Dear Diary – 18 May 2017

May 18, 2017

Dear Diary,

I started a new kind of blog post theme today.  I have one called “To Whom It Concerns” that I think people like; I mean, it makes me laugh.  But I’ve been having trouble writing and I really want to start writing again because if you don’t use it you lose it, and I love this gift of mine.  I thought if I started by writing just for myself it might be easier.  I call this one “Dear Diary” because I talk to myself more than anyone else.  I’m often the only one listening anyway, so it kind of makes sense.  Writing to “Dear Diary” helps decrease the feeling of performance anxiety when I’m trying to think of what to say here.  This way it’s just between us, but I can still say I’m a writer.

My favorite psychiatrist once told me when I’d seen her just after a dissociative episode that no one is coming to save me.  I have to save myself.  At the time I was really mad at her.  I did not feel strong enough to complete this seemingly Sisyphean task.  I still do not, but I’ve gained enough wisdom to know she was right and I’m stubborn enough to keep trying.

As part of my recovery and boring self care I’ve been trying to make myself do more, move more, be more independent.  It’s hard and it’s scary.  I’m not used to active living because I’ve just shut down and isolated myself for so long.  I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do.  I’m really good at the thinking part but not so good with the doing part; I’m not used to being a self-starter.  I came up with a huge list of things I’d like to have as part of my recovery, things that will enrich my life and help me grow and progress.  These aren’t physical items per se, they are habits and experiences and relationships, all the things that make up the act of living.  It’s just that next step part that I haven’t seemed to master.  Persistence, consistence, motivation; these are things in short supply when you live with mental illness.  It’s discouraging when something as simple as getting gas in your car causes a meltdown.  It makes you not want to try.  The intense feelings of failure, disappointment, and splitting are hard to overcome.

Recently my friend got herself new strings for her guitar as a birthday gift.  I’ve wanted to play guitar for years but never felt like I could afford a guitar or lessons.  Luckily, I find myself in possession of Mom’s guitar, and since the internet is a thing I am now able to find guitar lessons online for free!  I spent some time tuning it the other day and in the interest of not being a liar when I tell people that I’m teaching myself to play the guitar, I have made an appointment with myself every day after watching my morning show for Guitar Lessons.  I won’t know if I’m a success for awhile, but I’m giving it a try and hoping for the best.

Well, that’s all for now Dear Diary.  Thanks for being a good vehicle to get the writing juices flowing again.

Sincerely,

Sallygirl

 

 

 

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Self Care is Healthcare

It’s always some kind of awareness month or day, and May is marked for Mental Health.  I’ve given myself the title of Peer Advocate in the Mental Health community because I’m proud of the progress I’ve made in my life; and though I’m far from perfect, I consider myself a positive role model for myself, and I share my journey so others who struggle with their mental health will know they’re not alone.

A key tool for success in the life of anyone is good self care.  It’s essential no matter what your mental health status.  For generally mentally healthy people, this mostly looks fluffy and fun because they bounce back pretty quickly from life’s stresses.  When your mental health is sketchy at best and catastrophic at worst, self care becomes a bit more boring and a lot more like the difference between life and death – depending on how severe your current mental state.  I mostly talk about the fluffy kind of self care, but today I’d like to talk about the more boring and mundane aspects of self care that are just as essential as the “fun” ones.

Boring Self Care includes:

  • TAKE YOUR MEDS. Be diligent.  Use calendars.  Set alarms. Make sure you arrange for refills in advance so you can avoid the compounding stress of the last minute refill on a scrip that needs Dr. re-authorization and they’re out of town for a week so now you’ve got to hope they can reach the covering doc.
  • Good hygiene.  Anhedonia is what it’s called when you have depression and you can’t feel pleasure from normal daily activities, like taking care of your body.  This is something I have struggled with, and why I find particular pleasure in indulging in luxurious shower products.  I feel like I have spent so much money on something so basic, you bet I’m gonna use it!
  • Make and keep appointments.  This can be visits with your therapist, visits to the dentist, the eye doctor, whatever your body is in need of care for.  When you live with depression and anxiety, it can feel really scary to force yourself out of the house, all the way to the doctor’s office, the long wait in the waiting room, and the stress of a visit; even though these are all things to help you.  But making and keeping appointments is HUGE and should be celebrated with fluffy self care!
  • Distress tolerance. Distress tolerance is the mental version of an inoculation to stress.  My completely non-professional definition of distress tolerance is: By participating in an activity that causes you stress in small amounts and in a controlled environment, you learn to sit with the feeling and your ability to tolerate the stress can be greatly reduced, and even eliminated over time.
  • You are what you eat.  God, what a privileged thing to say, right?  But it’s true.  No judgement and no guilt though!  You do the best you can, and that’s all anyone can do.  NOBODY IS PERFECT!

