Rachel has been telling me since the beginning of therapy that I need to find outlets for my excess energy, both physical and mental. We've tried many things, some which have worked, some which have BOMBED. For some people, running or other forms of exercise work. With my sciatica, bursitis, and asthma, that doesn't always work well. Many times, it makes my body ache which makes my depression and anxiety worse. I have found a wonderful yoga DVD that works wonderfully though.
I've also found that music, books, and cooking all give me ways to focus my energy on something much healthier than the ruminations that would occur otherwise and also give me a sense that I'm accomplishing something. Still, I'm the type that gets bored easily. Sometimes, I just need a different outlet. So, I'm always looking for something, something to keep my mind busy and off all the negative thoughts, some way to channel that mental energy into something good when my body just can't keep up with it.
My newest outlet is Colourlovers. It is a website that lets you create patterns or color existing patterns. It keeps my mind focused while allowing me to feel creative. Also, I can use those patterns to create backgrounds for Twitter and even this blog. (Yes, this new background is one that I personally created from scratch using Colourlovers.) Because I can create so many different patterns and styles in so many colors, it keeps me from getting bored as easily. Also, I love getting messages that others have "loved" my patterns or even used them in their own new colored backgrounds. It gives me a sense that I'm being helpful, useful, and doing something that brings a smile to the faces of others.
Will Colourlovers stay one of my major outlets? I'm not sure, but for right now, I'm greatly enjoying it.
So, what are your favorite outlets?
(To find me at Colourlovers, look for Hoosier_Kat.)
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The Importance of Perspective
I'm not a religious person. I consider myself more humanistic, sometimes agnostic, sometimes more Buddhist, or even Universalist. I grew up in and out of Christian churches. I went to a Catholic college (and attended more masses than most of my Catholic friends due to my participation in choir). Still, despite my lack of religiosity, this clip from the movie "Soul Surfer" really speaks to me.
It is set during a session of a night time youth group and ends with a Bible verse, but the important message is still universal. It's about perspective. It's about the fact that sometimes, we try so hard to make sense of things that we miss the big picture. It's about the fact that sometimes we just need to take a step back and look at things in a different way. That by doing so, we are able to gain a different understanding, a better understanding.
I find this very true in dealing with my anxiety and depression. Sometimes, it just seems like so much, so overwhelming. Sometimes, I just can't understand the "why"s, the "what"s, and the "how"s that go along with it and with my CBT. So, sometimes, I just need to take a step back and look at things from a different perspective. It may not be that my actions were wrong, that I "failed". It may just be that I was acting on a false understanding.
When I first started therapy, we started with ERP. ERP totally didn't work for me at the time. Why? Because when I couldn't wait thirty seconds before washing my hands, every time, I felt like a failure. It didn't matter that I was able to do so 50% of the time. It was the 50% that I wasn't able that mattered. I failed to wait to wash my hands. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's not what the purpose of the exercise was. It wasn't about waiting to wash my hands. It was about showing myself and my brain that I was able to stand up against my OCD thoughts. Was I able to stand up against them? Not always, but yes, I did, 50% of the time. That's 50% more than I did before, 50% more than I thought I could, 50% more than I realized at the time. Why didn't I realize it? I didn't realize it, because I was looking at the exercise from the wrong perspective. This happens to me A LOT, but I'm working on it.
So, next time you're struggling with the rituals, the obsessive thoughts, the ERP or CBT, try taking a step back and looking at it from a different perspective. Sometimes it's about the forest. Sometimes it's about the trees. Sometimes it's about something else entirely. You just have to take some time to process it and figure it out.
It is set during a session of a night time youth group and ends with a Bible verse, but the important message is still universal. It's about perspective. It's about the fact that sometimes, we try so hard to make sense of things that we miss the big picture. It's about the fact that sometimes we just need to take a step back and look at things in a different way. That by doing so, we are able to gain a different understanding, a better understanding.
I find this very true in dealing with my anxiety and depression. Sometimes, it just seems like so much, so overwhelming. Sometimes, I just can't understand the "why"s, the "what"s, and the "how"s that go along with it and with my CBT. So, sometimes, I just need to take a step back and look at things from a different perspective. It may not be that my actions were wrong, that I "failed". It may just be that I was acting on a false understanding.
When I first started therapy, we started with ERP. ERP totally didn't work for me at the time. Why? Because when I couldn't wait thirty seconds before washing my hands, every time, I felt like a failure. It didn't matter that I was able to do so 50% of the time. It was the 50% that I wasn't able that mattered. I failed to wait to wash my hands. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's not what the purpose of the exercise was. It wasn't about waiting to wash my hands. It was about showing myself and my brain that I was able to stand up against my OCD thoughts. Was I able to stand up against them? Not always, but yes, I did, 50% of the time. That's 50% more than I did before, 50% more than I thought I could, 50% more than I realized at the time. Why didn't I realize it? I didn't realize it, because I was looking at the exercise from the wrong perspective. This happens to me A LOT, but I'm working on it.
