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!

stigmas, conundrums, & instagram stalking

Somedays living with the stigma/cloud of mental illness really, really sucks.  Having been diagnosed with Dysthymia & Generalized Anxiety Disorder during my first inpatient stint back in January 2007 wasn't enough, apparently.  The assumption of Borderline Personality Disorder was discussed during my second stint in August 2007, but no official diagnosis was made with that.  However, an ex "friend" first decided I was BPD back my senior year in college.  I'm trying to take her opinion with a grain of salt though, because she was... let's just say, the situation didn't end pleasantly, and while I've admitted my wrongdoing, she never has, and it's been almost 8 years.  She won't talk to me, and blocks me on Facebook.  But I digress...

I have been on A LOT of medications since just before my first inpatient treatment.  Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Paxil, Remeron, Abilify... just to name a few.  Right now my cocktail is Wellbutrin & Zoloft in the morning, and Remeron at night, and Ativan throughout the day if I need it.  But even that load of drugs doesn't always help with the feeling alone, feeling left out, having no friends, being homesick.  It doesn't help with the whole being jealous when looking at someone's Instagram profile & seeing that they went out & didn't bother to include me.  Technically 'knowing' this person since she was born, but not really knowing-knowing her until about a week ago doesn't give me the right to just assume that I should be included in every little thing since she's in town.  It doesn't give me the right to be jealous because she's got family in town & I have a 98-year-old Grandmother in a nursing home.  It doesn't give me the right to mope around feeling sorry for myself because I have no friends.  Like at all.  Do I *know* people around town?  Sure.  But would they consider me their friend?  Not sure.  I've job-hopped and secluded myself (Hello, Anxiety.  Afraid of going out, being with people, meeting new people, doing something I've never done before, afraid of getting made fun of, anxious about the unknown, etc.  And then HELLO, Depression.  Sad that I'm all alone and no one wants to hang out with me.  Hello, vicious, vicious circle of my life.) so much that I have no friends in this town.  I've lived up here for 4 years now and still no friends.  My mom tells me to get involved in activities at my church.  Trouble is, there aren't any activities for my age group.  Sure, there is choir, or bell choir, and I'm sure there are any number of Bible studies, but with people in their 20s & 30s?  Don't get me wrong, I love my church, but their lack of activities for people my age is incredibly disheartening.  They advertise for something called 'Project F-M', but that is a city-wide thing and not directly associated with my church in any way.  The aforementioned recipient of my Instagram stalking & subsequent jealous, upset, frustrated, depressing post (P.S. if you're reading this, I'm sorry.  But maybe this post can explain my behavior a little better.) of my own on Instagram & depressing texts suggested going church shopping to find a new one.  Trouble is, I LOVE mine.  It was where my Grandparents were married back in 1944.  It is super Lutheran traditional, which I love, and they do not use those ugly screen monstrosities (in the Sanctuary at least).  I don't want to go church shopping. 

But I desperately need to meet people, or I may go crazier than I already am.  A conundrum.