Posted in Anxiety, Bulimia, coping, diagnosis, ED, mental health, stigma

Secrets Can Kill

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about EATING DISORDERS which may be triggering to those who struggle with body image, eating disorders, purging or other forms of unhealthy weight loss.

Three years ago, towards the end of my senior year of high school, I had a secret. It was a secret that I would keep to myself for years. A secret that I was forced to reveal this past week. I’m embarrassed, ashamed and scared.

Earlier, during my senior year of high school, I moved in with my at-the-time best friend’s family. It only took a few months, after the “honeymoon” phase, before some things started to go sideways. At the time that I moved in, I already knew I had Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID). I always perceived food to have rules surrounding it, for example, there were rules about going back for seconds, how much you could take and what foods you could go back for seconds for. Each home I visited had different rules about snacks, seconds, types of food you could eat, etc. I became overwhelmed with trying to keep track of all these rules and experienced crippling anxiety surrounding the food and whether or not I’d be punished for breaking the food rules. Eventually, I became consumed by this fear, and I began avoiding eating food out of fear, and when I was eating food, I didn’t allow myself to eat too much so that I wouldn’t break any rules. I began sneaking food and keeping it hidden in my room, because in my mind, if no one saw me eat it, it didn’t count. When I moved my senior year into another household with foreign rules, it was a great source of stress for me.

There was one time the dad of the family and I were in the kitchen and getting ready for work, packing out lunches. I couldn’t’ find anything I wanted except some leftover pizza, and I asked him if I could take that to work. He said it was fine, but when my lunch Screenshot_2017-07-15-17-17-53.pngbreak came, I had multiple text messages from the mom, expressing feeling upset because she had been looking forward to eating pizza for lunch. When I returned home after work, she confronted me about it a second time and then proceeded to give me the silent treatment for the next 3 or 4 days. There were many similar incidences where I ate the wrong things and was yelled at, monitored closely, or given the silent treatment. Suddenly I found myself running to the bathroom, throwing up after I ate because of the sheer panic and guilt over what I had eaten. Before I knew it, everyone seemed to be commenting on my weight and just how skinny I was. I weighed a mere 100 lbs. I became consumed with my body image. I felt like I had the dream body. Although I was uncomfortable with how skinny I was and with all the comments I was getting, everyone else seemed to think it was a good this. At least I was getting attention from it. People would tease me for it, but I took it as a compliment. I began avoiding unhealthy food unless I was alone. I began obsessively working out, doing challenging ab routines and lifting weights to keep my arms looking good. I received a comment on how strong and hard my thighs were, and I immediately added leg workouts to my nightly routine. No matter how much I worked out, I wasn’t getting skinnier. I knew I had to get skinnier or everyone would hate me and tease me for getting fatter. I began secretly purging whenever I could after a meal without being caught. When I moved into my own apartment and lived by myself, I was purging after nearly every meal. I had to stay skinny. I bought clothes that were almost too small for me as motivation to lose weight. I lived right by a bike trail and a local nature preserve, and I went walking for hours in an effort to stay skinny. I became obsessed with how I looked. I often couldn’t remember the last meal I had eaten. I felt confident and sexy, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

When I went to Rogers, I attended their mood disorder program, and they forced me to eat every meal, otherwise, I was going to be kicked out. I tried to purge when I could, but with 10 other patients and 3-4 staff members on the floor at any given time, it was a challenge. Sometimes I’d wait until everyone was asleep and purge then. But I was gaining weight. Twice a week I was weighed, and I completely panicked. I eventually became so overwhelmed that I stopped caring. I would still push my food around on my plate and purge when I could, but I became beside myself with shame over my body IMG_20170420_064023300weight. Suddenly, no matter how much I ate or how much I exercised, used laxatives or purged, I was gaining weight. Even when I didn’t eat for days, I’d step on the scale and see I had gained 3 more pounds. I tried everything, but I still kept getting fatter. My clothes were too small. And by the time I went out and bought new clothes, a month later even those didn’t fit anymore. Before I knew it, I had gained 100+ lbs and I had no idea why.

