D.H : Letter Number 1

Right now, I miss you.  And I need to remind myself that I shouldn't, really.  At all.  I need to remind myself that just because I am sad and feeling alone because I am not with you, doesn't mean I am so low I feel the need to self-injure.  Because those thoughts are ever-present.  Ever since you not-so-eloquently asked me on our SECOND DATE if I cut myself.  You saw the scars and couldn't get past them, so you felt you had the right to ask me about them.  Let me be clear: you did not have a right.  I get being curious.  I'm sure that those that see me around town are curious, but they at least have the sense and the decency not to ask me about the scars on my arms.  Why did you feel compelled to ask me?  I couldn't very well lie to you, the truth was written there all over my face, much less the rest of my body.  I likely would have told you eventually.  Why did you have to invade my personal space and ask me?  Couldn't you see that I needed to come to the right time in my own time, not yours?

Speaking of personal space... should we talk about what you did to me?  What I haven't been brave enough to even say out loud to myself, much less to anyone else that I trust?  I deluded myself for several weeks afterward that maybe it was because you liked me, I didn't even realize it was without my consent until several weeks after we split.  And now I have flashbacks.  I remember saying no.  I remember asking you to please, stop.  Did you listen with your ears, or with your penis?  Because if it had been your ears, then you would've stopped when I tried to stop you from even starting in the first place.  I trusted you.  And you betray that trust by doing that?

I need to remind myself that I shouldn't miss you.  I also need to keep telling myself that what you did to me was in no way my fault.  I always knew I'd be forever connected to the boy (you are not deserving of the title of man) who I gave up my virginity to, but because you needed to get off on hurting me, we're connected for a whole new reason.  I was okay (ish) with the sex.  Why did you have to take more?

Your Story Matters // Robin Williams

Why is it that I feel compelled to blog when a celebrity dies at [presumably] their own hand?  It’s not like I know them personally, or what demons they faced while still alive.  Everyone’s story is different.  Everyone is unique, and their story matters.  Your story matters.  God, do I sound like TWLOHA or what?  I should be a blogger for them.  You know, from afar, `cause Florida’s a bit far away.  Anywhoooo…

Everybody of my generation probably has a Robin Williams story.  Their favorite TV show or movie, maybe an appearance on a talk show, a time when they heard a joke & almost peed their pants (I swear this last one does not apply to me directly!).  Or maybe they have met him, & he was just so gracious & friendly.  I can't remember when I first saw Mrs. Doubtfire, but it was undoubtedly (pun intended) my first… or one of my first.   When I was a senior in high school, in Mr. Snow’s creative writing class, he was somehow able to show us a clip of Dead Poet’s Society, along with others, like Shawshank Redemption.  In a very conservative town, with seemingly strict guidelines on, well, everything, they were very critical of everything done in a classroom setting, and my teacher only showed us bits and pieces of certain movies.  Right now, I can't even tell you what scene was played in class from DPS.  All I know is that THAT is my Robin story. 

Suicide touches everyone is some shape or form.  Whether you’ve survived 3+ attempts yourself, or have lost someone close, everyone knows the sadness behind it.  And yet, it’s still taboo to talk about.  Why?  Today’s news only goes to show you that it even effects the rich & famous.  I almost thought for a millisecond that when I heard the story on CBS News tonight that it had to be a hoax, like those you see on social media on what seems like a daily basis.  But then, why would a major news network be breaking into the nightly news to broadcast it if he wasn’t dead?  There are still reports trickling in, and as I type, suicide hasn’t been 100% confirmed.  I believe the last report I read was that he was reported missing & so the cops went to his house to check on him, & found he was deceased, in an “apparent” suicide (no clue where I read that so no copyright infringement intended).  But as with the last blog post on this subject, his life was not a waste.  His story matters.  Everyone was affected by him, his laughter, his infectious personality.  Lets just remember that this, once again, is not a waste.  How would you feel if someone considered your life or your death as a waste?

I wish I had some witty closing to this post fitting of the great man, but I can’t think of anything.  I also wish I wasn't sitting here on my patio typing this, listening to my iTunes playlist entitled "Cry Songs," and feeling very, very emo.  I feel like I should be able to think of something clever to describe how I feel right now, but I don’t.  So I’ll just leave you with these links.  And if you know me personally, you know my story, what I've been thru & continue to go thru on a daily basis, and have my phone number & need to talk, I’m always here for you.

