Borderline Truth

Your truth. My truth. THE TRUTH.

It always amazes me how people see the truth as such a subjective matter that can automatically invalidate another person's experience. Being a person who has struggled with big emotions for a long time, it hasn’t always been an easy concept for me to grasp – the difference between my truth, your truth, and the real truth.

Once my Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) was diagnosed – it became impossible for My Truth, to ever be even close to THE TRUTH again.

It’s not that it wasn’t truth… in fact, more often than not, the BPD that I have felt weighed down by, has in fact made things more clear and concise; my fear of not being heard or properly understood, ensuring that I analyse everything that I say repeatedly before I ever actually speak… with only a few selected people allowed in to see more than what I allow to pass through the filter. Unfortunately though, the truth does not always set us free… and being labelled as a ‘borderline’, has crossed my thoughts and emotions into this territory marked ‘over-emotional’.

Over the last couple of weeks specifically, this label – this assumption has plagued me with self-doubt, unease, and a familiar depression; as I was slammed emotionally into a darker place. Speaking out at first was not an option… and when I did speak out to a few friends, it was filled with self-pity, self-loathing, and full on fear – fear of not being heard, fear of abandonment, fear of them taking the ‘other side’, fear of a lack of understanding, and fear of not being articulate enough – of going too far, or exaggerating, or straight up making things worse. But my biggest fear was simply being told that my experiences weren’t the truth.

Because for the past four years, that was what I was told that borderlines did. They lied, manipulated, exaggerated, blew up, had a lack of emotional regulation, and destroyed the lives of those around them. Those in my life have said to me in the same sentence – ‘don’t blame your BPD’ and ‘that’s your BPD talking’. It’s a double edged sword, that really has no merit.

Because along with the BPD diagnosis – I did something else - well several things actually -  over the last four years. I have received counselling, I have worked through DBT (a therapy program specifically for BPD), I have built an understanding and emotionally stable support system around me, I have attended for a time a recovery step-program, and I have continued to implement and put into place those skills, the knowledge, and the analytics to know and pinpoint my behaviour better than ever. I’m not perfect, and I have moments – hell, sometimes I even have days, where I slip up and I feel defeated - like I will never gain freedom from this diagnosis… but I can honestly also say that I have never been at the place of self-awareness I’m at now. Mistakes happen. Emotions can still get the better of me at times… I have hurt people in anger or pain, and I have allowed them to hurt me, because I’m not perfect. Because I’m human.

And where I’m at now is angry.

This week I was told once again, ‘that’s YOUR truth, not THE truth’… another hint at the BPD, and a history of unstable emotions. Another sentence made in anger, so that I would doubt my experiences – not as a BPD sufferer, but as a human. Automatically, because I was hurt, because I refused to allow another human to determine my fate, and because I am in the midst of a painful experience; my thoughts, emotions, and words were automatically considered invalid because of my BPD.

I’m angry, because for a long time – I didn’t know that they were wrong. I couldn’t separate the fact that just because another person disagrees with me, that it doesn’t make the truth any less true. I have been convinced for so long, that because of the BPD, my voice did not deserve to be heard in the midst of trauma or pain. 

Psychologically, I’m facing a major trauma that I should have dealt with many years ago. When I tried to place it… to change things within my life and work through it; I was told ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, but that’s YOUR truth, not THE truth’; simply because the person involved didn’t like what I had to say. When I pointed to supporting evidence, it was ignored – as though my BPD mind, simply made it up… poof.

The past week has been brutal. The previous couple of days, darker than some of my others as I allowed someone else to convince me that I was broken – not good enough, unstable, and incapable. I allowed myself to nearly make a major decision, based on another person’s opinion of how difficult a person I can be due to my mental illness. I doubted myself, because I’ve been taught to doubt myself and question every thought, emotion and word.

Today I did a quick google search on BPD. Clicking through some of the links, I was amazed at some of the references to ‘surviving borderlines’ – aka, how to tolerate someone with this diagnosis. As though we are somehow less human, less than capable of loving and being loved. With a focus on the instability of our emotions, we are labelled as difficult to treat, difficult to love, and difficult to even be around.

When I scrolled through some mental health groups that I belong to, there was a stark contrast between those with the disease, and those who love someone with the disease.

