Trauma, intention, and healing yourself

Trauma comes in all shapes and sizes, and unfortunately, nobody gets through life without experiencing it in one way or another: childhood neglect, physical, sexual, or emotional abuse, bullying, abusive or toxic relationships, living with someone who has substance abuse or mental health issues, poverty, oppression, and on it goes. We all must deal with trauma, and it leaves its mark on each of us. We enter this world as innocent beings, but then people fuck us up, and we, in turn, fuck other people up (even though we do not intend to do so).

I used to think intention mattered, but it does not. Not really. People have done me wrong, and I have done people wrong. If I hurt you, that is what matters… it matters not that I didn't intend to do it. Intentionality is a beautiful thought, but at the end of the day, it means very little. 

And when it comes to healing from someone who has hurt me, ownership is the path to true healing. Even though I am not responsible for the pain and trauma I have gone through, I need to be the one to own it, and this is why: It is unrealistic to expect everyone who has hurt me to be accountable, apologize, and do the work to make it right. 

So, I have two choices: 1) I can continue to let their actions dictate and influence how I view myself and approach the world, or 2) I can accept I am the only one who can fix it. I choose option number two. My trauma is not my fault, but it is my responsibility to own it so I can heal from it. No one else is going to do it for me. 

Radical Acceptance

I went through something two weeks ago that changed my life. It was the most beautiful and peaceful experience I have ever had. It was radical acceptance.

Radical acceptance means accepting everything about yourself, your current situation, your body, and your life without question, blame, or pushback. Far from condoning or embracing your current difficulties and situation, radical acceptance typically advocates accepting yourself and your circumstances to better move through and past them.

You simply… poof, accept everything. Radical acceptance feels like you are looking at yourself and your life from an outsider’s perspective, with no judgements and no attachments. You see everything for exactly what it is and feel entirely okay and at peace with it. You let go of the pain and move forward.

I used to hide all the raw and vulnerable parts of myself that I felt were undesirable or imperfect. I could not trust anyone because I was terrified of being judged, hurt, or abandoned. Being this way was not a conscious choice; my subconscious was protecting my ego. I was closed off, showed you only what I wanted you to see, and never felt secure in who I was. I did not know how to be myself, not even when alone. 

Since I experienced radical acceptance two weeks ago, I have become acutely receptive to emotional, authentic, and spiritual conversations. I want to connect with people in the most genuine way possible. I want to give and receive complete honesty, even if it is “ugly.” The more shameful your secrets, the more beautiful I find them; my secrets are no different. The stuff we hide is the stuff that makes us unique, fascinating, and extraordinary. 

These last two weeks, I have been open, vulnerable, and, most importantly, myself with everyone I have interacted with. I have this new, deep understanding that the people who are meant to be in my life will be, and those who aren’t won’t be. I cannot force anything, and I do not want to. 

Imagine you have a bead in your hand. You are so afraid to lose it that you squeeze your hand tightly around it—and it slips through your fingers. Or, you can keep your hand open, palm up, and have the bead on it—and it’s still there. Enjoy what you have when you have it but don’t become too attached to it.

Mental Health Awareness Month

May began with immense emotional pain and ended with so much healing; it is difficult to describe where I started and where I am now.

Life ebbs and flows: In periods of flow, life is easy and full of meaning and movement. But when life ebbs, we struggle against the current, fighting to grasp what is important to us.

For the past five years, I struggled against the current. The details do not matter, but it was too much. So to cope, I shoved the problems and pain down as far as possible. I feared if I tried to deal with any of the big issues, I would get stuck in my head and never be able to escape.

At the beginning of May, all the pain I had been burying for years said "fuck you" and smacked me in the face all at once. Finally, I had no choice but to work through everything I had been avoiding: the self-hatred, the bitterness, the embarrassment, the shame, the guilt, all of it.

I took three weeks off work and dealt with my shit. I had to. It was time. Through dealing with it, I have learned I need to be my priority, not some guy, job, or anything else. I have also learned it is great to stay busy so I do not get stuck in my head, but I need to spend time there every so often to sort through and deal with life before it snowballs.

I never thought I would be thankful for everything I have gone through these past five years, but here we are, and I am thankful for all of it. All the pain, suffering, sadness, and depression brought me to this new place of peace, contentment, openness, and acceptance. 

I will struggle against the current in the future, and I may not be able to get through it alone, but it is okay to ask for help. Above all else, I no longer want to be perfect; I want to be authentic. 