A month ago I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. One of the symptoms of PCOS is that I produce an excessive amount of male hormones. Men tend to carry weight in the abdomen area, so women with PCOS also tend to carry a lot of weight in their abdomen too. Despite all the laxatives, purging and excessive exercise, I was now over 200lbs and HATED my body. I had gone from a size 0 to a size 18… a size small to a size x-large. I was overwhelmed and became desperate, and I tried to seek help. I had never told anyone I had bulimia, I had never been diagnosed, but I’d known I’ve had it for nearly 3 years. I tried getting help for ARFID, hoping that I would pick up some skills to help with my bulimia along the way, but I was met with unwillingness and zero concern everywhere I went. My primary care doctor, my psychiatrist, the ER doctors, other mental health professionals. etc. One time the ER doctor had the audacity to say that I couldn’t have an eating disorder because I was too fat. There was an eating disorder specialist that I kept calling, but she only returned my call once, and now seems to be ignoring me. I felt like I was a lost cause and worthless, because no one seemed to want to help me.

All of this climaxed this past week. I was staying at a mental health facility because I had gone off my meds and was in great need of some respite after over 25 days of being fully manic. It was a 5 day stay, so while I was there, they offered 15 meals. I only ate 2 meals. After both of them, I purged everything I could. The second night, I was caught. The staff member stood on the other side of the bathroom door, asking me what I was doing. I knew I was caught and confessed that I was purging.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“I don’t know, I’ve never gotten help for an eating disorder. I can’t control when I purge.”
“Okay. Well just stop it. Make sure you flush and just go back to bed.”
I hear her footprints retreating. I finish purging and I wash my hands and face before returning to my room, consumed by tears.

The next day they diagnose me with bulimia but don’t do anything to help me, despite me asking where I can get help for my eating disorders. Later, I request information on bulimia and types of treatment. I get handed a single page that defines different eating disorders and talks about how anyone can get an eating disorder. There’s another page that just shares statistics of eating disorders.

When I’m discharged I share my experiences with one of my friends, and she tells me she’s going to ask her mom, who is a doctor, about where I can start getting the help I need. Thankfully she took me seriously and gave me a phone number to call.

That brings us to today, me writing this blog post. This had been one of the more difficult pieces I’ve written. My struggle is going from 3 years of being private to having the whole internet gaining access to it. But I think it’s a very important thing to share. If I had continued to keep this a secret, it could have killed me. 4% of people with bulimia die. I had a deadly secret. I hope that this post encourages those struggling with an eating disorder to start seeking help, just like me. You’re not alone. I see you.

 

Struggling with body image or an eating disorder?
Text “NEDA” to 741741
National Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-800-931-2237
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/

Posted in Anxiety, bpd, coping, Medication, mental health

When it Rains, It Pours

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about SELF-HARM and SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ ATTEMPTS which may be triggering to those who struggle with suicidal ideation, cutting and other forms of self-harm.

If you follow me on Instagram, some of this will sound familiar. A few mornings ago, I had an unfortunately realistic dream that left me convinced that I wasn’t a real person, and that I was engineered to have everything go wrong in my life.

Ever since my junior year of high school, I’ve been a believer that I had bad luck or essentially the notion that everything in my life went wrong. This started when I got involved in my old church by having a mentor, but because of the extent of my suffering, she felt the need to share my story with the staff members of the church. Every week when I went to youth group, my mentor or a staff member would deliver me some form of bad news from the development of the staff knowing my sufferings. My friends at the time agreed with me when I compared my life to a TV show, where every week’s “episode” brought a new curveball that I, the main character, had to deal with.

My first psychiatric hospitalization was an acute stay of a few days on my hospital’s psych ward. It was after a suicide attempt where I tried to drown myself in a bathtub with a back of rocks on my head. My emotions leading up to the attempt were rooted in the belief that everything in my life is bound to go wrong. That I have terrible luck and therefore I needed to protect myself and those around me by escaping the bad luck via death. My bad luck seemed to continue even in the hospital when I accidentally seemed to break two computers and was ignored by the ward’s head doctor. My Borderline self played into this belief with my abandonment issues, telling me that my friends and boyfriend were going to leave me as another effect of my bad luck. So I SHOULD try to leave them via suicide before they have a chance to leave me. I ended up discharging myself before I was ready to return home, with the hope to escape reality once again by suicide. Obviously, I was unsuccessful, seeing as how I’m still here.

