by Y B Normal | Mar 28, 2019 | Anxiety, Depression, Feelings, Sadness, Social Injustice |
Dear Diary,
My heart is heavy.
Each day I wake up bombarded by another tragedy.
The news shouts of hatred, death, and lies.
Society tells us who and what we should despise.
Extremes to the left and right of every cause and belief.
Demagogues exploiting our fears and our grief.
I am constantly combating tears and anxiety.
Terrified at our loss of humanity.
This, Dear Diary, is why my heart is so heavy.
I just needed to get this out of my head. My 10th grade English teacher would be mortified at the simplicity but it is honest and right now that’s all I have.
by anonymous | Feb 26, 2019 | Anxiety, Coping With Depression, Depression, Eating Disorders, Feelings, Impulse Control Disorders, Mental Health, Self Esteem, Self Injury, Self Loathing, Skin DIsorders, Therapy |
I am neglected.
I’m the product of parents who didn’t know how to fulfill my emotional needs.
I alternate between believing both that “my parents gave me everything; I had a happy childhood; I don’t have any reason to be this messed up,” and “my parents emotionally neglected me; I had an awful childhood; no wonder I am this messed up.“
I fantasize about being in the hospital because that seems like the ultimate (and only) way that people might finally see me and care about me. Logically, I know that it’s not true, but my emotional brain is convinced that being sick or hurt is the way to get the love, attention, and care that is not present in my daily life.
I am ashamed.
I’m a 22-year old who is still desperately attached to my mangled childhood stuffed animal, Lambie.
I surreptitiously, but uncontrollably, pull out my own hair. I know have trichotillomania (and dermotillomania while we’re at it), but it’s one of my most shameful “secrets.”
I eat spoonsful of Nutella straight from the jar, and sometimes that will be the only thing I eat for the majority of the day.
I am depressed.
I am pained getting out of bed in the morning. It’s hard to relate to people who casually say, “Yeah, I didn’t want to get up this morning,” but may not understand the gravity of depression. It hurts to the bone.
I have trouble taking my daily antidepressants because a hidden part of me doesn’t believe I’m worthy of feeling better.
I am obsessed with filling my brain with as much information about mental illness as possible. And yet, no matter how much I read books, articles, and studies about eating disorders, depression, anxiety, or impulse-control disorders, I struggle to control my own mental health.
I have a hard time with “I’m depressed.” Maybe because I don’t believe that the real me is just buried under mental illness. It’s more like “I’m a person living with depression.” It has taken so much of my personality and soul out of me, but without depression, I am a lively, joyful girl.
I am taking care of myself (or I’m learning to).
I practically begged my parents to see a therapist, nutritionist, and psychiatrist, when I was only 15 years old. It certainly wasn’t easy, especially because we didn’t talk about anything “emotionally charged,” but I knew that it was a step I had to take in order to alleviate my pain.
I reach out to others when I need it most. Even though I isolate, too, I also know that in moments of desperation, I do instinctively ask for help and support from those I trust.
I treat myself to occasional manicures, special purchases (a dress, a pillow, some art supplies), and a lazy Sunday. As much as my brain tries to trick me into thinking that I am worthless and unlovable, I try to actively do things for myself that remind myself that I deserve care.
I am brave.
I share my story with very few people, but when I do, it is the most rewarding experience. Sharing real experiences and thoughts is how I create deep connections with people.
I moved to Denmark for my first job out of college. I don’t speak the language, I’ve never been away from home for more than four months, and I left my entire support network at home.
I am working full-force in therapy at facing the demons and insecurities I have hidden for years. I am taking charge of my life by learning to be vulnerable, accept my flaws, and love myself in spite of them, and find happiness for the first time in my life.
by anonymous | Feb 20, 2019 | Anxiety Disorders, Depression, Fear, Mental Health, Therapy |
So, I got my medicine adjusted like I said I was going to in my last post.
After a hilarious rigmarole of being referred to a doctor who only saw seniors, then one who only saw children, then one who didn’t take my insurance, I finally ended up with a really sweet doctor (who is the tiniest woman I’ve ever met).
She added another antidepressant to the one I was already taking, and it seems to have helped the symptoms in question – I’m still sleeping odd hours, but it’s only for 8-9 hours at a stretch, not 12-14, and my default state is “bored” instead of “bored and sad and mopey and lonely.”
And yet…
(There’s always an “and yet” with mental illness, isn’t there?)
(ed note: Yes. – AB)
And yet I’ve not managed to quite nail things down. I’ll stay up late without realizing how late it is, then sleep until 4 or 5 the next afternoon. The new medicine causes insomnia, so I was warned to only take it in the morning. But if I don’t take it when I wake up at 4 PM, then I’ll just sleep even more. If I do take it, I’ll be up all night and sleep late the next day. If I do manage to wake up early and take my medicine, I’m so tired that even the medicine can’t keep me up and I pass out around noon and wake up at 7 PM (which is what happened today).