Until we meet again, depression

Depression is a sneaky thing. It slowly builds and creeps in, invading my mind, body, and soul, and affects every area of my life. I don’t notice it at first; it is that subtle. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I wake up one morning, and I am no longer me. The positive, glass-half-full me has disappeared. She is gone. The depression has completely sucked me under, and the weight on my chest makes it hard to breathe. It is excruciating. I would rather walk through fire than deal with this deep, all-consuming depression. It hurts. Everything feels awful. I retreat into myself, and no one can find their way in.

When I feel the only way to escape the pain is to kill myself, I tell my mom, who saves me. She is my soft place to land. Then, those who love me surround me. They form a protective circle around me, reminding me I am unconditionally loved. It can take weeks or months, but I wake up one morning, and the weight on my chest is gone. The love I feel from every corner of my life makes it impossible for depression to take up any more space. 

I weep with happiness and gratitude for how fortunate I am to have so much love and support. I see colours again. I laugh. I am present, noticing dandelions growing from the earth and the beautiful burnt orange jumper a woman in the checkout line at the grocery store is wearing. I look around me, and I am bewildered at how it was ever possible for me to be depressed in the first place.

I am back.

Me in another universe...

Monday morning, I walked out of my apartment building and sat on one of the benches out front. I was waiting for my mom to pick me up. I had called her thirty minutes earlier, telling her I self-harmed and was thinking about killing myself. As I was sitting on the bench, a lady I met who lives in the same apartment building walked by me and asked, "Not working from home today?" 

Over the last few months, she and I have shared some personal stories, so I feel comfortable with her. "No, I'm going to the hospital." Concerned, she walked over and asked why. I shrugged, and before I knew what I was saying, the words "I want to kill myself" escaped my mouth. She sat down, put her arm around me, and let me cry on her shoulder. "Honey, I felt the same way last week. Any time you need to talk, come knock on my door. I am always here for you. I promise."

She was late for work, so as she walked away, I stared down at my hands and wondered where the fuck I had gone wrong. I felt fine last week. What changed? My mom picked me up, and as she drove to the hospital, I said all the things out loud that I had been thinking for years: I'm stupid, I'm ugly, I'm fat, No one cares about me, No one will ever love me, I am a waste of space and everyone would be better off without me, I want to disappear. This went on for twenty minutes until I stood in front of the nurse in the ER, who was asking what I was there for.

"I'm suicidal." 

I spent the next six hours at the hospital getting meds, having blood drawn, speaking to doctors, having psychiatrist appointments set up, and crying to my mom. I knew I was where I needed to be, but I didn't understand why I was feeling so low in the first place. All I knew was that I felt miserable, and my stomach was a pit of aching depression. I felt worthless, unloveable, and so very defeated. It felt like I had fallen down an 80-foot hole, and there I was, covered in dirt and surrounded by darkness. 

Sometimes it feels like in this dimension, in this lifetime, I cannot grasp my mental health. There is another version of my life in some other universe where joy exists, where it is not just a temporary comfort. But it is not here. I have been blessed with so many wonderful things, yet I cannot appreciate them. Instead, I destroy them because of my mental illness.

Writing About Other People & the Reliability of Memory

It's a tricky balance, figuring out what's appropriate to talk about here and what has no right to be online. 

In university, many professors stressed the absolute gravity and seriousness of not writing about anyone unfavourably unless you have their permission. Hell, even writing favourably about someone leaves a question mark because countless people on this planet are private and aren't okay with having anyone know their business.

I respect people's privacy and do my best to honour it. I leave names out and try to be vague... but I am a writer. I gotta be able to write honestly, or what is the point?

My favourite course at university was Creative Nonfiction. A quick Google search pulls up dozens of definitions, so I've chosen one that's to the point:

• Creative nonfiction adds characterizations so that the reader becomes involved and can relate to the subject. Pure nonfiction focuses on facts. 

In a nutshell, nonfiction is a textbook: pure facts. 

Creative nonfiction is a memoir: all facts, but written to be enjoyed on a personal level.

____________________________________________

As much as we'd like it to be, memory is not like a filing cabinet. We don't experience something and then file it away only to bring it out later when we want to think about, talk about, or relive it. Over time, memory decays and becomes distorted. It becomes malleable, like clay or dough.

This creates a real problem with creative nonfiction because, so often, nonfiction writing can go back decades. Adults often write memoirs about the trauma they experienced as a child. I am not saying they didn't experience trauma, are lying, or what they are writing can't be trusted.