So, next time you're struggling with the rituals, the obsessive thoughts, the ERP or CBT, try taking a step back and looking at it from a different perspective. Sometimes it's about the forest. Sometimes it's about the trees. Sometimes it's about something else entirely. You just have to take some time to process it and figure it out.
Friday, February 24, 2012
What Can I Say???
It's been a LONG time since I've blogged. Things have been insane. Between holiday issues, two visits from my dad, wisdom tooth extractions, multiple viruses and migraines.......well, the list goes on.....I just haven't felt much like blogging. I've felt more like wrapping my self up in a warm blankie and hiding from the world. I didn't mind you. I felt like it, but I didn't. I just focused on getting through it all however I could. "Survival mode" as Rachel calls it.
I've felt guilty for not blogging, but I know that in the long run, taking a break from it to focus on other things was what I needed to do. I just needed to slow down and focus on a few small things that helped me through. As Ashley Turner would say, I needed to slow down and move into the slow lane. In doing so, I really have come to understand more about myself, my family, my friends, and my life in general. I really feel like I'm doing quite well, better than I've done in a long time. Overall, I feel happier, stronger, and calmer, and I feel ready to finally return to my blog and all my blog buddies. I've missed you all!
I've felt guilty for not blogging, but I know that in the long run, taking a break from it to focus on other things was what I needed to do. I just needed to slow down and focus on a few small things that helped me through. As Ashley Turner would say, I needed to slow down and move into the slow lane. In doing so, I really have come to understand more about myself, my family, my friends, and my life in general. I really feel like I'm doing quite well, better than I've done in a long time. Overall, I feel happier, stronger, and calmer, and I feel ready to finally return to my blog and all my blog buddies. I've missed you all!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I Burnt My Bagel
Don't get me wrong, my brain started it's normal belittling mental chatter, but then I remembered my "assignment" to fail. I thought to myself, "Self, is this a failure? Is this my chance to put this assignment to use?"
While burning a bagel may not seem like a failure to most, it does often feel like one to me. So, I decided to go with it. I stopped and thought to myself, "Self, you burnt your bagel. Wow! What a big deal! Yes, you could have popped it out sooner. Of course, that may have been a little difficult seeing as you were across the house doing something else at the same time. It's just a bagel. It's not the end of the world. It may be a little extra crispy, but oh well. We'll hide it under a little low-fat cream cheese. Let's move on and enjoy the rest of the day."
It took me a little while to process it all and really come to terms with it, but halfway through crunching on my extra crispy bagel, I really started believing that my burnt bagel was no big deal. Go figure! Now I can't wait until my next failure! : )
Friday, October 28, 2011
Emotional Whirlwind
I'm sorry for not posting. I really haven't felt up to it. I'm still dealing with a swirl of emotions left over from the emotional "perfect storm" that occurred last week. Besides watching the Dan Wheldon Memorial Service on Sunday as a way to get a sense of closure, I've also had to take my mom to the cardiologist to go over what happened at the neurologist and what her 24-hour heart monitor showed.
Everything went smoothly with both things. The Memorial Service was beautiful, sorrowful, and funny. (Who knew Dan Wheldon had OCD???) I really did feel better for watching it. I had debated with myself for days. I felt I needed to watch it as I was still having a difficult time believing he was really gone. I felt nervous though as I don't tend to deal well with funerals or wakes. I was worried that it would set off an entirely new set of emotions that I just didn't want to deal with. Finally, I made the decision to watch it and record it as well, in case I wasn't yet ready to actually watch the entire thing. Then I could watch it in bits and pieces as I felt ready. I did get through the entire service. I still feel some deep sadness (depression???) over the situation (and all it reminds me of), but I've come more to terms with it. I no longer feel that doubt and uncertainty I felt before.
The trip to the cardiologist was nerve racking. I always hate going to any doctor, but knowing I was taking my mom to find out why she had the episode she did at the neurologist, the one that landed her in the ER for six hours, had my anxiety level sky high. I knew that there was the possibility that her Long QT or her mitral valve prolapse had worsened. I also knew that it very well could be nothing, but just the thought that something could be seriously wrong had my mind racing. Would she need surgery??? This thought kept whirling through my mind, as did other darker ones I don't want to revisit. I did my best to hide all of this from everyone, to act as if it was no big deal, but a did let out a silent sigh of relief from deep in my soul when the doctor said that the monitor didn't show anything very interesting. Her heart rate and blood pressure have been running slightly low, but there were no abnormally rapid arrhythmias which was good. He took her off her beta blocker and reduced her water pill. He also asked her to record her BP twice a day, and she is to go back in two weeks. Despite this good news, I still feel overwhelmed and scared by the entire situation.