A few nights ago, my brain attempted to convince me of another possible reason as to why everything in my life seemed to go wrong. I am still desperate to find an explanation for all the trials in my life. Here’s what I woke up believing:

“I’m not human. I’m an experimentation. I was designed to have everything go wrong eventually in my life so my creators could observe. They wanted to see how someone could respond to abuse in various situations. They wanted to know what would happen if you kept kicking someone while they’re down. I’m worthless. No one cares about me, it’s all fake, it’s all a ruse to see how I respond. That’s why I cut myself. So that I would see blood and pretend that I’m real. That’s why I want to kill myself so much. That’s why I take medication. They give it to me to make me different kinds of sick. To experiment. That’s why everything’s going wrong right now. That’s why everything always goes wrong. ‘When it rains it pours’ is my life motto. It’s always pouring. The PCOS, abuse, lack of friends, self-harm, mental illness, all my lung problems, my skeletal issues, being ignored by the world, etc. It’s all just someone’s idea of a sick and twisted reality and I’m just something to play with and leave behind.”

My brain decided this was my new reality. I’ve been fighting it off for days and I’m still not 100% sure which “reality” is the real one. I don’t want to take my meds because part of me is convinced “they’re what’s making me sick.” I know that’s only perpetuating the problem if I don’t. I’m grounding myself but nothing’s working. Even a freezing cold shower left me thinking I was still being watched and laughed at by my creators because I was trying to erase that reality. The concoction of PTSD and psychosis can do weird things…

My life seems to embody the saying “If it rains, it pours.” And I’m still trying to find answers to my question of “why?”

Posted in Anxiety, Depression, mental health, PTSD

Goodnight Brain, Hello Pain

Not a day goes by where I don’t dread the night. It’s difficult to find the light when even the room around me is dark. I put off sleeping as long as possible, sometimes even for days a time. I have an extreme dislike for almost everything associated with bedtime. I really struggle with taking my medication. There’s all this pressure to make sure I fall asleep in a timely manner so I can get enough sleep so I don’t ruin tomorrow before it even starts. Sleeping requires giving up all control and handing it over to my brain, who I don’t trust. My brain tortures me at night with the worst nightmares one could experience. My nightmares are so real that I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if I’m awake. When I try to wake myself up in the dream, my nightmare plays the scene that I have woken up and then continues the nightmare. I lose track of reality, and often can’t tell the difference between being awake and being asleep. I’ll talk to my friends about something that happened, and they’ll inform the that it was never real, raising the question of if I simply dreamed it and mistook it for reality.

My brain tortures me at night with the worst nightmares imaginable. My nightmares are so real that I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if I’m awake. When I try to wake myself up in the dream, my nightmare plays the scene that I have woken up and then continues the nightmare. I lose track of reality, and often can’t tell the difference between being awake and being asleep. I’ll talk to my friends about something that happened, and they’ll inform the that it was never real, raising the question of if I simply dreamed it and mistook it for reality. My nightmares force me to relive the worst day of my life, or take my fears and play them out to the extreme. For example, my OCD concerns itself not with germs and cleanliness, and manifests in self in other ways, like worrying about harm to myself and others. Basically what this looks like, is when my friend recently moved from Wisconsin to Wyoming, I needed her to text me every leg of the journey so I knew how it was going. In my nightmares, my brain takes the important people in my life and puts them in horrible and dangerous positions, both physically and mentally. I often had to text my friend in the morning so they can assure me that they’re safe and alive. The worst is when I wake up from a nightmare, unable to move my body. This is called sleep paralysis, or a temporary inability to move or speak when waking or falling asleep. It’s terrifying. and often adds to my feelings of helplessness and not being in control. I often find myself shaken to my core in the hours, or sometimes even days, after a nightmare, I’m on two different medications to help with my nightmares, and these experiences are still a nightly occurrence. Imagine what it was like before the medication!

Even with my medications that have sedative properties, it can still take me upwards of 3-4 hours to fall asleep. It’s a nightly challenge to turn my brain off in preparation for sleep. Laying in bed, in the dark, with no distraction to keep my brain from wandering, I typically find myself thinking about things that work me up and make me anxious. I’ll think about stupid little things I said to a friend months ago, or I’ll begin questioning life decisions about the places I’ve moved, or the friends I’ve cut out of my life. The negative self-talk soon follows, and by the time I fall asleep, I’m crying and wanting to die. Sometimes I feel so sickened by my thoughts that I genuinely throw up… all I’m trying to do is get some rest!!