What I am saying is that specific details can change in our minds. Maybe events occurred slightly differently than you remember, words were said with a different tone, or perhaps the pain was worse, and your brain has protected you by covering much of the truth. 

Two people can also remember the same event very differently. Who is right? Either of us? Neither of us? There are so many things that shape how we remember something. Were you afraid at the time the memory developed? Were you laughing and experiencing something new and exciting or doing something that caused anxiety, boredom, or tediousness? Were you drunk? High? Were you distracted? Everything shapes memory.

There are conscious, unconscious, short-term, and long-term memories.

To understand memory and how it is formed, scientists study those with Alzheimer's: first, scientists need to figure out why people forget.

My Car Accident & Resulting Fear of Death

Two years ago, I was driving with my brother when it started to rain. The temperature rapidly dropped below zero, and unbeknownst to me, there was a flash freeze on the roads, making driving conditions extremely dangerous. I didn't know this then because I was in my warm vehicle. I only found out later when the police arrived at the accident scene and told me.

I was on an exit ramp going 80km per hour when I lost control of my car. I started fishtailing, and I didn't know what to do. Everything happened very quickly, but in my mind, time slowed to a snail's pace. I looked at my brother and frantically asked, "What do I do!?" He calmly replied, "It's too late. There's nothing you can do."

In an instant, I remembered hearing once, many years ago, if you know a car accident is inevitable, the best thing you can do is completely relax your body. Car accident injuries are most likely to happen when you tense your muscles and joints. So, I relaxed my body, closed my eyes, said, "Fuck," and then prayed we weren't about to die.

I felt us skidding and sliding and then immediately heard an ear-pounding SMASH! 

Then, suddenly, like it was all a dream, we weren't moving anymore. The chaos disappeared, and the air was filled with silence.

I opened my eyes. I had taken out a light pole and guardrail on the highway. I looked at my brother, covered in glass–the passenger window broke into a million pieces all over him. The passenger door had caved in on him. The windshield was broken but intact. My brother was dazed but responsive.

I was shaken up but otherwise fine.

I started crying and apologizing profusely. My brother had some very sore muscles and terrible bruising for months afterward, but beyond that, he was okay.

Since that day, I have a genuine fear of winter driving, and I sense with 100% certainty that I will die in a car accident. My family reassures me this will not happen, but there is no convincing me. 

The first snowfall of the year occurred last week, causing my usual thirty-minute drive home from work to turn into one-and-a-half hours. When I walked in my front door, I immediately began feeling the aftershocks of the panic I now feel when winter driving, and I spent the next few hours crying.

It's almost enough to make me move somewhere that doesn't see snow.

When a New Person Makes Your Day

My new job is with a massive company. Because of the building's size, most staff are forced to park on the street all around the building and beyond. They have a permanent shuttle service guy who drives around all day, transporting people to and from their vehicles. This morning he picked me up. He was warm, friendly, and outgoing, and I immediately thought, "What a perfect man for the job." 

I told him it was no problem, the walk was good for me, and he didn't need to stop for me. He replied, "Please, ma'am, get in. If I can't drive you to the office, then I have no job!" He said it with a smile on his face, so I knew he was being playful, but it sparked a conversation between us. He told me he had been out of work for six months and just started this job. I told him I had been out of work for eight months and just started this job. We both laughed at our luck.

"There is only so much big screen TV you can watch before you go crazy. At some point, work is the best possible thing for us," he said as he pulled up to the front doors of the office.

After work, he spotted me exiting the building, so he honked his horn. I laughed and got in. When he asked what time I usually arrive in the morning, I told him 8:30, and he said he would look for me to see if I needed more rides. 

I couldn't tell you what I was thinking throughout the rest of today. But those few minutes with that man made me feel something really positive—hope, joy, silliness, comfort. 

Today was a good day, all thanks to a random shuttle driver.

Crying Is Not a Weakness

Some days you just need to cry. As much as it hurts and as much as you tell yourself not to, it's okay to cry. I need to remind myself of that sometimes. Crying is not a weakness. Crying is letting go of an emotion that will poison you if you hold it in.

I mean, look, even the former President Barack Obama cries, and he is certainly not a weak man.

A crying man is not a weak man

I don't like crying. It hurts, both physically and emotionally, and it makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed. I want to hide. I don't want anyone to see me in that state. But vulnerability is a beautiful thing, and crying is a very human thing. Sometimes it's best to let it out because the reactions of those around you just might surprise you. 