The worst thing is that my moods have been all over the place. From day to day or even hour to hour, I can go from sad, to anxious, to giddy, to fearless, to angry at the world, or even to just plain numb and apathetic. It is this last one that has me the most concerned. I can figure out where all the others come from, what causes them, and even how to deal with them. The numbness makes me fear that I'm simply checking out, because I can't deal with things. This is usually what happens when I hit my darkest times, when things become the most overwhelming. I simply don't care at all. Nothing matters. Nothing affects me. I'm simply not feeling. I recognize this when it's happening, I just can't figure out how to bring myself out of it. This brings about feelings of failure on top of everything else. ARGH!
I think this is why I haven't felt like blogging, or really doing much of anything, because I can't figure out these emotions, and at times, I just don't care. I know I'll have to discuss all of this with Rachel today during therapy. Perhaps she can pull out some of her special Rachel power and figure it all out. She has a tendency to do that. Sometimes, it's quite annoying, especially when it's something I just don't want to deal with. LOL
Also, I have an appointment with the doctor on Monday. We will be reviewing meds and hopefully figuring out what to do with these stupid allergies. This has me nervous as it is a trip to the doc, time out of the house, and a possible/probable change, but I've been trying to keep in mind that it is a good thing. Dealing with the allergies and tweaking my meds should make me feel much better. I'm going to try to continue to focus on this and hope that I can make it through without too much anxiety. I will try to keep you all informed of what changes we make and how they affect my anxiety level.
I also want to say a huge thank you to all those who have sent me support during the last couple of weeks and even before. Your support really makes a greater impact than you could even imagine. Thank you. Virtual hugs.
Everything went smoothly with both things. The Memorial Service was beautiful, sorrowful, and funny. (Who knew Dan Wheldon had OCD???) I really did feel better for watching it. I had debated with myself for days. I felt I needed to watch it as I was still having a difficult time believing he was really gone. I felt nervous though as I don't tend to deal well with funerals or wakes. I was worried that it would set off an entirely new set of emotions that I just didn't want to deal with. Finally, I made the decision to watch it and record it as well, in case I wasn't yet ready to actually watch the entire thing. Then I could watch it in bits and pieces as I felt ready. I did get through the entire service. I still feel some deep sadness (depression???) over the situation (and all it reminds me of), but I've come more to terms with it. I no longer feel that doubt and uncertainty I felt before.
The trip to the cardiologist was nerve racking. I always hate going to any doctor, but knowing I was taking my mom to find out why she had the episode she did at the neurologist, the one that landed her in the ER for six hours, had my anxiety level sky high. I knew that there was the possibility that her Long QT or her mitral valve prolapse had worsened. I also knew that it very well could be nothing, but just the thought that something could be seriously wrong had my mind racing. Would she need surgery??? This thought kept whirling through my mind, as did other darker ones I don't want to revisit. I did my best to hide all of this from everyone, to act as if it was no big deal, but a did let out a silent sigh of relief from deep in my soul when the doctor said that the monitor didn't show anything very interesting. Her heart rate and blood pressure have been running slightly low, but there were no abnormally rapid arrhythmias which was good. He took her off her beta blocker and reduced her water pill. He also asked her to record her BP twice a day, and she is to go back in two weeks. Despite this good news, I still feel overwhelmed and scared by the entire situation.
The worst thing is that my moods have been all over the place. From day to day or even hour to hour, I can go from sad, to anxious, to giddy, to fearless, to angry at the world, or even to just plain numb and apathetic. It is this last one that has me the most concerned. I can figure out where all the others come from, what causes them, and even how to deal with them. The numbness makes me fear that I'm simply checking out, because I can't deal with things. This is usually what happens when I hit my darkest times, when things become the most overwhelming. I simply don't care at all. Nothing matters. Nothing affects me. I'm simply not feeling. I recognize this when it's happening, I just can't figure out how to bring myself out of it. This brings about feelings of failure on top of everything else. ARGH!
I think this is why I haven't felt like blogging, or really doing much of anything, because I can't figure out these emotions, and at times, I just don't care. I know I'll have to discuss all of this with Rachel today during therapy. Perhaps she can pull out some of her special Rachel power and figure it all out. She has a tendency to do that. Sometimes, it's quite annoying, especially when it's something I just don't want to deal with. LOL
Also, I have an appointment with the doctor on Monday. We will be reviewing meds and hopefully figuring out what to do with these stupid allergies. This has me nervous as it is a trip to the doc, time out of the house, and a possible/probable change, but I've been trying to keep in mind that it is a good thing. Dealing with the allergies and tweaking my meds should make me feel much better. I'm going to try to continue to focus on this and hope that I can make it through without too much anxiety. I will try to keep you all informed of what changes we make and how they affect my anxiety level.