I saw the patterns emerge and I was in awe that they seemed to replicate my life. BPD’s have mood swings – intense and unstable mood swings. Until we manage to figure out ways to begin to manage them – they never really disappear, but we learn coping strategies to deal with constant fluctuation. The difference is, that when something big happens (positive OR negative) our reactions can seem to the outsider, extreme. Trauma is especially bad. But the commonality in all of it, was that it continued to get worse – the stigma strongest against this specific diagnosis, as we are taught to doubt every thought and feeling before it’s allowed to be ‘truth’. And unfortunately, in my specific case,  the more work that I have done to combat the 'out of control' nature of the disorder, the more it upset the balance in life. Where once, my BPD could be used as an excuse, a distraction, or as evidence of instability... I now have changed viewpoints, perceptions, and an incredibly strong sense of self-awareness (most of the time anyways).

On the other hand, I saw loved ones talking and sharing about their friends or family who had been diagnosed. I saw an interesting trend (in my mind you, quick scroll), that seemed that at first diagnosis, the loved ones felt a sense of relief…. Finally answers. But as the diagnosis aged… every emotion, every problem, every trauma that the BPD sufferer faced was too much for the loved ones to deal with… the BPD was blamed for everything from general anxiety, to feeling hurt over betrayal, to crying over a sad movie. When the loved ones made a mistake or hurt the BPD - it seemed like the instability of the emotions was a scapegoat. Even when the BPD emotions happened as a direct result of the trauma inflicted on a person, they were blamed for having the disorder in the first place. 

It became a mindset. A case of this is what happens in BPD… I better look out for that at every turn. Nothing is real.

As I scrolled through old threads of conversation and examined my own life a little deeper, I felt the anger grow stronger. I remembered the small comments and the sideways glances. The calm and collected talks that became nightmare fights, because everything became a part of my mental illness... even on days where I was in control and doing well... I couldn't escape the weight of it. It’s the stigma  that has existed within my own home.

One of the environmental factors that is a key indicator of developing Borderline Personality Disorder, is a continued pattern of invalidation in childhood/early teenage years. And yet, as soon as someone is diagnosed with BPD, it seems to begin a new cycle of invalidation – it’s all because of the BPD.

Your feelings don’t matter.

Your instincts can’t possibly be accurate.

Those emotions? Too strong.

Your personality? Too much.

Your pain? Not real.

Your experience? Twisted and corrupted by the Borderline Mind.

And so we manage the emotion. We learn to doubt ourselves… our heads. We carefully construct our sentence, our fear of being called overly-emotional, or exaggerated, or outright liars; always keeping us on high-alert… keeping us from speaking out, from being heard.

This year, I made a promise to myself to try and live a more authentic and honest life. It has led me down some interesting paths – I have had anger and resentment cast towards me over the silliest things, and I have hurt some people with my lack of social etiquette in breaching certain topics. I have failed at times to be as real as I want to be and as real as I still aim to be. I hold secrets within my heart, and I sometimes share too much. I’m still learning how to be real and true… in a healthy way.

But this. This is a start. Because I am tired of being told that my experiences aren’t real, just because they are told from my perspective. My truth, is not any less valid than YOUR truth. And if, my truth at times does become distorted – it’s most often not from any disorder that I might struggle with… most often it’s from lies that I’ve begun to believe, because for so long I was convinced... I have BPD… I can’t trust myself.

But the truth is… I can. And I will.

I am not my diagnosis.

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Suicide - A Part of My Vocabulary

“Borderline individuals are the psychological equivalent of third-degree-burn patients. They simply have, so to speak, no emotional skin. Even the slightest touch or movement can create intense suffering.”

--- Marsha Linehan

This is perhaps the most well-known quote about people who are diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder; and for me, the truth of it hits me like a bag of bricks every single time that I read it.

When I was first diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), I challenged it a little bit, unwilling to accept it as a diagnosis until I did all of the research surrounding this condition. What I researched scared me… but what I realised while researching scared me even more.

I do in fact have BPD. I no longer question this, and through a series of therapy groups and individual counseling, along with constant research, and monitoring of my own behaviours, I can honestly say that I am slowly starting to see a diminishment of the outward symptoms.

Unfortunately though, as a person who struggles with BPD, my brain was rewired at a young age, and as a result these intense emotions, while more easily managed for the most part, will always exist in the extreme. While I may appear to be solid and strong and confident on the outside, it could feel internally like I am being tortured; the pain excruciating and all consuming.