No one has ever laughed at my tears or my pain. Instead, I receive support, encouragement, love, understanding, patience, and a whole lot of empathy. 

Never be afraid to cry. It shows your humanity, and it allows people to connect with you–because we've all felt pain and we have all cried.

Suicide and the Anniversary of Andy's Death

We all have that one thing that never fails to put a smile on our face. It could be a stuffed animal, a letter from your child, something you made that you're proud of, a voicemail from a loved one, and in my case... it's this: My dear friend, Andy, made a video for me weeks before he took his own life.

The second anniversary of his death is coming up in less than one month. Because of this, I am gravitating to his video incessantly. I need to be able to see him moving and dancing because it's too difficult for me to think about him being nothing but ashes in this urn.

Our friendship was deep and built over 20 years. We leaned on one another when going through periods of depression, so he reached out to me a lot in the weeks leading up to his death. But I was not there for him. It makes me sick to think about it now. I was so busy with my own problems that I didn't make time for him. 

When I look at these pictures, I see a happy guy. And he probably was happy when these pictures were taken. But if you are familiar with depression, you know how subtle and sneaky it can be. Depression floats in and out of your life, and by the time you realize you are deep in it, you often need help to climb out—it is too hard to do it alone. 

This is the lesson I am taking from Andy's suicide: If you trust me enough to reach out to me when at your lowest and darkest, it is my duty as a friend and fellow human being to listen, be supportive, and remind you of all the reasons you are needed on this planet. It's so easy to look back and see what I could have done differently, but the reality is that it will never be possible.

I am so sorry, Andy. You deserved better.

The Next 24 Hours

This saying has been around for over half a century, most likely. Earl Nightingale (1921-1989) was an American radio speaker and author, dealing mostly with the subjects of human character development, motivation, and meaningful existence.

I love that you can make a career of pretty much anything. If you can dream it, it can happen. "But what if you aren't born into a rich family?" I agree—being born into a favourable environment has its perks and will set you up much better than someone who's been born into poverty and is a minority. Facts are facts, so I won't sit here and pretend that we can all be masters at what we love with the same amount of energy put into getting there. But I think we are all capable of having any job we want. We may not be at the best company, making the most money, or getting the recognition we want, but I think each of us has the potential to decide our fate. 

It takes work, a lot of work. Work that most people don't have the determination, drive, motivation, willpower, or self-confidence to put in. 

You hear of people who've come from nothing and are suddenly household names, owning multiple vacation homes, partying with the rich and the famous and enjoying every great opportunity that exists on this planet. Check out this list of 11 celebrities who were dirt poor before they became famous. 

Some people are born into privilege. Some people are born beautiful. Some people are in the right place at the right time. But that isn't the case for every successful person, and you would be doing yourself a massive disservice if you trick yourself into believing that. 

Why? Because if that's what you truly believe, then you have no chance of becoming the person you want to become.

Look at someone like Steve Irwin, who died doing what he loved. Yes, he died, but I bet he had a more fulfilling life than most of us simply because he did what made him feel alive.

Documentary filmmakers that get to travel the planet and film fascinating animal docs, human stories, or war stories didn't just land that job by chance. They worked for it.

People like The Rock and Arnold Schwarzenegger were massively competitive and thriving in the world of bodybuilding. They weren't born with that physique. They built it, one day at a time. 

These people live very different lives and have very different careers, but successful people have several things in common that the majority of people lack, and now I'll go over a few of them: 

1. They know when to stay and when to leave: If a job isn't adding to their life in any meaningful way, they aren't afraid to go. The "what if?" of the future doesn't scare them into staying in a situation that makes them miserable.
2. Go above and beyond: When you start a job, you are told what your position entails. Successful people complete these tasks and then ask what else they can do. They continually grow.
3. They aren't afraid to fail because they know that failure often leads to success: Failure happens more than success, so it's best to learn how to embrace the setbacks and use them to do better next time.
4. They create their luck: They don't wait around for something good to happen to them, because "good things don't come to those who wait." They make things happen.
5. Goals are attainable: They set goals that they know they are capable of reaching, with very established guidelines and steps. It's not, "I will lose 100 pounds in six months," it's more like, "I will finish this course in the next three weeks by devoting three hours each day to it."
6. Never stop learning: Successful people love to learn whatever they can, from wherever, whoever, and however they can. They like to be inspired and use that inspiration for their personal growth.
7. The journey is what drives them: When you feel like you are doing something meaningful and purposeful, you will continue to do that thing because it is what drives you.