On another note dealing with my PTSD and falling asleep, I always have to fall asleep with the TV running. Trying to fall asleep to silence leads to me assuming every little noise the house makes is a past abuser breaking into the house to enact their revenge, by doing something like setting the house on fire or looking for me so that they can hurt me. Most of the time the noises are just the house settling, or one of my grandparents getting a glass of water. But the sheer paranoia from my PTSD takes this little bumps and turns them into full on panic-able things. With the TV on, I hear only a fraction of these noises, meaning I won’t go hiding in my closet at every thump.

Nighttime has always been stressful for me. It has always been one of the most challenging parts of recovery. Despite all of my medication, years of therapies, like EMDR and bilateral stimulation, sleeping is a daily struggle that I have to face. Do you struggle with sleep and have tips of your own that help you fall asleep? I’m always open to hearing new ideas! Let me know in the comments below!

Posted in Anxiety, bpd, coping, Depression, ED, mental health, PTSD

Self-Therapy: How I Had the Best Monday Morning I’ve Had in Years

I started writing this earlier this morning and am proud to bring you the best self-therapy I think I’ve ever had:

My mental illnesses are taking over. It’s taking all the energy I have to keep myself from attempting suicide, and I don’t even want to die!! My nightmares/ dreams are so bad I can’t even tell if I’m awake or dreaming. My eating disorder and self-image is at nearly an all-time low and I’m starting more intense therapy.  My knees ache in the springtime because of the cool, damp air. My back is getting worse and I’m scared wearing an occasional brace and electrotherapy won’t be enough in the near future. My blog traffic is down so low it’s worse than the first month is was live. I’m stressed all the time. My financial situation is dire. My bipolar is temporarily stable, but the fear or losing control again makes it even harder for me to trust my mood. I’ve had life-altering pain in my side for 7 months with no answers, and more my digestive system is revolting against me and doctor’s don’t know why yet. I’m a mess. I need a vacation. I’m curled around a puke bowl crying and browsing Facebook. I don’t even remember what inspired the thought, but something made me realize I need to do my best to live life despite the blows that knock me down. Lake Monona is my backyard. I got a bigger boost of inspiration than I’ve had in months.

IMG_20170522_080844949It’s 7:30 am on a Monday morning and I just got home from the ER about an hour ago. I’m struggling with my Bipolar Depression and thoughts of suicide while struggling with the scary and unknown thoughts of digestive failure or kidney disease. Every fiber of my being screams to just curl up in a ball under blankets and just watch a movie I’ve seen a hundred times over. Something on Facebook inspires me to just make a positive memory for myself and live a happy life, at least for the morning. I needed to just let go of all of the anxiety over unknowns in my life and enjoy myself. I wasn’t going to let anxiety win. I got up, threw my phone, a waterproof speaker and an Ensure in a bag, grabbed my favorite canoe, Pea Pod, and dragged it all down to the shoreline. I was so excited, but also nervous, because I had this gut feeling it was a bad idea to go canoeing in my current physical condition. Somehow my persnickety brain allowed me to throw caution to the wind and go canoeing anyways.

I started out quite clumsily, it was hard to find a way to paddle that compensated for my current right flank pain. It was so early in the morning that the sun was either directly in my eyes or so low that I was in the shade and chilly. After a period of wrestling with the canoe and the sun, I realized I had forgotten to turn my music on! That improved the entire situation 1000%.  I was singing at the top of my lungs, laughing, talking to the wildlife and enjoying the view. I went down this channel that has a great balance of interesting houses, and wildlife, to look at while paddling. img_20170522_082707328.jpgI drank an Ensure, which is a nutritional drink I was prescribed when I was diagnosed with my eating disorder. I’ve been struggling a lot with my eating recently because I’m about to start meeting with a new professional about it, so I’ve been avoiding drinking the Ensures so that I appear “sick enough” for this new doctor (PRIME EXAMPLE OF WHY THE EATING DISORDER STIGMA IS DANGEROUS). It made me feel really good about myself, but there was still this hesitation inside of me that I didn’t like. My thoughts immediately jumped to pushing myself really hard paddling so I’d burn off the calories and not get fat because I drank it. Instead of acting on that thought, I practiced a DBT skill where you imagine your thoughts and urges as leaves on a river, and picture them flowing past you without judging them or acting on them… only I did it in real life on the lake with some leaves from a nearby tree and watched my urges to over-exert myself and self-image issues drift away from my canoe. Then I “took matters into my own hands” and paddled away from them. I decided to make a conscious choice to leave those issues behind me and “paddle towards recovery”. I think my phone heard my thoughts because the next song that played was a song from my library that dealt with physical appearance and learning to accept yourself (as long as you promise not to judge me for being a Gleek, you can listen to the song here).