I also want to say a huge thank you to all those who have sent me support during the last couple of weeks and even before. Your support really makes a greater impact than you could even imagine. Thank you. Virtual hugs.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Help! My Therapist Has Morphed Into Nancy Reagan!!!!
Ugh!!! So Tuesday's therapy session set me off a little. Yes, it has taken me two days to even get to the point where I can blog about it. It started off with the construction in the parking lot. I couldn't park where I normally do, and there was only one space available. The problem was that the cars parked on either side of the empty space were hugging the line. Once I finally got squeezed into the skinny strip of asphalt available, I had a new problem. I could barely get out of the car! UGH!!! Don't people know you're supposed to park in the middle of the space??? Come on people! Show some courtesy!
Once I finally made it inside, less than five minutes before my scheduled time, the waiting room was crowded. There was a college student near the door (blowing his nose for five minutes straight) and a flock of other people spread around the room. I had to wait in line behind a woman who must have thought she had all the time in the world, just so I could sign in. I finally took a seat as far away from everyone as possible (without being near the bathroom). Unfortunately, this was right by the reception desk, at which the woman with the temporal issues was still standing. So, of course, my body automatically leans toward the right and the other empty seats. But wait...this can't be the end of the ordeal. In walks a snotty-nosed, hyperactive little boy who immediately leaps into the chairs next to me. HELLO!!! On top of all this, my therapist was running late....fifteen minutes late to be exact.
By the time I finally got back to my therapist's office, my head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I was ready to throw up and run away screaming all at the same time. Just thinking about it now has my pulse rising. Whew.....Breathe....Okay.....
So, I finally start my session...fifteen minutes late....and my therapist asks me how I've been doing and what I want to talk about. The problem is, I can't think straight, because my mind is still out in the waiting room. So, I tell her that. Which sets off a whole, "Why didn't you ask to wait in the back?" thing. Yes, I get that plenty of people wait in the back. Yes, I get that it is an accepted thing for them. Yes, I get that it is more than okay with the staff, that they even expect it. Still, it's not acceptable for me. I try to explain this to Rachel, but I'm not sure if she gets it. Yes, the waiting room sent my anxiety sky high, but for me, waiting in the back (which I've never done) sets of an entirely different set of worries and anxieties as well as a feeling of failure and "why can't I just suck it up and wait in the waiting room like a "normal" person?".
Rachel tries to explain that waiting in the back is normal, accepted, and even expected and that removing myself from a situation that makes my anxiety flare is not failure, but a positive step. Cognitively, I get that, but emotionally, I'm not there. The entire idea of waiting in the back raises my anxiety even more than just waiting it out. Why in the world is something so simple so difficult???!!!
Anyway...this brings the entire session to the good old conversation that I feel I've had a thousand times within the last few months...putting myself and my needs first. I just can't seem to get this. Rachel and I have been over this time and again. We've talked about voicing my needs and setting boundaries, etc. I get the need. I just can't seem to do it.
It is so complicated. I can't seem to reconcile the idea that putting some focus on my need is not the same as being selfish. We're always taught to share, to eat what you are served, to give to others who are less fortunate, to be a good sport, to be there for your friends and family when they need you, etc. Not doing so is equivalent to being selfish. If this is true, then how is it not selfish when I say, "No, I can't babysit my niece and nephew this weekend" and do so for no other reason than I simply don't want to, that babysitting them drives up my anxiety until I am physically ill? How is it not selfish to say, "No, I understand that you really want chili for dinner tonight, but I don't. Let's have something else"? To me, being unselfish means giving others what they want and need and making them happy. Taking away what they want simply because I don't would then make me selfish.
I'm sure this is all just some warped idea my brain has conjured up. I just can't find my way out of it's mess right now. Rachel asked a question. Do I give in because it's easier, or do I give in because I don't think I deserve to be happy and have what I want as much as others deserve to be happy and have what they want? My blunt, truthful answer??? Both. Yes, it is easier to give in, especially with family. My family knows how to bully and manipulate to get what they want. When they do so, they prey on things that make me feel worse about myself. Of course, I want to avoid this. If the purpose of "Saying No" and setting boundaries is to avoid things that make me anxious and to make myself happy, then how is submitting to their bullying and manipulation helping??? It definitely doesn't help me avoid things that make me feel worse.
I know that this is more of my mind's messed up thought process. I can't keep everyone happy, and I can't keep everyone safe. It's not possible. I don't have that kind of control over the world. Still, I can't wrap my mind around the thought of not doing everything possible. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my saying, "No, I can't go shopping today. I know it's better for you, but I'm just not in a place, mentally, to do it. Let's go tomorrow instead..." isn't going to hurt someone's feelings and make them upset at me, or if it does, then that's their problem, not mine. That getting upset over something as little as that is their problem to deal with and doesn't reflect on me. That they are adults who can deal with it themselves and make their own decisions. That they'll either get over it and move on, or they won't, and that if they can't respect my needs, then maybe it's better I'm not around them.