Don't focus on where you want to be in 1, 5, 10, or 20 years from now. Focus on what you'd like to do in the next 24 hours to better yourself and then do that again the next day, and the next, and never stop thinking about the 24 hours in front of you. Eventually, years will pass, and you will be in a place you never thought possible.

I talk about this shit like I know what I'm talking about, but I don't. It sounds legit to me, in any case. Most of us know what the obvious ways to success are, but we, for whatever reason, don't do those things. Maybe use this as a reminder to do the obvious.

Finally, success means more than doing exceptionally well in your career (but that's a massive factor for many of us). Success also includes relationships, hobbies, kids, sports, talents—it's about life and how to achieve true happiness, rather than chase it and never catch it. 

And Then She Bloomed

My writing hasn't been reflective of my mood, and that's an issue for me. Writing is a form of therapy - I don't need an audience, and I don't expect I have one. But, I'd like for my words to match my current feelings. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say my writing has been so negative because I've needed to get rid of all this hostility. Purge to heal. The hurt, pain, sadness, bitterness, anger, hate - it had to come out before I could begin to heal. I stopped writing for years, and now that I'm back into it... the ugliness has been pouring out of me like a dam that broke.

Despite the negativity of my recent posts, I feel the happiest, most hopeful, and most energetic I've felt in years. 

The negativity that I felt towards everything and everyone, it's gone. It's floated away. It's evaporated, almost like it never existed. 

• I wake up smiling, 
• I am interested in how my loved ones are doing, 
• I smile at and talk to strangers, and,
• I have drive, motivation, and energy - which is perhaps the oddest thing about this whole experience because energy is something I've never had enough of. 

Boredom used to be synonymous with Beth, and I was okay with that, because when you have no energy, who cares if you're bored? 

Because I had no energy, I'd recurrently receive texts from family asking if I was okay because they wouldn't hear from me for ages. Reading their texts of concern was exhausting, so I'd ignore them. After a few days, I'd let them know I was alive, just feeling shitty. 

I now have an abundance of energy. I genuinely don't know what to do with it all, and now I find myself getting bored because there isn't enough to do. 

Notwithstanding, nighttime is incredibly hard for me. That's when my anxiety kicks into full gear, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's because the day is over, meaning I need to be still with my thoughts. I'm not comfortable with that yet, but I believe one day I can learn how to be okay with it.

The human brain has a remarkable ability to adapt to unpleasantness. Presently it makes me uncomfortable to be alone with my thoughts, but give it a few weeks, and who knows?

Behind Closed Doors

Last month my mom was driving me to see my doctor because she didn't trust that I would get out of bed to drive myself. She was probably right. Being suicidal does that to a person.

As we were driving, I started thinking about my marriage and how, during it, I had never experienced depression to this degree. I wanted needed my mom to know that my suicidal thinking had nothing to do with my leaving him.

 

Since leaving my marriage two years ago, my life has been a struggle, and I'll be the first to admit that most of it has been a result of deciding to restart my life without him. I had the security of a husband who had a well-paying job, and we owned a house together. We had mutual friends - today I am friendless. I was a member of his family - I lost that when I left him. 

It would be so easy for someone to connect the dots and think that my suicidality was a direct result of getting divorced. But if someone connected the dots that way, they'd be wrong. So very, completely, frankly, wrong.

This is how the conversation with my mom played out:

Me: I don't know if you or Dad have talked about it or wondered about it, but I want you to know that my depression isn't a result of leaving my marriage. I don't regret it. We weren't right for each other. We got together so young, and it felt like the next step, getting married, was the logical thing to do. But it wasn't. I don't hate him, I don't wish any ill will toward him. I am happy he found someone better for him. I never wanted kids, and now he can have them. But I don't regret leaving.

Mom: Dad and I have never assumed that, talked about that, or thought you made the wrong choice. It is your life, and we know that you are smart enough to do what's right for you.

I cried. I lost it. 

To hear my mom say that she trusted my decision-making and knew that my divorce two years ago had nothing to do with my wanting to kill myself now meant so much to me. 

She then followed with something even kinder, with tears in her eyes:

Mom: Leaving him gave you strength. You are so much stronger today than you were then, and Dad and I see it. You have had a really crappy two years, and we see that, but we also see that you keep picking yourself up. You don't give up, and we are so proud of you.