 

National Suicide Prevention Hotline

National Suicide Prevention Hotline Live Chat

National Alliance on Mental Illness

 

Carpe Diem.

WorkItOut100 Round 1 Thoughts

Where do I even begin?

When I got the e-mail from Amanda & Laura congratulating me on my day 100, & asking if I wanted to, to write a blog post or tell my story about my journey thus far, I wasn't sure I even wanted to.  Was it because when I was first asked by my [second] cousin Carrie to join her in this challenge, I didn't want to do it at all?  She was one of the first people to know that I had joined a gym back in November, and had even registered for my first 5K (May 9).  But I was hesitant to sign up.  But she didn't give up on me. :)  She kept asking, & finally I said okay.  It happened to be a weekend that Amanda was visiting Carrie & they were both equally excited I finally gave in!  Haha!  But I'm glad Carrie didn't give up on me. So to you, thank-you.

At times all I counted for workouts was walking thru a store grocery shopping.  I wanted to give up so many times.  But I knew that if I gave up, & didn't count the days that I'd been power walking in Wal-Mart or Target, that I likely wouldn't start back up, no matter how much loving pestering I received.  SOOOOO... I counted it.  And yet, at times, I don't know how much difference 100 days made.  I don't feel like I lost any weight, I still feel disgustingly fat, and I'm not happy with myself most days.  At times, I felt disheartened because no one liked my posts on Instagram, or commented, and my anxiety/depression reared its ugly head & made me think that's because I wasn't important enough, and as an extension of that, I must not be doing a very good job at this whole "working out thing." I've blogged about my struggles with depression, self-harm, anxiety, etc. before, and I will be the first to admit that has a lot to do with why I don't feel like, at times, that this journey was worth it.

But then I start thinking...
... would I have actually gone thru with the 5K if I hadn't been working out this consistently?
... would I think twice about having a second portion of food, when one is enough?
... how many times a day did I need to take an Ativan or Nerve Tonic before, and how many times a day do I need to do that now?
... would I be able to fit into a size smaller jeans now, that I've actually had in my closet for 10 months but never been able to wear, if I'd not been working out?
... would I do everything in my power to try to get my parentals to do yoga with me when they were here over Mother's Day weekend (my pestering didn't work.  they didn't join in.) if I hadn't been working out so much?
... would I be wanting to try out new workout classes at my gym?
... would I be joining various programs at my gym that count how many miles one bikes, walks, runs, etc.?
... would I be excited to order running shoes & gym socks online? 

I think the positives outweigh the misgivings I have had, and likely will continue to have.  I likely will always never feel like I'm good enough.  I will likely never be happy with the number I see on the scale, or the body I see reflecting back at me in the mirror.   Or maybe I will?!  How do I know if I don't try?  I've even signed up for Run or Dye on June 28th, and got my sister to join me for it!  Hoorah!  I've also registered for the 5K in the Fargo Mini Marathon October 11th, so that I have something to continue to work towards.  I know myself, and if I didn't have something to train for - even if it is 'just' a 5K - I wouldn't think that there's any point to working out at all.  I need to see a goal in my future, something to plan for.

And as for my future with #WorkItOut100?  I start Round 2 tomorrow!  I have goals that I'll be working towards, and I know that the positives WILL outweigh my misgivings or anxieties, and I WILL come out of the second round an even better #wio100warrior!

Still Learning.

I'm still learning the whole "one serving of food at a time" thing.  I want to eat half of a pizza or more, even though the serving size is 1/4 of one.  I want to eat 3 sugar cookies instead of 1, and I want to eat a whole box of macaroni and cheese & not just 1/3 of one like the box suggests.  Why have so little, when you can have so much?

That sounds bad, but to someone who has issues with food, eating too much & eating the wrong things, it's normal for us.  We want to eat more than we should, & sometimes we regret it (but not always!).  We look at that salad & think: that's it?  That's all I get?  Why can't I just go to Target & buy a frozen pizza & have that instead? Won't that fill me up more than a stupid salad? 

