Tag Archives: mental health

People I Have it More Together Than

Mental Health, , , , , , , , ,

Because sometimes, on the first day of winter, you need a list.

  1. Rob Kardashian
  2. I took a 10 minute pause here at #2 and stared blankly at the screen because I literally couldn’t think of anyone else. So I got up, retied my bathrobe, stretched what I’m pretty sure is the beginning of a weird-sleeping-position-induced torn rotator cuff, and took a brief walk from the living room to the other side of the living room (estimated distance 5 feet). I recognize this probably invalidates the entire concept of my list, but I’m sorry my work life is weirder than yours.
  3. The dog on the 29th floor who shits in the stairwell (realized this list should be humans)
  4. All characters on Shameless (realized this list should be real humans)
  5.  Michael Jackson (realized this list should be real humans who are still alive and who were not child molesters)
  6. Bill Cosby (realized having it more together than a rapist isn’t great)
  7. Paula Dean (same as above, swap rapist for racist. Also I think she’s pulled it together now, at least publicly. No? Ugh I don’t know, I haven’t thought about her in years, and I’m sure neither have you. I have no idea how she ended up on this list. You can see how desperate I’m getting.)
  8. My night doorman who’s always asleep  (No, you know what? Good for him.)
  9. The dirty cat who lives in the corner store (I changed my mind about the “has to be a human” rule, then doubted my decision and changed my mind back again, because THAT’S WHAT LIVING IN MY HEAD IS LIKE. Also, even if I DID include non-humans, I’m not sure that cat could even make the list because, honestly, he does always look warm.)
  10. I give up.

This exercise really backfired.

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Grass is Always Greener

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Me (ranting about a former client who didn’t understand or value the services I provide as a tutor): “It must be nice for you– you know, to be a doctor, and work in an established, revered field where your clients actually have respect for the work that you do.”

Therapist: “Half my clients have personality disorders. I get called the c-word and am told to go fuck myself at least three times a week.”

Oh.

Alright well I feel better now.

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I Am Who I Am

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Discussing possible strategies for dealing with my seasonal depression….

Therapist: “Maybe start with some small, achievable actions. For example, shave your legs– because I know you, and I know you haven’t shaved them since summer ended.”

Me: “But if I do that now, then what will I get Eric for our wedding day?”

Therapist (sighs): “The gift of knowing he is marrying someone who regularly shaves her legs?”

Me: “So…lies. You’re saying I should get him lies.”

Therapist: <head in hands >

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It’s Important to be Realistic About These Things

Family, Mental Health, , , , , , , ,

Prompted by a storyline on a TV show, my friends and I found ourselves having the following discussion: If, god forbid, something should happen to one of our parents, would we be supportive of the other parent entering the dating world? Pretty much all of my friends agreed that they would be extremely uncomfortable and they were not sure they could be supportive.

But I think that’s pretty naive and close-minded. I’m much more realistic about these things.

In the sense that I don’t have to think about it, because my mom and dad are going to die at the same time. On the same day I do. I’ll be 90 years old and they’ll be 126, and we’ll all go peacefully in our sleep, holding hands.

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I’d Like to Spend One Day Inside His Brain

Mental Health, Relationships, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I have notoriously disturbing dreams, clearly driven by my anxiety. Sometimes they’re straight up terrifying horror shows, other times they are just upsetting and leave me feeling uneasy, like last night’s.

Eric: “Did you sleep ok? You were tossing and turning.”

Me: “No. I had a dream where, for whatever reason, I was walking around a mall holding thousands of dollars in a bag. And I stopped in the mall arcade, and put a $1000 bill in the arcade machine, even though I meant to put in a $10. But then it was too late. So it ate the money and gave me tickets. But then, I actually ended up winning all these vouchers– like thousands of dollars in vouchers. All I had to do was go claim it. But then somehow I misplaced the bag with my cash and vouchers, and I ended up losing all the money I started with, plus the money I won. I started panicking, sweating, running around the mall, trying to retrace my steps. Everyone was telling me how irresponsible I am. And the more they said it, the more I panicked, but no matter what I did I couldn’t find my way back to the money, and nobody would help me.”

(silent pause)

Eric: “I dreamt that I wore my new Uggs and someone was like– ‘you don’t have to wear socks with those, they’re so soft!'”