That conversation has left a lasting impact on me, and I hope to never forget it. 

I wish my ex husband the best, and that's all I have to say about that.

Note to self: VALUE PEOPLE

People need to know they are valued. Value the people in your life that you care about, and do it often. You never know who needs the reminder at that very moment.

Three weeks ago, someone very special to me attempted suicide. He swallowed all his sleeping pills and all his anxiety meds and went for a walk. His walk led him to my front step. I quickly realized he was fucked, so I called 911. The ambulance arrived minutes later. The paramedics strapped him to the stretcher, put him in the back of the ambulance, and intubated him right in front of me. It all happened so fast. They had to transfer him to the hospital so a doctor could pump his stomach. The driving paramedic rolled down his window as he pulled away and said, "Five more minutes... he'd be dead." 

He survived, thankfully. For the last three weeks, he has been a resident of the psychiatric ward at the hospital. He slept for 72 hours straight as the meds left his system. I did not visit him the first day he woke up. I thought I was partly to blame, and seeing me would make him worse. However, the next day, my phone was flooded with texts and calls from his family. He had been asking about me all day and wondered why I was not there. He was furious because I was not there. 

What I should have done from the beginning was be there. It was that simple. He was in crisis. He needed support. My role was simple... just be there.

These days, I do my best to help keep his spirits up, listen to him when he needs to talk, encourage him when he feels down, and let him know I am incredibly thankful he is still around and that if he had died, it would have devastated me.

__________________________________________

I often need reminders of the seemingly obvious things, and in case you are like me in that way, here you go:

People need to know they are valued. Value the people in your life that you care about, and do it often. You never know who needs the reminder at that very moment. 

Vulnerability & Cognitive Behavioural Therapy

Vulnerability is powerful. It can do one of two things. It can bring positivity, or it can bring negativity. When you choose to be vulnerable, it isn't really up to you which result will occur. It's up to the person you choose to be vulnerable to.

By definition, vulnerability is opening yourself up to attack or harm, either physically or emotionally. Vulnerability is fucking hard. The fear of being vulnerable and thus, being exposed, is directly linked to the fear of being rejected, abandoned, hurt, or ignored. 

Think of a time you were vulnerable, and it backfired. Now, think of a time when you were vulnerable, and you received a positive reaction. It feels really fucking good. Vulnerability is a gamble, but most times, I think it's a gamble worth taking.

When I saw my doctor the other day, we talked about vulnerability. We talked about my vulnerability and how it is definitely a positive attribute of mine. Still, I have to be careful with who I share my true self with because I am ultra-sensitive to adverse reactions. 

This conversation led to me saying I wanted to talk to a therapist. I fixate and ruminate, and I create problems that aren't there. When I look to the future, my brain tells me that everything that could go wrong is going to go wrong. He said that what I was describing likely wouldn't be helped by a therapist, but Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). 

• "CBT works by changing people's attitudes and their behaviour by focusing on the thoughts, images, beliefs, and attitudes that are held (a person's cognitive processes) and how these processes relate to the way a person behaves as a way of dealing with emotional problems."

I've done CBT before, and I loved it. However, I'm unemployed, and I can't afford the $200 bill per session (5-20 sessions are typically recommended). He knows all about my financial situation, so he gave me some app names that have been created so that people can teach themselves CBT techniques. Apparently, multiple studies have been done, and research shows that you don't need someone to teach you CBT. If you are motivated, you can teach yourself. Makes sense to me.

I've downloaded two of the apps, my mom bought me a Mindfulness book as well as a Mindfulness journal, and though it's only been one day, I have caught myself thinking negatively, and then I immediately checked myself. 

My thoughts and feelings are genuine and real, but that doesn't mean I can't have some control or sway over them. If I continuously repeat, "I'm stupid, I'm ugly, I'm stupid, I'm ugly," to myself... guess what my belief about myself will be? However, if I change my inner dialogue, who knows, maybe something positive will come from it.

If you're an anxious person, imagine being able to conquer it. To overcome it, and no longer have it impact every single hour of your day. 

What a beautiful thought.

Choice and Regret

I wish I paid for parking that day my car got towed. I wish I spent more time with my grandma before she died. I wish I left my marriage in a different and better way. I wish I kept the gifted money I received from my uncle a secret. I wish I didn't take the route I did the evening I wrote off my car.

I wish, I wish, I wish.