I just want to wake up in the morning feeling at least somewhat rested and get tired at night being able to fall asleep. Since when is that such a massive thing to ask? If I could just do that AND have my medicine killing off the sadness and apathy, then all I’d have to do is muster up the motivation to do laundry and clean my room and make it look like a human being lives here!
To top it all off, I’m moving to North Carolina within the month. My best friend is moving back into her childhood home, which she inherited when her dad died, and she’s offered to let me live there rent-free if I cover half of the bills. Her area has a much better economy than mine, so I could find a job more easily. And there are nearby schools where I could get either an associate’s or a second bachelor’s degree in the field I want to move into. It’s too good an offer to refuse, so I’m cashing out my savings and heading up there as soon as she gets moved in and ready.
And yet…
What if it all falls apart? What if I can’t find a good psychiatrist nearby? I don’t even know what my insurance situation would be before I got a job. What if I get on this same fucked up sleep schedule again and my room stays this messy and I’m awful to live with and she hates me? What if I still don’t find a job and I burn through all my savings? What if I get the degree, and take out a bunch of loans to do it, and still can’t find a job even then?
I don’t know. I was so sure for awhile this medicine had made things a lot better, but I sure don’t feel any less afraid.
by Bratmom | Feb 8, 2019 | Anxiety Disorders, Ask The Band, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Bipolar Disorder, Co-Morbid Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Feelings, Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder, Mental Health, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Parenting |
I posted a while ago anonymously about my oldest son. He is truly in a bad, bad place. He’s a very angry child. We sought help from his therapist and psychiatrist. Finally, after weeks and weeks of fighting, we got somewhere. He was diagnosed with co-morbid bipolar disorder along with his autism, ADHD, ODD, depression, and anxiety.
It finally felt like we were getting somewhere. Until…that deep dark place got worse.
We are fighting daily to keep him out of inpatient hospital stays. I walk on egg shells talking to him because I don’t know what is going to upset him.
I’ve had a continuous migraine for the past 5 days because just thinking about him makes my anxiety sky high. He’s a good kid and has such a good heart, I just don’t know how to help him.
Does anyone have any ideas?
I am all out of ideas. I’m completely mentally worn the eff out. He’s just so angry and mad at the world. I just want my happy kid back
by anonymous | Feb 7, 2019 | Depression, Dwarfism, Feelings |
All right, I have two confessions to make before I start this post.
One) I totally pushed myself into this. I felt almost called to say something. After some clarifying on what a birth defect was via Twitter (thanks, DJ Moo :)), I felt like I had committed myself.
Two) I suck at blogging, writing, and this whole world of wordy creativity. I fully support it and have a Google Reader addiction, but I don’t have the knack for writing, so bear with me. 🙂
Allow me to introduce myself: I am 17 years old, a strong believer in God, and a Starbucks addict. I talk way too much and adore my friends more than anything else in this world. I work at a preschool, as well as babysitting for two of the sweetest girls in the world. One more thing: I’m just over 4 feet tall.
Mmm, you got that right. I have achondroplasia, the most common form of dwarfism. I was officially diagnosed at 3 months, and it is just as much a part of my life as your birthmark on your forehead or her bright blue eyes. I do everything that everyone else does, just in my own way.
What has truly shaped me within my “defect”? My parents are average height. I am the only one in my entire family with this genetic disorder blessing. I walk this road alone on a day to day basis. Does it suck sometimes? Absolutely. Would I want my life any other way? Absofreakin’lutely not.
Little People of America has been the greatest support system for me. We have conferences 3 times a year – over 200 people in my district alone, as well as nationwide with over 2,000 people – that I’ve been attending since I was 3. My true second family. But 10 days out of the whole year isn’t enough to make me feel mixed in with the rest of the world.
I think the reason I pushed myself to write this was because it’s been weighing down on me lately. I am going to college in the fall, and though I’m beyond thrilled, I’m a bit scared as to how my dwarfism will hinder my college experience. I’ve battled depression, and honestly, my physical differences and incapabilities have got to be a huge source of it.
As my mom put it, “It sucks to be a teenager, you think nobody ever understands you. But to be a teenager with dwarfism – that is truly when you know people don’t understand you. It’s got to be even more impossible.”
So… yeah. It’s hard not to be able to work in the kitchen without a stool. It’s hard to be 5 minutes late to class – while you’ve got all the sympathy in the world from your teachers – because your school is so darn big. It’s hard to be stared at. It’s hard to be shrieked at because someone is truly taken aback by your height. It’s hard to be asked “how’s the weather down there?” It’s hard to be called a midget – basically the equivalent of the n-word. It’s hard to have many close friends who “get” you to a point, but will never be able to “get” that one piece of you. It’s hard to have how much you actually can do alone be underestimated. At the same time, it’s hard to have to ask someone to grab that one pint of ice cream you can’t reach because, though you’re best at shelf-climbing, it’s too risky sometimes. 🙂
But it’s what has made me stronger. I am really outgoing, and I think my dwarfism contributes to that extremely. My average-height friends have supported me in every way they can. They honestly have told me they forget I’m short. And I love that. They have seen beyond my differences.