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Know Your Audience

Kids, , , , , , ,

A 5th grader I tutor, who is generally not one to open up about anything personal, expressed to me that he was really devastated by the results of the election, and that he found it personally hurtful that anyone would vote for a bully like Donald Trump. I told him that what he was feeling was the same thing half the country was feeling, and that he has every right to feel saddened by what has happened. I then decided to use his emotional experience as an opportunity for him to practice his writing skills. We were about to start a narrative piece, and I had prepared a topic that I thought he, in his classic boy-ness, would enjoy: “Imagine you have a superpower for a day.” Getting him to write can be a painful process and I knew he’d think this topic was fun. But given that he was grappling with all these emotions from the election, I proposed that instead he write about his experience of disappointment and anger (and perhaps he’d mature a bit in the process).

Me: “Writers are often inspired by what happens in their lives, and usually the most powerful pieces of writing come from a place of genuine, deep emotion. I think what you are experiencing right now would be perfect inspiration for a writing piece. And it will have the added benefit of making you feel better, because writing is often used as a way to express, and therefore move on from, experiences and emotions that upset us.”

Kid: (intrigued) “Wow, that’s a really good idea, actually. I like how you have all these smart ideas that I would never think of. I think I probably WOULD feel better if I wrote out all these feelings.”

Me: “Aw, fabulous! So how ’bout we start brainstorming some ideas?”

Kid: “Ok, cool! I’m going to do a web.”

(I search in my bag for a pencil as kid draws a web. When I look over, I see he has written ‘invisibility’ and ‘removing my head.’)

Me: “Wait. What do these things have to do with the election?”

Kid: “Oh, nothing. I’m writing about my superpower.”

Me: “But…wait…I thought you just said writing down your feelings about the election was a great, smart idea!”

Kid: “Well, yeah. It was. But I’d rather write a story about ripping my head off my neck and carrying it around in my hands. How cool would THAT be?!”

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Hope

Friends, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , ,

*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to represent the experience or feelings of anyone but myself. I recognize that crawling out of depression and Trump being president are not universally analogous, nor is the comparison relevant to most people out there, especially the people most potentially threatened by his presidency. This is simply a personal, self-indulgent journaling of how I am processing my emotions and looking to stay positive and make sense of things in a time that is overwhelmingly challenging to do so. But mostly, it’s just an ode to a dear friend.

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Today I received this email from a dear friend…

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Nine years ago, this same friend came to visit me in my darkest hour. I was living with my parents in Maryland, in the midst of an extremely serious depressive episode. I had left my job and my life in Philadelphia. I was literally sleeping in my parents’ bed, between them, too afraid to be alone with my thoughts. Despair was eating my insides. I couldn’t function, couldn’t eat, could barely breathe. Dressing myself was a challenge. I had lost any semblance of the life I had known and loved, and I saw absolutely no path to getting it back.

And then this friend came in from NY to visit. He dragged me into DC and forced me on a tour of our nation’s capital. And as we sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he promised me hope.

I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t see how that was possible. I couldn’t see past the very moment I was trapped in. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever be able to function again, how I’d ever be able to take a breath that didn’t feel shallow. I couldn’t imagine ever holding a job. I couldn’t imagine being able to connect with anyone, on any level, ever again. If I couldn’t even imagine these simplest of human tasks, the idea of ever living a fulfilling, productive life seemed completely out of my reach. I wanted to die.

But this friend insisted on hope. He insisted that progress doesn’t happen in a straight line– but that eventually, we always move forward. He promised me I’d not only get my life back, but this painful experience would, in time, lead to an even better, more connected life than the one I had before.

I protested. He protested back. Eventually, too bone-tired and sad to argue, I nodded. My heart wanted to believe him but my mind told me he was full of shit.

Shortly after his visit, life began to change. It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t easy. It took work. It took a LOT of support from those around me. It took a damn village. It took faith. It took forcing myself into action. It took constantly reminding myself that no matter the setback, everything was going to be ok.

Today I not only function, I thrive. Today I not only breathe, I breathe deeply. Today I not only work, I have my own business. Today I not only connect, I get to marry and share my life with the most incredible man I’ve ever known.

My friend was right. My life is better today than the life I was living before my darkest hour. Not only because I survived the despair, but because I learned from it. It opened my eyes. It gave me perspective. It made me more empathetic. It deepened my connections with others. It inspired me to give back. It forced me to speak out. It sprung me into action, and inspired me to work on myself and stand up for others every chance I get. It made me realize that I have to cherish, appreciate, and look for the good if I want to ensure that darkness will never win in the end.

So thank you, friend. I needed this reminder of hope today. And not because there aren’t other messages of hope out there. There certainly are, thank god.

But you are a source I can trust.