All of this has made this week's "homework" overwhelming. I'm supposed to focus on putting my needs first and setting boundaries. I'm supposed to work on "Just Say No". The thought of doing so makes me physically ill. I literally started crying at the thought of this as Rachel and I discussed it during my session. Rachel noticed and asked if we needed to back off. Of course, I couldn't even say no to that. I smiled, wiped away the tears, and told her I was fine, but for the last two days, I've been in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, sick to my stomach, and just an overall mess. I know this is something I need to work on. I know it will be hard. I know it will eventually be possible. I'm just not sure how I can do this, if I can do this, especially right now.
Once I finally made it inside, less than five minutes before my scheduled time, the waiting room was crowded. There was a college student near the door (blowing his nose for five minutes straight) and a flock of other people spread around the room. I had to wait in line behind a woman who must have thought she had all the time in the world, just so I could sign in. I finally took a seat as far away from everyone as possible (without being near the bathroom). Unfortunately, this was right by the reception desk, at which the woman with the temporal issues was still standing. So, of course, my body automatically leans toward the right and the other empty seats. But wait...this can't be the end of the ordeal. In walks a snotty-nosed, hyperactive little boy who immediately leaps into the chairs next to me. HELLO!!! On top of all this, my therapist was running late....fifteen minutes late to be exact.
By the time I finally got back to my therapist's office, my head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I was ready to throw up and run away screaming all at the same time. Just thinking about it now has my pulse rising. Whew.....Breathe....Okay.....
So, I finally start my session...fifteen minutes late....and my therapist asks me how I've been doing and what I want to talk about. The problem is, I can't think straight, because my mind is still out in the waiting room. So, I tell her that. Which sets off a whole, "Why didn't you ask to wait in the back?" thing. Yes, I get that plenty of people wait in the back. Yes, I get that it is an accepted thing for them. Yes, I get that it is more than okay with the staff, that they even expect it. Still, it's not acceptable for me. I try to explain this to Rachel, but I'm not sure if she gets it. Yes, the waiting room sent my anxiety sky high, but for me, waiting in the back (which I've never done) sets of an entirely different set of worries and anxieties as well as a feeling of failure and "why can't I just suck it up and wait in the waiting room like a "normal" person?".
Rachel tries to explain that waiting in the back is normal, accepted, and even expected and that removing myself from a situation that makes my anxiety flare is not failure, but a positive step. Cognitively, I get that, but emotionally, I'm not there. The entire idea of waiting in the back raises my anxiety even more than just waiting it out. Why in the world is something so simple so difficult???!!!
Anyway...this brings the entire session to the good old conversation that I feel I've had a thousand times within the last few months...putting myself and my needs first. I just can't seem to get this. Rachel and I have been over this time and again. We've talked about voicing my needs and setting boundaries, etc. I get the need. I just can't seem to do it.
It is so complicated. I can't seem to reconcile the idea that putting some focus on my need is not the same as being selfish. We're always taught to share, to eat what you are served, to give to others who are less fortunate, to be a good sport, to be there for your friends and family when they need you, etc. Not doing so is equivalent to being selfish. If this is true, then how is it not selfish when I say, "No, I can't babysit my niece and nephew this weekend" and do so for no other reason than I simply don't want to, that babysitting them drives up my anxiety until I am physically ill? How is it not selfish to say, "No, I understand that you really want chili for dinner tonight, but I don't. Let's have something else"? To me, being unselfish means giving others what they want and need and making them happy. Taking away what they want simply because I don't would then make me selfish.
I'm sure this is all just some warped idea my brain has conjured up. I just can't find my way out of it's mess right now. Rachel asked a question. Do I give in because it's easier, or do I give in because I don't think I deserve to be happy and have what I want as much as others deserve to be happy and have what they want? My blunt, truthful answer??? Both. Yes, it is easier to give in, especially with family. My family knows how to bully and manipulate to get what they want. When they do so, they prey on things that make me feel worse about myself. Of course, I want to avoid this. If the purpose of "Saying No" and setting boundaries is to avoid things that make me anxious and to make myself happy, then how is submitting to their bullying and manipulation helping??? It definitely doesn't help me avoid things that make me feel worse.
I know that this is more of my mind's messed up thought process. I can't keep everyone happy, and I can't keep everyone safe. It's not possible. I don't have that kind of control over the world. Still, I can't wrap my mind around the thought of not doing everything possible. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my saying, "No, I can't go shopping today. I know it's better for you, but I'm just not in a place, mentally, to do it. Let's go tomorrow instead..." isn't going to hurt someone's feelings and make them upset at me, or if it does, then that's their problem, not mine. That getting upset over something as little as that is their problem to deal with and doesn't reflect on me. That they are adults who can deal with it themselves and make their own decisions. That they'll either get over it and move on, or they won't, and that if they can't respect my needs, then maybe it's better I'm not around them.
