I haven’t even had this blog a year yet and it feels so majorly important to me. I’ve written a great deal of poetry here. I’ve also touched quite a bit on mental health. I’ve really combined the two in a book that I’ve written through Flutter Press. This is so exciting! It’s called “I’m Still Here.”
http://createspace.com/6445470
Thank you for the support I’ve gotten from all of you. It means so much!
Blue pills, white, stripes down the middle. A nightly ritual.
Tire my body but relentlessly clouding my wandering mind. What makes me angry is that I can’t remember what it was like before my colorful cohorts.
Who am I? Why can’t I hold a thought? Can anyone hear me?
Beautiful Minds published my story guys!
I’d love it if you gave it a read. It’s a very honest piece.
Http://ruleisjustafourletter.wordpress.com inspired me to write this post.
Just a warning there may be some triggers for those who struggle with body image and eating disorders.
Body issues have plagued me my entire life. To me, hating your body and obsessing over calories was totally normal. I still obsess from time to time. I can get hyper focused on what I believe to be imperfections. But my mental illness and infertility took precedent. Now I’d like to share more about the years 2012-2014 and how bad things really became.
I’m a petite girl. Petite, bespectacled, and rather introverted. Being thin at 5’4″ and 105 lbs most of my life, I received some envious attention from women, and compliments from men. After a while I felt that the word “skinny” was an who I was. Part of my identity. Well when I began psychiatric meds, I didn’t gain weight like many do. I lost some. Prozac and depression which made me lose my appetite brought me down to 90 lbs. I loved it. Going down a pant size felt like an accomplishment. (Even though I didn’t do a thing to feel prideful about.)
I began to think that if I regulated my diet, I could look even better. Maybe wear a size 0! So I started the morning with a granola bar. I’d have another at lunch, and one more at dinner with 2 cans of soda in between. For a grand total of 500 calories! I was STARVING. LITERALLY. I did not look good! The bones on my chest protruded. So did my spine. I’ll never forget laying on the thin carpet doing ab exercises. The next day my spine was killing me. I looked in the mirror to find a line of bruises for each vertebrae just from the pressure of laying on a hard surface.
I went straight to Carl’s Jr. and ate a bbq burger with fries. I felt so full it was painful. I hopped on the stationary bike in my bedroom and peddled while I cried my eyes out.
I went a year weighing 86 lbs. I had no breasts, no butt, no energy, and no confidence. I knew I looked sick, but I didn’t want to gain weight and feel “average.” I thought being skinny set me apart and made me special…
It took me going to therapy for my depression/bipolar which turned into Schizoaffective diagnosis to get help with my weight. I went to group meetings. I met up with girls in my area, and I changed my meds. My appetite came back very slowly. Everything didn’t magical go back to normal resulting in a happy me. I hated the initial weight gain. I felt bloated and ugly. But I ate 3 meals a day, and did Pilates and some cardio 3 days a week regardless. Now I NEVER weigh myself. Even at the doctors office, I step on the scale backwards and ask them not to tell me the number. I know I’ll obsess. I know that number would feel too high and may send me into a tailspin. I also don’t talk to women about the size clothing that I wear, and I often don’t wear tight jeans. Tight fabric across my stomach is a major trigger. Thank God for this boho loose fitting trend. I’m a hippie at heart and love to be comfortable in a maxi dress.
I’m now around 115 lbs (I think) and I still have days when I look at my body and see a hot mess. Going to a restaurant and seeing the calories next to the food items makes me want to cry and I feel terrible for eating only half. Other days I feel beautiful and I eat what I feel like.
The point is, it might always be a struggle. I’ve read posts on here about women struggling and it breaks my heart. I want to let all of you know that you can come to me if you ever need to to talk. I’m with you and rooting for you to find your worth and a sense of balance that makes life worth living.
Xoxo Kate
I will not ruin this day for him I say into the bathroom mirror. For good measure I repeat it three times. Each time becomes less convincing than the last.
Yesterday I was so sure my mental state was crystal clear and emotions were manageable. Now my mind is playing some twisted tortuous game. The highs and lows flow so fluidly. Like a child flying down a slide and racing back to climb up again for one more thrill.