This past week I had a breakdown – the first serious one in quite some time. And while it was reflective of a host of issues that I struggle with, the BPD and the intensity of emotion I experienced almost hit a psychosis of sorts, with emotions so extreme that I wanted to die both during and after the breakdown. Literally.

Over the past week, I have struggled in depth with suicidal thoughts and ideation. I have made plans and I have called friends. I have texted my feelings, and I have hidden away in my bedroom. I have spoken and specifically checked in with my support team because I know that in a second of extreme pain, reason disappears and all that I have left is this need to end my life.

I wanted to share some statistics, however doing a quick search led me to too many different sets of numbers. So instead I will share what I do know from my own personal life, and conversations that I have had with friends, family, and professionals over the last several years:

-          BPD individuals are often labelled as difficult, sometimes even refused treatment due to the extremes that we experience. Early on in my diagnosis, I was turned away from the emergency room when I was having suicidal thoughts. A time when I should have been treated with compassion was turned to guilt and shame when I showed up, completely distraught and thinking that I was making a good choice. Thankfully that was the only time, and thankfully I had a family, and enough of a basic support system to carry me through, but the stigma of that visit, where I was treated poorly, has stuck with me.

-          BPD individuals have an extremely high rate of suicide attempts AND completion. This is known, and for me the suicidal ideation can click into place in a moment’s notice. It is as though life twists, changing your perception, your logic. Sound reason simply does not exist… nothing does except for ending your pain. You are not the same person that you were previously - even just five minute before the trigger hit.

-          BPD is the elephant in the medical community’s room. When I found a new family doctor, the first thing that he told me was that he knew very little about mental illness and the medications used in its treatment – specifically the treatment of BPD.

-          BPD can be treated through therapy, and while the feelings may not disappear, they can be managed.

-          BPD is terrifying for family and friends who are close to you. I have threatened suicide. I have attempted suicide. I have left the house with nowhere to go, no money in my pockets, and once in the middle of winter, with no shoes on my feet. I have experienced emotions come from out of nowhere to verbally attack friends and family, and I have terrified my kids with worry over whether or not I would be coming home. I have 'split' apart from the put together wife, mother, and individual with clear thoughts and reasonable thinking; to become a raging woman, with no sense of time, logic, or space - intent on destroying myself, and convinced beyond a doubt that it is the best decision that I could possibly make. 

For the most part – I’m pretty open about my struggles. I want to encourage anyone reading this to ask me any questions that they might have, and I will gladly answer you to the best of my ability - asking questions, talking, and being open are the only way to end the stigma attached to mental illness and specifically BPD. But I want to ask you a question as well… something that came up in a recent conversation with a friend.

     Would you get me the help I needed if I reached out to you?

     What if I didn’t reach out, but for some reason I was acting abnormally?

     What if I specifically threatened to harm myself?

     What if it was your child? Your parent? Your spouse?

     Would you even know who to call or what to do?

Many years ago, I was struggling with the thoughts of being mentally unstable. The only thing that I knew for sure was that I could handle it… I wasn’t one of those people who struggled with mental illness. Outside of my own fear and shame, my husband, friends, our Pastor… nobody knew exactly what to do when I fell down this rabbit hole. Questions floated through the air – do I call the police? Do I insist that she speaks to someone? Do I just sit and watch her self-destruct?

The one answer I can give… it is not always your responsibility to keep me safe; but I sure do appreciate it when you do.

Two years ago, I remember being incredibly angry when my counselor told my husband to call the police. I was fuming when I was first brought in to the emergency room and admitted… I wasn’t sick. I hated the hospital. I was hurting and in pain. But had I not been forcibly taken in – I would have harmed myself, possibly for the last time.

That’s how I know the answer to my own questions. That’s how I know that I will help you every single time… whether you choose to love me for it or hate me. Life. Suicide is the one mistake that cannot be undone, and I can write this today because I was stopped from killing myself. I was found following an overdose. I was grabbed and pulled back from jumping at the last second. I was dragged to the hospital on multiple occasions because I was sick… I was not thinking clearly… I was unable to make the choices to help myself, and I know that I would have made the choices that would have harmed myself.