All of this has made this week's "homework" overwhelming. I'm supposed to focus on putting my needs first and setting boundaries. I'm supposed to work on "Just Say No". The thought of doing so makes me physically ill. I literally started crying at the thought of this as Rachel and I discussed it during my session. Rachel noticed and asked if we needed to back off. Of course, I couldn't even say no to that. I smiled, wiped away the tears, and told her I was fine, but for the last two days, I've been in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, sick to my stomach, and just an overall mess. I know this is something I need to work on. I know it will be hard. I know it will eventually be possible. I'm just not sure how I can do this, if I can do this, especially right now.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Am I Worth the Investment???
Today is World Mental Health Day, a day dedicated to promoting awareness and open discussion of mental health issues. This year's them is "Investing in Mental Health".
I think that this is the hardest thing about therapy for me. I have never thought of myself as worthy of an investment. My focus has always been on making everyone else happy, doing for others as I would never do for myself. Holidays dinners had to include all my nieces' and nephews' favorite foods. It didn't matter how many hours I stood over the stove to do it. It didn't matter how stressed and tired I was or whether there was anything I liked to eat.
School was always about getting the best grades. Making my teachers and my mom happy. In high school I felt the necessity to become involved in every activity I thought might impress a college administrator. It didn't matter whether I chose the classes or paths I enjoyed. It didn't matter how stressed or overwhelmed I became.
This same idea that I didn't matter spilled over into all my relationships. I wasn't worthy of good relationships so it didn't matter how friends, family, or lovers treated me. Because I knew that I wasn't worthy of good relationships, I never really became fully attached to anyone. I kept a small part of me separate, knowing that in the end, people would hurt me and/or leave me. That had always been the way my relationships had worked in the past.
Moving past these ideas and realizing that I am worthy has been the toughest thing. The idea of my limited worth has been so ingrained for so long. It wasn't until my mom insisted that I take time to get help through Disability Medicaid so that I could receive treatment that I even considered the option. I had never considered therapy, because I had never considered myself worthy of it. I didn't consider myself worthy of it, but my mom did. It took someone else showing me that they saw my worth before I could even begin to see my own.
Through therapy, I have begun to look at this. I have begun to see that others, not just my mom, do see worth in me. If they see worth in me, how can I not see the worth in myself? This has been one of the major eye-opening moments for me, simply realizing I'm worth investing in. Realizing that investing in my own wants and needs doesn't mean that I don't care about the wants and needs of others. Realizing that investing in my own needs is a requirement if I truly want to be there for my friends and family rather than be detached from relationships. Therefore, for me, the first step in investing in my mental health has simply been realizing that I'm worthy of being invested in.
I think that this is the hardest thing about therapy for me. I have never thought of myself as worthy of an investment. My focus has always been on making everyone else happy, doing for others as I would never do for myself. Holidays dinners had to include all my nieces' and nephews' favorite foods. It didn't matter how many hours I stood over the stove to do it. It didn't matter how stressed and tired I was or whether there was anything I liked to eat.
School was always about getting the best grades. Making my teachers and my mom happy. In high school I felt the necessity to become involved in every activity I thought might impress a college administrator. It didn't matter whether I chose the classes or paths I enjoyed. It didn't matter how stressed or overwhelmed I became.
This same idea that I didn't matter spilled over into all my relationships. I wasn't worthy of good relationships so it didn't matter how friends, family, or lovers treated me. Because I knew that I wasn't worthy of good relationships, I never really became fully attached to anyone. I kept a small part of me separate, knowing that in the end, people would hurt me and/or leave me. That had always been the way my relationships had worked in the past.
Moving past these ideas and realizing that I am worthy has been the toughest thing. The idea of my limited worth has been so ingrained for so long. It wasn't until my mom insisted that I take time to get help through Disability Medicaid so that I could receive treatment that I even considered the option. I had never considered therapy, because I had never considered myself worthy of it. I didn't consider myself worthy of it, but my mom did. It took someone else showing me that they saw my worth before I could even begin to see my own.
Through therapy, I have begun to look at this. I have begun to see that others, not just my mom, do see worth in me. If they see worth in me, how can I not see the worth in myself? This has been one of the major eye-opening moments for me, simply realizing I'm worth investing in. Realizing that investing in my own wants and needs doesn't mean that I don't care about the wants and needs of others. Realizing that investing in my own needs is a requirement if I truly want to be there for my friends and family rather than be detached from relationships. Therefore, for me, the first step in investing in my mental health has simply been realizing that I'm worthy of being invested in.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
World Mental Health Day: Investing In Mental Health
October 10, 2011 is World Mental Health Day, a day to "raise public awareness of mental health issues" and "promote open discussions about mental disorders". This year's theme is "Investing in Mental Health". This obviously has multiple connotations.