I'm trying to lose weight.  Really, I am.  I joined a gym, I workout regularly.  I hesitate to say "and I watch what I eat," because really, I still want to eat all the crap-for-you-but-tastes-so-good food.  I'm starting to say, "Okay.  You can get a frozen pizza, but don't eat the whole thing at once.  Just have 1 serving & save the rest for later." To someone who thinks that pizza is something that isn't good for you, even this seems gross.  But to someone who is used to eating whatever she wants, whenever she wants, 1 serving doesn't seem like quite enough.

I'm trying to make it enough.  I'm trying to have a protein bar after I work out every day, so that when I get home, I'm not super hungry already & want to eat everything in site.  I'm trying to stop myself at one serving, because more than that got me to where I am.  I am still learning what foods make me have the runs & make me feel sick to my stomach, & what foods do not taste good AT ALL.  For instance: I LOVE macaroni & cheese.  Like LOVE.  I would eat it every day for the rest of my life if I could.  But I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to something in the boxed macaroni & cheese that you get from the store, because within 12-ish hours of eating it, I get this really weird rash/redness in both my armpits.  I don't get it anywhere else, & I don't get it when I have the crockpot macaroni & cheese, just the boxed kinds.  I know, weird, right?  But it goes away with time that I don't eat the boxed kinds, & with the help of hydrocortisone cream every night.  I'm learning that there are some foods that used to not give me any sort of reaction, & now they give me the runs 5 minutes after I eat them (read: scootcharoos, anything with a heavy amount of cheddar cheese, etc.).   I'm learning that I don't mind protein smoothies, as long as they taste like the frozen pink salad/dessert my mom made growing up. 

It's slow going, but I'm learning.  And I'm always open to suggestions/helpful advice. :)

P.S.H.

When I saw it on Twitter with the hashtag "RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman" I honestly thought it was another hoax.  How many times have you logged on to Facebook or Twitter, or other social media, only to find the latest "RIP" post, which turns out to be false?  To check to see if it was true, I went to People. It is true.  Now, it doesn't really affect me at all.  Did I ever see his movies?  Probably like one or so, I'm not sure.  It's not that important.

But what is important is to remember that no one's life is a waste.  Whether the death is by themselves or someone else, or of natural causes, I repeat, NO ONE'S LIFE IS A WASTE.  Is it sad?  Yes.  Is it unfortunate?  Undoubtedly.  But, is it a waste?  No.  Whether he intentionally killed himself with too much illegal drugs, or whether he gave himself his "regular dose" so-to-speak & it happened to be too much for his body to handle any more, it is incredibly sad.  He had so much to live for, family & friends who loved him, and love him still.

What drives someone to do this?  It's different for everyone.  Someone has to be in a really deep, dark place to inject themselves with drugs, or take 166 ibuprofens in 5 hours, drink a ton of alcohol, and pray that they don't wake up.  The person may feel themselves that their life is a waste, but trust me, from the outside, they are most definitely not a waste.  Of anything.  And yes, I'm speaking from personal experience.  Sometimes I feel low like that, but I think I'm past the point of actually attempting to kill myself.  I am  1631 days OD-free.  It's been a hard 4 and a half years, it's a day to day struggle, but it hasn't been a waste.

If you or someone you know is in need of help, call 911, or use any of the resources below:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Live Chat
National Alliance on Mental Illness
To Write Love On Her Arms

You are important.  You are loved.  YOU ARE NOT A WASTE.

13.

What were you doing when you were 13?  Who were you at 13?  What would you say to yourself now that you wished you’d known then?

There are a lot of different things that may come to mind when you see ’13.’  The movie, maybe?  Good luck?  Bad luck?  Friday the 13^th, step on a crack, break your mother’s back, etc.  For me, 13 is mixed with good and bad.  Good: my older sister was born on the 13^th of her birth month.  Bad: my grandfather’s funeral was 13 days before my 13^th birthday.  Good: if you include Jesus, that makes 13 disciples… (this was actually pointed out to me at a youth retreat a month after my 13^th birthday).  Bad: on a particularly bad Friday the 13^th my senior year in college, my ex best friend plotted against me (she’d describe it differently, I’m sure) to make sure that she was safe (long story).  Good: on my 13^th birthday, I had a boy I liked call me at home for the first time (I should mention that was the first and only time Craig called me!).  Bad: 13 years ago today, I cut myself for the first time.  I can still see the scar, and I wonder, can others?  Can you?