Today I still struggle with BPD. I still struggle with severe depressive episodes as part of the bipolar disorder. Suicide is not a foreign word in my vocabulary and I want to give it to you as well.

I want to say it loud and clear. Suicide. I want to encourage you to talk about it… to face the question of what would you do if a friend presented with suicidal ideation or warning signs. What if it was you… or your spouse or your child or your parent or your friend? I want to encourage you to ask each other – ask when you’re well, and know what to look for within a friend who struggles… ask those questions now, listen to their answers – develop a plan in case you are ever presented with this serious crisis, and if needed – don’t ever be afraid to call for help. 

* I want to add on that I in no way hold anyone accountable for the choices that I make when I am in an unstable state of mind. This post's intention was merely to open up the conversation surrounding such a sensitive topic, that is often whispered about in corners, or behind closed doors. Shame and stigma will not end if we don't talk about it, and I encourage you to leave a comment, share a story, or simply speak to a friend about this important topic. 

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To Those Who Have Stuck Around

I had always been the odd one out. Periods of isolation, enthusiasm, obsession, and short-lived friendships were normal for me. I thought it was just girl-drama – that nobody was really as close as those best friends that they portray on television. I didn’t realize or understand that my clique-jumping and inability to really get close to someone (without becoming obsessive, envious, or eventually angry) was really the early stages of my Borderline Personality Disorder rearing its head. I also didn’t realize that my hobby-jumping, sports switching, club shifting – followed by periods of doing nothing – were indications of Bipolar Disorder. To me, I was normal - I didn't understand why I wasn't like everyone else.

He’s been with me for seventeen years now. We have survived through the emotional roller-coaster – the turmoil, the ups, the downs, and the chaos; and some days I truly wonder how we made it.

It’s on these days when I sit and think about it, that I don’t really understand it at all. Don’t get me wrong – I love my husband with all of my heart, but I know that I am not an easy person to live with, and some days I am definitely not an easy person to love.

You see, I didn’t just wake up one day at twenty five years old, suddenly psychotic and breaking down – sick of life and unsure, and well, mentally ill. Looking back through work that I am doing, I can see the traits as they developed through my childhood and early adolescence. I can see peaks and valleys, I can look back on the skewed thinking and my alternate view of the world around me, and now that I know better, I can honestly say that that is where it all began. As the years went by and life became busy and hectic and stressful – triggers were found out and I came up and down and to the edge of the cliff mentally, several times before it all became too much, before I was finally unable to handle it myself, and before I finally began to get help.

Sometimes I was mean and angry – I yelled and I pushed my husband (and others I love) away. I didn’t know how to process things and it was the only defense that I knew and that I trusted. Other times, I was energetic and ambitious – my dreams were infinite and I could tackle the world around me… I was obsessive and perfect, my life looked like a happily ever after to those outside our little bubble. And then, then I would fall – depression would engulf me and our happy family was miserable. I would become isolated, disinterested, hateful, and self-loathing. Everything appeared blackened and I dragged my husband and a few select people through my darkened world as I contemplated life – but more often death. As I threatened suicide, ran from my home, slept in my car, placed myself in dangerous situations, and scared the hell out of people that I desperately wished could help me, but who didn’t know what to do.

And yet, they still loved me. They showed me kindness, forgiveness, patience, and overall love. Even on the days where I believed I couldn’t be loved, and that I didn’t deserve any of it – they stayed. They put up boundaries for their own safety. They stayed awake and stopped me from leaving the house. They called the police. They let me sleep on their couch. They talked to me. They didn’t doubt my heightened feelings. They tried everything that they could, and they kept me safe.

I know that some days were harder than others. I know that at times I drove my husband to the brink with worry for me. I know that some days, he (and others) had no idea what to do. I know that on days where I would disappear and they worried for my safety, they did what they had to – they continued on. They cared for the kids. They cared for my husband. They prayed for me. They confronted me. They took my anger and they made decisions in my best interest, sometimes against my own judgement.

I wish I could say that now that I am stable and on the right track, that things were easier. But that would be a lie. Because when the disease is in your head, in the way you think, react, and control situations, you can’t just turn it off. The work that I am doing helps. It has made a dramatic change in me and I can honestly say that I can handle more of my triggers, better than I ever have before.  But there are still days and moments when I know that I am difficult to say the least. I know that there are days when my husband wishes that I were ‘better’, and that I could just ‘stop’, the way that my brain works. I know that there are times when I do or say or fight for something and he wants to blame my mental health, because sometimes that is easier. I know that there are some days when he wishes there was no mental illness to blame. In other relationships, I know that others do not understand and I know that I still hurt others when I isolate myself or react badly to a trigger or situation.