The first is obviously about financially investing in mental health services. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), mental health services are highly underfunded around the world, especially in low or middle income countries who focus less than 2% of their health care budgets on mental health care. Many countries have less than one mental health care specialist for every one million people (in population). When you calculate that much of these funds and many of these specialists are allocated to large mental hospitals, how much is left for smaller community services? It is obvious that more funding is needed for mental health care in order to fund personalized and effective care for those dealing with mental health issues.
Another connotation of "Investing in Mental Health" is more personal. It is the time, energy, and emotion that those dealing with mental health issues invest every day. It is also the understanding and support that family and friends invest in these individuals. People don't always realize how much dealing with a mental health issue is like investing in the stock market. Those of use dealing with these types of issues may invest money in our therapy, our medications, etc., but even more so, we invest ourselves, our whole selves, in our therapy. We invest countless hours digging though thoughts and memories, understanding triggers, focusing on being mindful and staying present. We invest energy finding outlets for our stress and discovering coping mechanisms. We blog. We craft. We meditate. We invest in relationships with our therapists and our doctors, trusting them with our deepest emotions, our darkest thoughts, and our happiest triumphs. We invest all that we can in order to help ourselves in our struggles with our disorders.
Like the stock market, struggling with mental health issues has it's ups and downs. Just when you think your investment is starting to pay off, something comes and knocks you back down. Just like investing in the stock market, investing in your mental health is most successful when you invest long term. You can't be frightened by the ups and downs and bail out, no matter how much you might want to. You have to ride it out. Eventually, it will turn back around and regain its upward trend. Whether you are investing in your mental health or the stock market, the key is the same. If you invest enough and stick it out long enough, fighting through the ups and downs and never giving into the panic that the ups and downs cause, it eventually pays off in dividends, and you can become wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Power Over Poultry
For those who don't know, I have huge food contamination issues. One of my worst has to do with uncooked meat. I don't even like to touch the packages in the store. I've been know to go into full panic attack mode if I do. Hyperventilating, sobbing, the full nine yards, right in the middle of the supermarket.
I do love to cook, and this has made it really hard for me to do so in the recent years. I'm the wash the hands several times, every minute or two, kind of girl. Crack out the Clorox wipes and scrub down the kitchen a few times as well. Yes, it makes sense and is important to wash your hands and disinfect surfaces when working with raw meat, but for goodness sake, it takes me 45 minutes to prepare a meatloaf for the oven!???
I understand why I have these food issues. It's a complex combination of things. We had to be extra careful with cleanliness and food prep when my brother had cancer. On top of that, I have had food poisoning three times (thanks to two restaurants and a boxed food item). One of those times, I ended up in the ER and my mom ended up hospitalized. I've also had an uncle get E.Coli from a restaurant in Chicago. It nearly killed him and he hasn't been the same since. So, you can easily see where my food issues come from.
Last night, I decided to make roasted chicken legs for dinner. It was a challenge to myself. About a week and a half ago, I roasted a whole chicken. Poultry is usually a HUGE issue for me. As soon as I know I'm going to work with poultry, the OCD voice in my head starts chanting "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA". It starts out slowly and quietly at first and builds in both speed and volume. Usually, by the time I finally get the bird (or bird parts) in the oven, I'm frantic and hyperventilating. Still, I go through it, because I love chicken.
Preparing that whole chicken a week and a half ago was different though. I prepped in advance as Rachel and I had discussed I should do when working with raw meat. I had the oven preheated, dish out and sprayed, everything ready in advance. All I had to do was open the chicken, remove the giblets, and get it into the dish before I could wash my hands. All of this went off without a hitch. The first part of Battle Poultry went as planned. (I will admit one squeamish moment when trying to tuck back the wings. The stupid things just didn't want to cooperate, and I felt as if I was torturing the poor creature.) Next, I prepared the olive oil and my homemade seasoning salt by removing the lids and setting them to one side. This allowed me to pour and season with one clean hand while rubbing the olive oil and seasoning into the bird with my second hand. Once that was done, I used my clean hand to open the oven and stick in the bird. Done!
All that was left, was cleaning up the mess. I resisted the urge to wash my hands first before picking up the chicken wrappings that were laying in the sink and tossing them in the garbage. Why I ever thought I needed clean hands to do so is beyond me. Once the mess was out of the sink, I washed my hands, washed the kitchen shears used to open the bird, and wiped down the sink, faucet, countertop, etc. with a Clorox wipe. I washed my hands again for good measure and left the kitchen. I didn't return until the bird was done. : )
You might still think that is a lot of hand washing, but really it is greatly pared down for me. Only one Clorox wipe to boot! That's not the biggest deal, however. The biggest deal is that there was no panic mode, no hyperventilating. I think the OCD voice must have taken a vacation that day, or possibly had a sore throat. I'm not sure. Either way, there was no chanting of "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA".