My uniqueness is part of me, but not the whole. It has made me who I am, and I would never, ever want to change. I have more opportunities to stand up for myself. I want to educate people about dwarfism as much as possible. It’s not a “disease” that can be cured, but there are thousands of lives that hold this genetic blip that gets over-judged by everyone.
I am me. I always have been, and I always will be. I most likely won’t be growing any more. And I’m okay with that. I have learned to accept myself. I am beyond sure that God had a supreme purpose for putting me right here, right now, just as I am. I just haven’t found that purpose yet.
Thank you for listening.
I just needed to get that out… hoping to find a support system here, because the one in my ‘real world’ is slowly coming down.
by Band Back Together | Dec 20, 2018 | Coping With Depression, Depression, Feelings, Loneliness, Major Depressive Disorder, Marriage and Partnership, Marriage Problems, Mental Health, Sadness |
I’m lonely.
I’m really lonely.
Yet I’m married, have four amazing kids and a dog. Yet, I am so lonely that it sometimes feels like my chest will explode.
I used to have friends. I used to be the life of the party. I was always the one that did the crazy stunts or stayed up for two days drinking and having a good time. I used to have a great marriage, and the kids and I always had fun and went and explored.
But then I lost everything.
Money, cars, my house, my mobility, my health. I became disabled in September of 2005. I won’t go into all the boring details but let’s just say that I will be lucky to be able to walk in a few years, even if the rate of progression stays slow like it is now.
I lost almost every friend.
People I had always been there for. People I loved, loaned money to, made soup for when they were sick, gave a shoulder to cry on, etc. Yet, at a pretty steady pace, all these people no longer cared about me. I could no longer party, no longer stay up late, no longer hike or camp with them, no longer go on long car rides. So they replaced me or just stopped calling.
Yet I could have still had a glass of wine with them or played video or board games; shit man I even knit. Yet it wasn’t good enough. And like a fool, I called, emailed, texted and IM’d all of them all the time. No response. Instead, I torture myself by reading their Facebook posts. I see the pictures of them having fun and hanging out, hugging and laughing. I see them interacting and carrying on like I never existed. It hurts. It hurts so bad that I cry a few times a week as I look at the pictures and see the joy in their face.
But what about my wife you say?
My wife has since become a roommate. She has had a long term affair with another man and acted like it was no big deal when I found out. She is never home and leaves me here with the kids all day every day. She can go three or four days without saying more than a single word to me and the kids. I’ve been with her since I was 17 years old. I’m now 33. So that makes the heart hurt worse, the tears burn a bit more and the darkness just that little bit thicker.
The kids, four boys who I live and would die for, try and understand. They don’t, and I don’t want them to know it all. It would scare them. They don’t get why I can’t give them piggy back rides, wrestle with them or just sit on the floor and play. So they aren’t around much. They go to my mom’s house to play over there, go to their friends’ house, or sit in their rooms and play games on the computer. They see the pharmacy on my night stand and see me cry out in pain. They’ve seen me fall down and they’ve seen me in the hospital.
And that, my invisible internet friends? That makes it all hurt so much more than anything that’s ever been done to me.
I sit here day after day. I look out the same window and wonder what other people are doing. I wonder if my name ever comes up in conversation or if people see old pictures of me and ask what happened to me.
I wonder if I will ever have somebody to sit with and tell them how I feel? Someone I can cry to and explain my fears to. Someone I can laugh with, and for just a minute forget what my life has become. Someone who will hold my hand, or brush a stray hair from my cheek or maybe a rouge tear or two, or many.
I want to feel again. I want to smile and laugh. I want to feel wanted and appreciated and not cold and angry.
So, I sit here. I write these words. Maybe a person or two will read this. In the end though, none of my old friends will read this. None of them will realize how bad they’ve hurt me. My wife will never change, and it’s too late for that anyway. The divorce papers are sitting in my sock drawer, waiting to be signed.
I never would have thought that the final years of my cut-short life would be spent in such physical and emotional pain. I never knew that loneliness would seem like it’s killing me faster than any disease and disability could.
This is just me venting. This is a great way to express what I really feel, without having to keep it all bottled up. If I had to keep this bottled up, it would drive me down, it would pull me under. I can’t let that happen. I have to be able to find small joys in life, like singing to the kids, making fun of Jenny McCarthy, and just living life to the best of my ability!
I love this site and the writers on here. You all are amazing people, and Aunt Becky is my hero!
(ed note: I love you. I’m glad you wrote this out. We’re all here for you. xo, AB)