These are just a few examples of the boring self care that I practice.  I’m going to make an effort to post about it more on my social media accounts, because self care is important in ALL its forms, not just the fun ones!  What are some of the ways you practice boring self care?

The BPD Games

Ladies and Gentlemen!  Welcome to our coverage of the March 19, 2016th edition of the BPD Games!  I’ll be your host, Effie Flickerman, so let’s get started!

No need to introduce yesterday’s victors, there aren’t any in this game!

Here’s what’s plaguing our contestant today:

  • physical pain
  • social anxiety
  • depression
  • Lying Liars, and the Brains they occupy
  • bored children
  • clueless husband
  • lonliness
  • over-sensitivity
  • ideation
  • and a pool so fucked up who knows if it’ll come back?

Unfortunately the weather is cooperating and it’s nice and sunny outside, but don’t you worry!  These BPD Games are so intense, we can ruin that for you, too!

Now the contestant known as “Sallygirl” from District SJVCA isn’t without merit.  She’s tenacious and will not go down without a fight!  She will send the shit out of some Good Mail, rock the hell out of some Queen, AC/DC, and the Violent Femmes; spread cheer by sharing Instagram photos of phallic cacti in her secret combination FB group, enjoy a medible now and then, and curate a list of vintage postage and vinyl in a New York minute!

But don’t worry, we’ve got the upper hand.  She can only hold out for so long before exhaustion, self doubt, and paranoia set in.  We’ll keep her in bed staring at the walls and crying off and on for days for no real reason at all!  We’ve also got a lifetime supply of baggage, judgements, and negative messages playing on an endless loop; just for fun!

That’s all for now, join us next time, providing there is one!

The Genetic Lottery

So, I like everybody else in the universe I have some diseases/disorders/conditions, whatever you want to call it, that I have… “inherited” from my family.  And when I have days like yesterday (the absolute worst ever); all I can do is sit back, give a big fat double fisted middle finger to the sky and in my head shout “F*CK YOU GENETIC LOTTERY, AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!!!”

Because that’s what it is, right?  Your mom and dad have that special hug and then there’s a genetic pool from which the things that make you are drawn.  Hair color, eye color, skin color, hitch hiker thumb, curly tongue, height, gender, temperament, all the things that can be passed down from generation to generation.  Including things like cancer, diabetes, vision, mental illness, heart disease, hair loss/thickness/balding, and addiction.  Some things skip a generation, some things skip many generations, and some things hit every generation.

There are a lot of things I’m happy I ended up with.  I love my blue eyes and the compliments I get about them.  I love my thick hair!  Well, most of the time.  I love that I’m left handed like my grandma was (although I’m not sure if that one’s actually a genetic thing), that I can sing beautifully like my mother and grandfather, and like the rest of my family I’m highly intelligent.  These are the real wins in the genetic lottery; but when the darkness of depression takes over… those are the things I’m not so grateful for, and I like to joke that “the genetic lottery strikes again!” or “I won the genetic lotto again!”

Being self aware is generally a gift.  When you just want to die – when you want to drive into the median full speed or take all the pills in the house; knowing somewhere, deep inside you that eventually this will pass, that it could be five minutes or five days but it will stop – is the only thing that keeps you alive.

That, my special friends, and joking about the genetic lottery. 😉

I Can’t Adult

I think that damn little hamster in my head needs his legs broken.  I’m not sad, but I’m definitely depressed.  And ashamed.  And scared.

I haven’t showered.  For an amount of time I’m too ashamed to admit.  Actually, I lost count.

I stopped grocery shopping and cooking meals.  At least, on my own anyway.  Honey has to invite me to go shopping with him, and I’m kicking and screaming inside when we go.

I pick up my son from school late because I can’t make myself leave the house.

I’m constantly lonely, and when I get to be with other grownups all I can think of is how uncomfortable it is to be around them.

I’m having a birthday party in two weeks and terrified that nobody will come.

I’m terrified they will.

I’m going to Reno next weekend to be with my sister and nieces.  I’m terrified of that, too.

People say all kinds of nice things to me, they try to lift me up with their words, but I don’t believe them.  It’s not that I think they’re liars, I just know what they say isn’t true.

I can’t live up to those things.

I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.