefore, as cliche as this may be, I will chronicle what happens as I learn to function as an adult in American society - trying to be as open as possible while retaining some privacy.

To begin, i will give a brief explanation of where I am right now. I am in my late (eep!) twenties and do not have any sort of college degree. After working for three years in behavioral health, I cracked, and my own issues were shoved into my face. During my brief and humbling stint in the psychiatric ward, I was again given the diagnosis of a major or chronic depressive disorder; my new bonus was the official diagnosis of a panic disorder. I must interject here that i find the word "disorder" somewhat ironic, seeing as it was a distinct lack of order that led me to this place in my life. More on that later.
Due to this mental cracking, I have found myself unable to complete the duties required by my job. Also, my attempt at finishing college was cut short by a refusal of financial aid to help me pay after failing multiple classes (thanks panic attacks!).
So I am broken, jobless, and am straining what little strength I have in an attempt to see hope for the future. Also, as an added funtastic coincidence that will no doubt teach me further humility, I am having to apply for services from the state...from behavioral health. As I live day to day, trying to keep myself and my cat fed, I am starting to see some humor in all of this.

Tomorrow will be my first appointment with a state worker. There will, I am sure, be a few humorous things to report from the encounter. Also, since I am having to repeat it to multiple psychiatrists and therapists, I will grace you will a short summary of the crazy past that got me here - appropriately edited of course. If you're lucky, it will be in short story form with the names and places changed.

Oh, and though I am called Sir Steven, I am a woman.