Trust me. I know.

And I’m grateful. I am so very grateful that they try. I am grateful that they don’t give up, and that I don’t scare them away. I am grateful that they worry and that they check in on me. I am grateful that I am even a thought in their day.

And I am grateful to my husband. It isn’t easy to be married to someone with a mental illness, and we have definitely gone through some very rough times in our marriage, but we’re together… we’re struggling through the murky days and coming out to brighter ones… more often, longer lasting, and more vivid than we’ve ever known.

So on those days that you wonder if what you’re doing helps or if it's worth it, remember - we see it, we feel it… we just can’t always say thank you in the moment.

Keep reaching out to those you love. Keep the conversation going – when your loved one is doing well, ask how you can help when they’re not. Take time to make sure you are grounded, but know that your presence in their life is invaluable when they are struggling. They know it. They’re grateful.

I’m grateful.

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Precision of Language

Precision of Language.

I was watching the movie “The Giver” this morning and this phrase that is repeated throughout the movie started to click with me. I have never believed that my vocabulary was inadequate, knowing that I can read, write, describe, and discuss things with clarity and precision. But as the film, which is (very loosely) based on the book “The Giver” by Lois Lowry, continued on, I began to understand that I do not in fact, always have the correct words to describe my mental health.

It’s an interesting realization, and also a very good explanation as to why I tend to pull back into myself when I really begin to struggle. There is a quote from the original book that stands out to me as  I think through my own life and my own ups and downs, the periods of indescribable pain and mania: “Even trained for years as they all had been in precision of language, which words could you use which would give another the experience of sunshine?” (p.90).

The quote above is a truth that strikes me deep within. It is a quote that speaks to me on many levels and with many different reminders. In the negative, it reminds me that at times, I am alone in my true feelings. It explains how during periods of depression, anxiety, and even mania and psychosis, that nobody else will ever truly know the feelings that I experience; that my words will never be able to give that feeling to another person so that they can help more, understand better, or simply feel as I do. It is a truth that many people that I have interacted with have shared with me – the loneliness of their lives and their world, which is often coloured differently and skewed from what is considered to be ‘normal’ perception.  I have experienced this myself – it isn’t necessarily a bad thing and the quote can also be used as a reminder to me that no, unless they have experienced the exact fluctuations in mood that I have, they will not be able to understand completely. But that is also the key. When I remember this, it is much easier for me to share my experiences, with lower expectations.

I fully admit to times where my expectations have exceeded what can realistically be accomplished. In my relationships there have been (and sometimes still are) many times when I have wished that those closest to me could jump inside my head and just ‘get it’; that they could see, and feel, and experience those things that I do. Remembering that no, they can’t do that is a good way to open myself up to accepting the help that is available and the relationships that can be built. If I can lower those expectations, then I can fully embrace their friendship, knowing also that they accept me as I am, without needing to experience my pain themselves. It is a very powerful revelation.

In the same way, this reminder also applies in the reverse. It allows me to accept others and their experiences as valid, and as deep and as complicated as my own. As much as I want to believe at times in a ‘normal’ range of emotion and feeling – it will still always be an individual concept. Accepting that, I can accept another person’s experience and readily admit that although I do not always understand them, I can support them, love them, and be there for them in their times of struggle. It is a very grounding concept that although words exist in abundance, there is not always a “precision of language” that can describe such a personal experience, which will truly allow another person to experience the exact same thing.

Precision of language. The more that we share, the closer we will get to fully understanding each other. The more that we accept that no matter how precisely we describe something, it is still impossible to duplicate within another person exactly, the more that we will end stigma associated with periods of mental illness, struggle, and outside thinking. The more that we accept that it is a personal and individual concept, the more open we can be to those around us struggling. The more that we accept an individual and their pain, struggle, internal battles and victories; the more that we can normalise people, mental health conditions, treatment options, and a diagnosis that no matter how precise the words, can never fully explain the condition.

So let’s keep talking. Let’s lower the expectations. Let’s describe as fully as we can the experience, and let’s listen to support and raise our understanding, accepting that we may never fully ‘get it’, but loving the person anyways.