The only thing those wishes have in common is that none of them will come true. Those situations can never turn out any differently than they already have. My wishing for things to be different doesn't make it so. The wishing only eats me up inside and makes me depressed.

I regret nothing in my life. The thing with life is that the decisions we make are made because they feel right, they feel good, or because with what we know at the time, that choice makes the most sense and fits who we are in that moment the most succinctly. After we make a decision, life goes on. As life goes on, we experience new things and learn more about ourselves. Growth gives us insight into why our past decisions were poorly made. But we didn't know better, not then.

Regret can cripple you. Regret can prevent you from moving forward because you are stuck in the past and want so badly to turn the clock back. Future growth is severely impeded as a result. You can't accept your new reality because you are hanging on so tightly to your old one, and your present suffers because of it.

I've learned that I need to be at peace with my life and where I've guided it. If I'm not happy with it, I can always change it going forward. But I can never go backward. And... I wouldn't want to. I often look back at a particular point in life and see it with rose-tinted glasses. It's easy to filter out the sadness and the pain and see only the positives. But I remind myself why I made the choice I did: life felt painful. It felt hopeless. Right or wrong, I make decisions so that I can improve the quality of my life.

There is no shame with happiness

Sometimes life is too much. Too much stress, too many things going wrong, too many unpleasant feelings.

One of my dearest friends killed himself just over one year ago. He chose to release himself from life's pain on a chilly October evening in his friend's backyard, hanging from a tree.

I get it, I accept it, and I am happy he is no longer suffering.

It's been one year, yet I sometimes forget he's gone. But he is gone. Forever. Never again will I hear his voice. Never again will he create art or make music. Andy is nothing but a memory now. I see the impact his death has had on everyone in his life: his parents, cousins, friends, and me. When he tied that rope around his neck and jumped, he created a hole in everyone's life who knew him. No one can fill that hole. It's there now. Forever.

Losing someone to suicide allowed me to view life, death, and personal choice in a very unique way. Andy voluntarily removed himself from life. He made the decision he no longer wanted to participate in consciousness. I think it's morbidly beautiful. Still, I wish I could go back in time, grab him by the shoulders, look into his eyes and have him focus on nothing but me, and make him understand that he could get through this. That I would help him. That life is worth it, he is worth it, and there is always another option. If only he had held on a little bit longer...

And yet, I sometimes find myself wanting to do it too, however fleetingly.

The rational mind knows these feelings aren't permanent, that happiness will be felt again, that a reason to exist will present itself. But in the moments when suicide seems appealing, none of that matters. The mind has a way of making you believe that life just isn't worth it. That you aren't worth it. That even though you will be happy again... that won't be permanent either. The depression will always return. Always.

Depression will always be a part of me. I've been on antidepressants for 15 years. I've tried twice to come off them, and both times were unsuccessful, resulting in catastrophic failure on a huge scale. Turned-my-world-upside-down type of failure. I created massive messes and had to pick up the pieces with the help of those I fall on when I can't hold myself up any longer. Both attempts to live medication-free were awful experiences I'd rather not repeat. I have accepted that I will always need antidepressants, especially in the moments when I feel like I don't (that means they're working). I get that now.

Many know about my struggles with mental illness... so why does it feel so isolating? When I'm happy, I have no problem letting the world know. There is no shame with happiness. I don't feel like a burden when I am loving life. I don't worry that people won't understand my happiness or that they will judge me for it. What makes depression so very different?

Growth doesn't happen when life is easy

Growth happens when life turns to shit. We have to dig deep and find the strength we didn't know was there. When something awful used to happen to me, I'd avoid, ask for help, and cry, "Why me?" Now when something awful happens, the first thing I tell myself is, "You will get through this. You've made it through worse."

That seemingly simple mindset shift didn't happen overnight.

This past year-and-a-half has been one shitty situation after another. That's life, right? It sometimes feels like I don't have the chance to breathe, though, because the next obstacle presents itself so soon after I've overcome the previous one. I've gone through divorce, the loss of friends as a result of my decision to leave my marriage, living in my car, four moves, the suicide of a dear friend, the loss of a great job, a broken foot, wrote off my car by taking out a light pole on the highway in icy conditions, a car accident with my new car, and the unexpected death of my best friend/dog. Yet somehow, I am always grateful when I've made it through something shitty. I reflect back, and I can appreciate the situation for what it was: a chance to improve myself, to add depth to my character, to learn, to grow. 