I've never been one to talk about why I started cutting.  And I’m not sure why I’m talking about it now.    But here goes.  Every year in high school, I went to a youth Gathering in Lansing with kids from my church.  In 2000, I was having a great time hanging out with my boyfriend Matt, his brother, and his brother’s girlfriend Jenni, and a couple of others, and we were all watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off on the TV in a hotel room.  To this day, I hate that movie, because of what happened.  He gave me my first kiss that night.  But the next morning, he told me he had gotten drunk after giving me my 1^st kiss & said then he didn’t remember it at all.  Then when we talked on the phone a few weeks later in January & he started talking about this other girl being his girlfriend it hurt, because we technically were not broken up yet.  At the Gathering, Jenni had told me she cut herself & it put the idea into my head.  Couple that with what happened with him, I started to cut myself.  This by no means is the only reason, though.  The other reason, you won’t find out, because no one believes me about that anyways, so there’s no way I’d put myself out there again. 

I don’t want to count the number of physical scars; I’m sure they number well over 100 by now.  I wish that number was only 13.  I wish it was 0.  More than that, I wish I didn’t have the 13 years of emotional scarring before I even started to cut.  Or the 13 since.

coping skills.

What are your coping skills?  What gets you thru those moments where you start to get anxious, panicky, and you feel completely and totally overwhelmed?  Do you even get nervous enough to call it an ‘anxiety disorder?’  I do.  As I mentioned in my first post, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder during my first (of 3) inpatient stints, but I likely have had this for much more than just 7 years; I’m talkin’, prolly since like junior high or high school.  At the very least, since I went overseas with the Girl Scouts August 2001 & I got so homesick and anxious and wanted to go home more than I wanted to explore London.  All I wanted to do was call home, stay inside, etc.  But my mental problems started when I was 3 years of age.  But that’s a story for another time. 

I bring up anxiety because this morning I got hit, all of a sudden, with this overwhelming panic.  I couldn’t breathe, my stomach was in knots, I had ‘digestive issues’ (read into that what you will!), and I have no idea where it came from.  I remember exactly what I was doing when it happened.  I was watching Gilmore Girls, and it was the episode Rory comes home from Yale & runs into Dean outside Lane’s house & he invites her to his wedding.  All of a sudden I had to get out of the room.  I had to take a half tablet of Nerve Tonic (a godsend, really.  My dad found it for me when my doctor refused to refill a prescription of Ativan when I needed it, even though it most certainly wasn’t too soon for it.  Since then I've used the Ativan very sparingly.  But that once again, is a story for another time.), ½ tablet Immodium, a cranberry, and I just sat in the bathroom, with the radio blaring and the bathtub running.  For some reason, water running helps me relax.  Not sure where that came from, or how I even discovered it, and sometimes it takes half an hour or longer (much, much longer today, I’m afraid), but the running water acts as a white noise effect, kinda.  So I sat there, listening to the radio, the water running, and playing Farkle on my phone until I was calm enough to leave. 

I've of course been compiling a list of coping skills since I was diagnosed, that’s one of the things they teach you in the crazy-hospital.  Coping skills, coping skills, coping skills.  They push it down your throat.  Sure, you can cope your way thru life, but I really want to know what is the cause of this anxiety.  Isn’t that better than just trudging my way thru life?  Or maybe I just need to learn better cues.  I don’t recall having any sort of cues this morning during my aforementioned anxiety attack.  Or in the one about an hour and a half after that one, or the one about an hour or two after lunch.  It was just all of a sudden, right there in your face, HELLO. 

I've noticed that since I am taking a mini-break from the gym (just until my new shoes arrive so hopefully I don’t get shin splints anymore… sometime mid-next week, hopefully), that my anxiety has gotten worse.  Like I've felt that I needed to take the ½ tablet of nerve tonic more throughout the day.  Some days I can get thru the day without needing the extra help at all.  And yes, I feel ugly, out of place, and fat at the gym, but I honestly have noticed, especially since I've temporarily stopped going, that it is overall helping with the anxiety.  So that’s definitely a coping skill, I guess.

But what are others?  Do you have any coping skills that help you in times of panic?  Share below!  I’d love to hear them!