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Trigger at the Falls

Sauble Falls

Yesterday I went out to take some pictures before the weather got too nasty out. They were calling for a big snow-storm and as part of my routine I'm trying to get outdoors and exercise daily whenever possible. I had a particular spot in mind when I left the house in the morning - I wanted to snap some pics of a waterfall with my camera and walk along the frozen beach. Well I got to the waterfall and to begin with I realised that my tripod was broken and I couldn't use it for what I had intended. (I didn't even have duck tape on me to do a quick fix and make it useable!) Then, when I got to the edge of the water I was surprised at how fast it was flowing - I shouldn't have been. I'm familiar with this particular river and know that it gets quite fast in the winter and spring. Sitting in the cold I managed to snap just a couple pictures before I realised exactly how tense I was... my back hurt, I was being uber-paranoid about the possibility of falling in, my breathing quickened, and my brain was starting to go a bazillion miles a minute. It hit me then. I was feeling triggered by the waterfall and the stress of broken equipment and lack of sleep the night before.

Now, being triggered is nothing new for me. Unfortunately the healthiest of people get triggered from time to time - add in mental illness and it's a common occurrance. The part that bothered me though was how surprised I was by it. I shouldn't have been. Over the last two weeks I have visited exactly six different waterfalls with only one other triggering thought occurring. During that one other thought I managed to keep my head straight and recognise it right away. I used skills that I always have at the ready and managed it until I felt okay... heading home and talking (and even joking!) about it with my husband. So to be so triggered yesterday, and to take so long to recognise it actually bothered me for quite some time. I shouldn't have been surprised by the trigger... but I was.

Ice Formation at Sauble Falls

I've talked about triggers before. But I feel strongly that I need to keep talking about them... because here's the thing: they can hit at any time and affect you in any number of ways. When I was triggered last week at a waterfall I felt myself get tense and I had one, very brief flashback to a different waterfall experience and almost instantly my brain started to fire, trying to bring in guilt and self-hatred. I halted it. I experienced it. I let myself know that I was a different person now and that I am in a very different position. I pulled my camera out and photographed not just the water, but the beauty that was all around me. This week I was triggered by a waterfall and while my body reacted similarily, I also got extremely agitated and angry. I felt the self hatred explode - especially when it took so long to recognise how bothered I was by being in a place I wanted to be. It took me until I was halfway home to realise where I was in my mind, how I was feeling and just why I felt that way.

Thankfully I have enough tools to work with now that I have figured out how to cope with triggers - even when I'm more affected than normal. But it has been a long journey to figure out those things that work to bring me back, that can remind me of who I am and how far I've come. It has taken practice using those skills in the small moments and day to day things that has allowed me to be able to function when the middle sized or big events happen and take me by surprise.

Weaver's Creek Falls

I'm not perfect. Days like today still happen... I'm still taken by surprise, I still have to pull out my journal and add in things that help, things that harm and things that I might try in the future. But I'm facing it. I'm growing from it. Every day is a learning experience and I need those triggers in my life to make sure that I can handle it when things break down. There is hope... one day I will be able to handle so many triggers, that they will no longer be triggering. There will be new ones that will pop up but the big ones won't seem so big anymore... the tools will become a part of me, a part of the way that I will react, that I will deal with things. I'm on my way, each trigger is just another pit-stop on my journey.

** While I was definitely triggered at the waterfall I did not and would not put myself in a position where I would be unsafe. While facing my triggers I gage previous reactions and my current state of mind to decide whether or not it will be safe for me to enter any situation.

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It's Worth Sharing

A year ago today I posted a note on facebook sharing the link to this blog and letting the world see inside my head for the first time ever. It wasn't my first time writing - it was just my first time sharing that writing. I began a journey that terrified me, with no intention of keeping it up, no expectations of where it would go, just strongly feeling that I needed to share where I was at and some of the experiences I've had - starting with my attempted suicide in November 2014.

It has been an amazing journey that has been a far more powerful experience than I ever thought it could be.