I meet my gaze once again in the mirror at my makeup application, my straightened hair and my strategically planned outfit.
I should be happy.
They’re counting on me.
I don’t crave attention because I despise people who do just that.
Its not attention that I need.
Id settle for a shred of acknowledgment. If I’m lucky, a hug and a sense of promise, not verbally , but internally, that I’m strong enough to make it.
My chest tightens, fearful tears fill my eyes. I know this feeling.
My mind races and I’m desperate.
Dizzy eyes, quickening breaths, and a lightheadedness that alerts me that I’m slipping into full-blown panic.
I don’t surrender.
Then I attempted a new calming technique that my therapist taught me just in the knick of time . I close my eyes and envision my favorite color.
Purple energy waves of appreciation and love fill my lungs as I breathe it in deeply. I picture this energy encompassing my heart and keeping me safe. Then breathe out. (I repeated it 4 times.) I find it works better with my right hand on my chest so I can feel the rise and fall of my breathing.
Its so much more soothing when you have the soft voice of a warm, kind, therapist coaching you through it. I also know full well that I must look like a totally crazy person about to recite the pledge of alliegence. But hey, whatever works! Im becoming such a pro, I hardly get that embarassed anymore. I can finally see the humor in all this madness.
Now I know you may be impressed with how zen I’ve become. But should also disclosr that I took 1mg of klonopin. So, who knows what really stopped my panic attack. I’m leaning towards the klonopin, but I do feel quite accomplished for even attempting to handle my anxiety on my own by adding some breathing techniques instead of just popping a pill and hoping for the best.
I’d love to hear what works for any of you out there! That is, if anyone reads this…
It’s my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in my life I wish for measles or smallpox or some other easily understood disease just to make it easier on me and also on them.
Jennifer Niven
Tiny waiting room. 8×10 anxiety chamber. Always packed to full compacity. I was lucky to find an open seat. Here I sit a woman to my right, man to my left. Our elbows graze each other’s and I smell a combination of perfumes and colognes forming a distinct ‘old lady smell’ with a hint of Axe body spray for bros.
Why so anxious? I’m here for help just like my fellow waiting room companions. We’re on equal ground. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed and inferior, but I do.
So here I sit. Heart racing, head down as I type on my phone. I feel like everyone is staring. Every sound startles me. They can call my name anytime now….
I was a bit apprehensive when I scheduled an appointment to see a therapist. I mean, I’ve been in therapy off and on since the age of 11. I’m a huge believer in therapy and the field of Psychology BUT I grew so tired of talking about my childhood abuse. I mean, therapy has helped. But after a while it became tiresome. Almost as if I was telling a story to my therapist for her benefit because talking wasn’t helping me anymore.
So I took a year long break.
I met with my new therapist Rachel this afternoon. I plan on talking more about my infertility journey, and really trying to strengthen and build some solid coping skills. The fact that I’ll be turning 30 this summer and
1. Have no children
2. Have no career (can’t hold down a job since my mental health diagnosis)
3. Am left with student loans from a B.A when I’m not sure I can pay them back. I want a masters, but I can’t see going for my schooling if I can’t hold down a job.
So I have my work cut out for me. Rachel seemed very sweet and understanding. She mentioned a form of therapy that’s very popular in the UK called Schema Therapy.
http://www.schematherapy-nola.com/what-is-schema-therapy
Have any of you heard of it? I feel very positive about the things to come. Not sure if my good mood will last, but Im ready to do some changing/growing. I can’t wait to get started!
As usual im freaking out about an upcoming appointment I have. Anxious but relieved acually. This will be my first formal evaluation which will lead to psychatric testing to determin my diagnosis. First I was labeled as Bipolar 2, then Bipolar 1, Schizoaffective, and now im not sure.
I have a strong feeling Schizoaffective will be the outcome, but im afraid the doctor will tell me im worse off than I anticipated.
Sure, it’s just a label, but Schizophrenia scares me.
Im hoping somone out there can help me. Have any readers applied for total disability to get student loans erased? I cant hold on to a job. My hallucinations, and the voices in my head make functioning normally seem imposible. Also, what can i expect from this evaluation? I like to be prepared,but have no idea what to expect.
Thanks for reading<3
peaceableme 