There were many times I started to turn around. My depression was screaming at me to go back into my bed and just spend the next few hours mindlessly on my phone. Even now, I don’t completely know how I was able to fight those thoughts off and keep going on my planned route. I would mutter a little pep talk (“you got this, remember you’re having a good time?” or “oh no you silly brain. this is my morning and you aren’t taking it from me” or something of the like) and paddle on. At one point my foot fell asleep so bad that I had no feeling in my foot. If you know me, you know I’m ridiculously ticklish

IMG_20170522_083159379
Accidentally wore the perfect shirt…

on the bottoms of my feet. I can even tickle myself! I ran my finger across my foot and couldn’t feel it AT ALL. It was a weird out-of-body experience, and also kinda scary. Needless to say, the rest of the ride I was always wiggling my feet and knees so they didn’t fall asleep. I paddled along, quacking at ducks and then laughing at myself… that’s a really powerful gift, to be able to have enough empathy towards yourself that you can laugh at the silly quirks you have, instead of tearing them down. That thought was another positive thought that I noted to use in the future when I begin hating my childish quirks. I seized the moment and sat cheering myself on for the distance I’ve already run in the marathon to self-acceptance.

 

At this point, I’m about 2/3 of the way through my planned trail to blaze in Pea Pod. Once again, as if on cue, a string of my self-empowering songs played. Pure positive energy seemed to burst from my chest. It was surreal. I paddled with renewed life in me. My cheeks hurt I was smiling so much. I paused long enough to capture a quick video of the moment:

I paddled home in the best mood I can remember ever being in, in recent history anyway. There are a gazillion more thoughts I had and experiences I will treasure from my paddle, but I will leave you with this, recovery is not a straight line. Things had been going well for me these past two weeks, and then everything came crashing down. Even with this paddle to lift me up, I’m still in a funk and overwhelmed. This wasn’t a wand-waving experience that made me feel all better. In fact, I’m still a little low-key passively suicidal. But the opportunity to suspend reality, if only for a moment of relief, was well worth the effort. I’m depressed but rejuvenated. The self-discovery journey I went on today was one I will never forget. I hope this post encourages you to stretch yourself this week, and allow yourself the freedom to take things as they come, and go on a journey with your closest friend… you ❤

Want to hear “My Paddle Playlist”? Check it out here.

Posted in Anxiety, coping, Depression, mental health, stigma

My 1st Week as a Crisis Counselor

As some of you may have known, this was my first week as a Crisis Counselor for the Crisis Text Line. I’ve completed 34 hours of training over 6 weeks and officially became a certified crisis counselor. Over the next year (and hopefully beyond), I will be spending a minimum of 4 hours a week responding to the texters who text into the CTL, listening and supporting them through their crisis. This can be anything from bullying, stress about finals, suicide, abuse, and more. This service was started so that you don’t have to call a hotline and talk to someone, which can be nerve-wracking, but instead, text them, which can be much less stressful.
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Leading up to this week, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to start talking with texters and supporting them through their crises. In the hours before my first shift, I was downright terrified. My thoughts were racing: “what if I say the wrong thing and make it worse?” “what if I mess up using the platform?” “what if I’m not good enough and my supervisor fires me?” “what if I’m triggered and can’t help the texter?” … the thoughts went on and on. When it was time for me to log in, I was shaking from nerves. My supervisor was very supportive, and I was able to jump right in. For confidentiality reasons, I cannot share the nature of the conversations I had, but today I’m going to talk about my emotions as I went through my first hours of counseling.

Everything I heard while in training was right, as a counselor, you really do save lives, and let me tell you, it feels pretty great. I was so pumped up after helping my first few texters, I ended up working 5 hours straight instead of just 2 on my first shift. I’ve always known this was my passion in life. Earlier this week, my best friend reminded me that back when I was my sickest mentally, I still talked about how I couldn’t wait to be able to use my story and experiences to help others. Being able to live out that passion is pretty spectacular. But I quickly learned it isn’t all cake and roses.