February 2016

Though I haven't posted on a schedule and I haven't kept track or even known a lot of the time if anyone (or who they are) is reading it, I know that my words have made a difference. In my own life, I feel free. I have put aside so many of my own fears and insecurities to open myself up like this - to share the darkest and scariest parts of my mind with anyone who is interested. I have used it as a tool, a coping strategy when I'm not doing well, and a place where I can share my accomplishments when I do succeed in mastering a strategy or simply getting through a difficult emotion. I also know I'm making a difference somewhere else. I'm being vocal and I'm speaking up. I'm not letting the stigma that is still so attached to mental health shut me down. I am saying that I have a mental illness and that is okay... I'm different, unique, and wired a little funky but that's alright because, well, who isn't?

So on this, my First Anniversary of Sharing, I would like to post a little update. Because this year has been tough; it has gone up, and down with stretches of level in between. I have had joy and laughter and excitement, and I have also experienced pain and panic and fear and sadness and desperation and loss of hope.

I have survived panic attacks, hypo-manic, and depressive episodes, and I let myself get help. I have adjusted medications and attended multiple types of counselling and therapy groups. I ha
ve spoken to doctors and pychiatrists, crisis workers and nurses, and friends and family. I have developed a tool box and I use it regularly - incorporating new skills almost every day. I have continued on and accepted this journey that I've been given, sometimes with determination and hope, and sometimes with a great deal of struggling and self pity. I have not just survived... I have lived while in recovery.

Today, right now, I am alive and well. I'm still struggling with sleeping regularly and getting the meds just right... but I've got hope and love and support. I'm developing a new routine and eating healthy to get me back to a level place and I work hard daily to stay grounded. I'm different than I was a year ago, two years ago, or more.

This is where I'm at right now. So on my First Anniversary of Sharing I want to encourage anyone else who struggles with Mental Health. You are not alone. It isn't always easy, but it is worth it. I have learned and grown so much within the last year and I know I will only continue to do so. Reach out. Find support. Love yourself no matter where you are at, and give your recovery journey a chance. It is worth it. Your life is worth it.

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The Guilty Battle

Niagara Falls, Ontario - there are indoor water-parks, wax museums, gift shops, the waterfalls and tons of other tourist-y things to do with the family. It's kid friendly and I know from past visits that my husband and children would have enjoyed the weekend that I just spent there... alone, with my cousin; and yet, I didn't take them with me.

It wasn't that I couldn't... but then again... it was. You see, the trip itself was a joint idea between my cousin and myself. I contacted her last week about getting down to see her for a few days because I needed some recovery time. She suggested we do Niagara Falls for a night away and I readily agreed because I needed to get out of town for a couple of days alone. 

Alone. With my thoughts. With a friend. With time to let myself get to a better place. It was exactly what I needed; it's just that my dear old friend guilt also wanted to tag along. 

Guilt. It's a natural part of life and with all of the other emotions that I deal with, I find it can often times sneak right in undetected until it rears its ugly head, letting you know that yes, you should feel bad about abandoning your children and husband for an alone/girls weekend, after only just coming out of the hospital. It is the force behind the thoughts that say that what you are doing isn't enough, your efforts to put yourself in a good place are taking up too much of your time and energy, that says you should just be better by now. It's the voice that tells you to suck it up because there are millions of people in the world who have things worse than you. It's the whisper that speaks and says that if you were a true Christian, you would never feel alone, and you would beat this mental illness once and for all.

Guilt. It's an incredibly strong and loud voice that can take hold of your emotions and send them spinning again without warning, refusing to listen to the logic that you know is buried inside your mind.

I'm refusing to let guilt in though... I won't let it win. 

I went away this past weekend and I enjoyed myself. I talked and listened, I laughed and walked, I thought and I prayed, I slept and I swam.... and every time guilt reared it's ugly head I told it to take a hike because I was doing exactly what I needed to do at the moment. I refused to let guilt in and make itself comfortable. I refused to play it's game and allow it to entertain my mind with all of the shoulds and coulds and maybes that it likes to throw around and taunt me with, that tell me that I could be better than what I am.

And now, now I'm at home. I'm exactly where I am in my recovery journey and I don't feel guilty about taking time to myself. I'm refreshed and recharged and ready for the next battle, the next steps that I am going to take, and the next things I'm going to learn. I'm ready to fight again, to show guilt and anger and depression and mania who I am inside... I'm ready to show them hope, and love, and steadiness, and perseverance because I refused to let guilt in; because I took care of myself. It wasn't easy, but the battle was won this time - one day at a time. 

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