But, I am exhausted. I've wanted to throw in the towel so many times, but every time something happens, I know the only way my situation will improve is to keep pushing forward. I somehow find a way to persevere. There is no other option. 

The last time a new shitstorm rolled in, my mom said, "This last year has been brutal for you, but Dad and I are so proud of how you've handled it." That was enough to keep me going. 

I look back at my decision to leave my marriage, and while it caused a lot of hurt for my ex - as well as his family and mine - it was absolutely the right decision. Leaving my marriage was the first really difficult thing I've knowingly put myself through. I'm sure I'll go through worse in my lifetime, but up to that point, I knew it was going to be the most difficult. Studies show that going through a divorce can be as devastating as many of life's other traumatic experiences and often results in PTSD. Thankfully, that wasn't the case for me. My ex and I remained amicable throughout the entire process, and when we last spoke, we apologized for any hurt caused and wished one another the best in our respective futures. 

Divorce gave me the chance to become a better person. A chance to live authentically, have greater empathy for others going through difficult situations, the ability to recognize that I truly can't know what's going on in anyone's life, and the opportunity to redefine myself and carve out a new life - a life that is mine.

Even though life has been hurdle after hurdle this last year-and-a-half, I wouldn't change a thing... because I am who I am today as a result of all of it.

RIP to my best friend, Charlie

Exhale

All right...

I am going to do a stream of consciousness thing and not edit what I write. That's the best way and the only way that I can describe how I'm feeling these days.

Winter always turns me into a hermit. I like to sleep, hang out by myself, read, have tonnes of baths, drink a lot, and never wear jeans or do my hair. But my mom has done a fabulous job of forcing me to be human and get out of the house. At first, it was annoying. I just wanted to be left alone. But soon I started to enjoy it. And then I got a fish tank, and the same thing happened with my dad. We started hitting up fish stores a few times per week. It was good for both of us. And now... I am closer to my parents than I have ever been to. I enjoy being with them.

I find myself calling my parents now.

"Hey, Mom, let's go to the library!"

"Hey Dad, wanna go to Petsmart?"

My mom and dad are kind, funny, FUN people. My dad has always been particularly stingy with his money. I wouldn't say he's cheap... but he's... okay, well, he's sort of cheap. However, the two of us now share an aquarium hobby and are continually buying each other things for our tanks. It's just so different from the father I knew before, and it's lovely. My mom tells me she loves me and misses me and tells me that seeing me is her priority—what a feeling.

I really haven't seen any friends in quite a while. Hopefully, they don't think I've stopped caring about them, because that's not it at all. It seems this happens every winter. I get into this funk where I don't want to leave the house, and then it becomes hard to break. I go so long without socializing that it's hard to break out of it. When my primary interaction of the day is thanking the cashier at Safeway... I know something is wrong. But it's so hard to dig me out of it!

I'm not the greatest daughter, or the most generous friend, or the most extraordinary person. In fact, I'm pretty mediocre. But aren't we all? Nothing is amazing about any of us, but there is something unique about each of us. Each of us matters to those who love us. Those people would be devastated without us in their lives.

What a thought.

Belonging

Have you ever felt like you don't belong? And for no reason, either. Just, for some reason, you're out of your comfort zone. You hang out with family, friends, coworkers, strangers, whoever... and you feel so uncomfortable and awkward that you don't know where to look or who to talk to or what to do.

You grab a drink or a cigarette so you can have something to focus on besides your own awkwardness. When I feel anxious, I feel like it's so obvious to everyone around me. I feel like anyone who looks at me is thinking, "Hooolyyy shit, what's wrong with that chick?"

I won't make eye contact because that right there will give it all away. The second someone can see my eyes, my game is up and they'll know for sure that I'm a fraud. So instead, I look everywhere else. I'll pretend to be highly focused on opening my beer, or looking in my purse, or admiring the fucking beautiful hardwood floor. Anything but eye contact. Eye contact will make me cry.

I felt that way tonight. Instead of forcing myself to get over it, or drinking myself dumb, I called a cab. Within ten minutes the cab was there, and as soon as I got in that cab and gave him my home address, the hugest sigh of relief escaped me. I just wanted to go home.

When I got home, I walked inside to two insanely excited dogs. I nudged them aside, set down my purse, and sat down on the ground and cried. I had no reason to feel anxious or uncomfortable tonight. But anxiety doesn't care if it makes sense or not.

After I cried, I hugged my dogs, chugged two glasses of water... and now here I am... at home.