I knew this was going to be difficult. I knew I might be triggered. I knew that it was going to drain me emotionally and mentally. But nothing can prepare you for the real experiences. Nothing prepares you for the unknowns. The people who when you end the conversation, you don’t know if they’ll be safe tonight. Nothing prepares you for the people who never text you back. And there’s the fact that there is nothing you can do about it. You did what you could. You probably even did your best. You’re helpless… even as a trained counselor, you couldn’t do it. I found myself thinking it was my fault. The “if only”s raced through my head and my heart. I held all the guilt and put it on myself. I failed. The fulfillment and the adrenaline were gone. I felt empty. I wanted to cry. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

I spent all of today shaken over the unknowns of last night’s shift. I could barely get out of bed this afternoon. My nightmares completely overcame me when I drifted off to sleep watching TV. I was practicing a lot of self-care last night after my shift. I drank tea, I snuggled my bunny and got lots of kisses. I meditated and watched my favorite movie while surrounded by my favorite stuffed animals. It still wasn’t enough. I was so wired I didn’t get to bed until 5 am I got out of the house today and met a dear friend at Barnes and Noble… and was an hour late. All I could think about when I was there was how much I needed to write… and how I wish it was easier for me to settle in with a good book. The second I got home I fell asleep again…. only to be met with more nightmares. It’s been clear to me that I am certainly an empath, and it was very apparent today.

This was only my first week. I have a lifetime to get it right. I’ll continue the mantra that I’ve done what I can. I’ll sing about how this is my calling in life. I’ll talk to my animals about the difficulties I faced during my shift. But most importantly, I’m going to persevere and continue to change lives both as a counselor and in my own life.

I can do this.

 

If you’re in need of help, know there is someone who is always there to listen. Text HELP to 741-741 or message the Crisis Text Line on Facebook.

 

 

Posted in Anxiety, Bipolar, coping, Depression, diagnosis, mental health

Greiving a Diagnosis

Receiving a diagnosis of any kind can be devastating to a person’s life. It’s perfectly normal to need to grieve a diagnosis. Getting diagnosed can mean extra treatment, new medication, hospital stays, lifestyle changes, and more. It can put a strain on even the strongest of relationships. A diagnosis can also leave a lot of unknowns for what the future holds, and that can be very unsettling. Fear of the unknown can hold a lot of power over a person. Grieving a diagnosis can look like any other type of grieving, commonly depicted in 5 or 7 stages. I’ve received 9 mental health diagnosis over the years, 2 of them were misdiagnosed and so today mental health professionals agree on 7 diagnoses and an 8th in the works. When I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, I definitely spun into a deep state of grieving, and it took me nearly a year to fully grieve my diagnosis. My bipolar diagnosis came slowly, first I was diagnosis with Bipolar 2, then my psychiatrist disagreed, saying it was just my Borderline showing similar symptoms. After getting a third opinion, it was finally accepted that I had bipolar 2. One time I went into therapy, it was very apparent to my social worker that I was fully manic, a state that can only be reached if you have Bipolar 1. Almost a year later, I was talking with my therapist and I mentioned how I get manic for about half of a month and depressed for the other half. According to her, someone who has bipolar only gets manic once or twice a year, at most, not every single month. this means I have rapid-cycling Bipolar 1. About 2.5% of all US citizens have bipolar disorder, and of that 2.5%, only 10-15% have rapid-cycling. Because of this long, drawn-out process of getting a proper diagnosis that 4+ mental health professionals agree on, I went through the grieving process multiple times when it came to my Bipolar disorder.

Drawing on my own experience and various articles online, I’m going to talk you through what grieving can look like after receiving a mental health diagnosis.

Shock/ Disbelief- What did the doctor just say? Surely I didn’t hear him right. I’m perfectly normal. Everyone just gets a little stressed sometimes… right? The chaos can be all you think about, You have to find out what happened, no matter what the cost.

Denial- This can’t be true. It just can’t be. I don’t need this medicine. I can’t have this illness. I’m so healthy! I’ve felt like this my whole life. Why should now be any different??

Bargaining- I can beat this, I just have to grin and bear it with my treatment team. Maybe if I tell them everything’s better, I won’t have to go to therapy anymore. And my mom won’t have to look at me with such sad, desperate eyes. That’s it, just pretend and do what they want you to do and say. Maybe if I went and got a second opinion…

Depression- A number of people tend to get stuck in this phase and that makes it the most dangerous stage. This is where the sadness and guilt can set in. Self-blaming can take over. If only I had gotten help sooner… now it’s helpless. I can never get better, it’s just too hard.

Acceptance- Reaching this stage is something not everyone is able to reach. It’s looking in the mirror and saying “Welp, this is the hand I was dealt with. I can do this.” You radically accept any emotions that come your way about your diagnosis.  You can begin to forgive yourself, and let yourself be loved again.

Please remember that I am not an expert in grief, I am speaking from personal experience and the experiences of others that I know. Greif can look different for every single individual. Have you ever grieved a diagnosis? Do you have any tips or tricks that helped you in your grieving process? Let me know in the comments below!

 

If you’re struggling with grieving a diagnosis, know there is someone who is always there to listen. Text GRIEVING to 741-741 or message the Crisis Text Line on Facebook.

Posted in Anxiety, coping, Depression, ED, mental health

Dear 8th Grade Me

2008. The year I started eighth grade. Life got messy the summer before and things have only gotten messier since. If I could go back to what I consider the “beginning” of the chapter of my life that I’m in, here’s what I wish I could say:

 

Dear 8th grade me,
Hi. It’s your future self. You’re 21 now, and drinking a grasshopper as you write this. I know, us drinking alcohol… weird. You don’t know it yet, But you’re not neurotypical. Okay, what does that mean? It means you don’t show atypical (“normal”) brain patterns or behaviors.. yeah, we’re actually mentally disabled. Hard to believe, huh?

So this past summer, at camp, you learned that some things in life are not as they seem. I know you’re completely crushed and lost right now. You feel like the only person who will understand is your camp counselor… but you made a mistake with her and she’s no longer in your life. Over the course of the next year, you’re going to reach out to a lot of different people: potential mentors, friends, even strangers, all because you’re desperate to find answers to all this pain and confusion. It’s going to feel really helpless. You’re going to question every fundamental aspect of your life: love and relationships, your purpose here on earth, your beliefs and your passions. You’re going to start cheating in school… please don’t. I come from the future where you did, and not only do you academically suffer from not learning that stuff in math and history, your self-esteem suffers too. You spend all of your time latching onto people, only to burn them out, along with yourself. This is one of the main symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder – you get diagnosed after high school graduation, so be prepared for this to screw you up for the next 4 years. You will have people who will criticize you frequently for your raging emotions… that also comes from Borderline… strap in and prepare to write a lot of poetry. In fact, it is probably best that you get a journal specifically for your poetry. I have one I’ve had since I was your age, and it’s like my heart is outside of my body it means so much to me.

You’re also going to have your fair share of physical challenges too. You just got diagnosed with a few different knee problems. You’re going to have to wear knee braces for the foreseeable future… you still have to wear them in 2017! Being the stubborn girl you are, you’re going to push through the pain… but sometimes you’re going to take opportunities away from others with your stubbornness… sometimes you gotta let it go girl. People will love you even if you’re not unbelievably “strong” physically.

You’ve never self-harmed. You’ve even put a razor to your skin to try to imagine what that’s like, and you swear you’re never going to cut. You even tell the youth pastor who’s worried about you that you won’t ever cut yourself – and you really mean it. Keep holding onto that as long as you can. Cutting is really addicting… and you get addicted to it. But never fear! I’m writing this at 393 days clean! Right now it’s your dream to go with the high school ministry to Romania… and you’ll be accepted on the team after Junior year. But because of your undiagnosed mental health issues, you’re going to be pulled off the team mere weeks before they leave for Romania for a month. You’re absolutely gutted. That’s when you first attempt suicide by overdosing and start cutting. A few months later you lose favor with your dance teacher and push yourself unbelievably hard dancing in the Middleton Parade. You collapse and are taken to the hospital, and you trigger life-long lung issues, almost dying from it. Please, learn how to take care of yourself. Practice radical acceptance and healthy coping. Start coloring! Play more music. Enjoy the nice weather. Write as much as you possibly can. Life’s going to get rough, and without your 100%, my past is your fate.

Dear 8th grade me… Do your homework. Go to therapy earlier than junior year. Learn how to cope with the curveballs that are coming your way. Lean on Erin, she’s the only one who stays all four years of high school and beyond. Enjoy being young. And if you ever need me, you can always find me within yourself. Stay unique girly. Rock that multicolored fake hair piece no matter what your friends say about it.

Love,
Me