Needless to say, I was so proud of myself that I did a little happy dance. When I told Rachel during our last session, she said that I had every right to be proud of myself. It is a big deal. Yet, my OCD voice (obviously fully recovered and/or back from vacay) kicked in and told me, "It's just a one time thing. There's no way you can do that again. You're not strong enough."
So, last night's chicken legs were a challenge to myself and my OCD voice, a way to prove it wrong. I'm happy to say, it went relatively well. Was there panic? No. There was a moment when one of the drumsticks flipped out of my hand, flew across the counter, and came to a rest on the lid of the container to my homemade seasoning salt. (The seasoning salt itself remained unaffected as I'd opened the container earlier.) My first thought was, "CRAP!!! Now the entire counter is dirty and full of germs, and I'll definitely have to wash that lid. Will the lid dry enough to be able to put back on the seasoning salt without making the seasoning salt clump???" Still, that was the extent of it. They were valid thoughts. They were reasonable and there was no repetitive chant of "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA" and no panic. Just annoyance at having to wash the lid and deal with the mess.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Therapy Anxiety
I'm a fall kind of girl. I love the crisp, coolness and the breeze filled with the smell of bonfires. I love brilliance of the leaves finally showing their true colors. I love that it is the season of pumpkins, apples, and sweet potatoes. I am happiest in the fall.
Given the unexpectedly fall-like weather, I've been on cloud nine. I've been curled up with a cup of tea, my dog, and a good book. Nothing could be better. Heck, I've even felt so energized that I've been jumping on the recumbent bike with my book, pedaling out 16-17 miles while enjoying the unusual love story between a vampire and a witch. (Yes, I am rereading "A Discovery of Witches for the fifth time. Don't judge me!)
Until yesterday afternoon. At first I thought it was do to the little pop-up storm we had that turned the sky black and sent everything in my backyard swirling in circles. But the storm passed, and despite that fact, I'm still anxious beyond belief. Then it hit me. Today is therapy day.
It does seem that I always get worked up the day of therapy. There is a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest. It's more than just the fact that going to therapy means leaving the house. I occasionally have to leave to go shopping, and while I do get anxious, it's not this level.
I think it's a combination of knowing that in reality, I don't really control my therapy, no matter how many times Rachel tries to tell me that she works for me, and knowing that I will have to address issues that I just don't want to address and feel emotions that I just don't want to feel. I adore Rachel. She is a great therapist and I feel more comfortable around her than I do most people (including half of my family), but sometimes I just wish she'd get horribly lost on her way to work, blow a tire in the middle of nowhere, and have no cell phone signal, so that they would call and cancel my session. I know.....it's terrible! Yes, it makes me feel guilty to even think that. (God forbid she actually gets lost, blows a tire, and has no cell signal. I don't think I'd ever be able to face her again.)
Still, I have never cancelled or walk out of a session. That's a good thing, right??? Despite that, I'm worried about why therapy makes me so anxious. Is this normal????
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wonder Woman I Am Not
So, why was I suddenly considered a hero??? Because after discussion about the difficulty of sifting through all the threads to find all the research everyone had done, we decided we needed to make a new thread and compile it all there. When no one else did so, I decided to go ahead and do it myself. Why not, I have the time and it's just the kind of thing I like.
So, with that I was suddenly a hero. Which reminds me of something Rachel is constantly telling me during our therapy sessions. "You are not Wonder Woman. It is not your job to save the world."
I think this is something that a lot of us deal with. We want to make sure everything is perfect for everyone. Sometimes, that keeps us from taking care of ourselves and focusing on our wants and needs. It is such a difficult, constant struggle to decide, "Am I being a kind, supportive friend/family member, or am I trying to be a superhero?"
When this woman said I was her hero, I immediately had to stop and think about it. Was I creating the thread and compiling the information because it was something I wanted to do or was I doing it to please everyone else? Was I doing it simply because everyone wanted it and no one else wanted to do it? Was I doing it because I felt it would make others look up to me with added respect? Was I doing it because it actually interested me and made me feel fulfilled?
After stopping to sort through all of this, I was secure in my choice to do it. I really did want one centralized place to put all of my research and be able to look back on everyone else's. That's the main reason I love this book and this discussion group. I also love the "tedious" task of sifting through it all. I actually find it mentally stimulating.
Still, the entire event brought to my attention the fact that I don't think through these things as much as I should. I really need to get back to taking a breath and thinking things through in advance, figuring out what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I've been focusing on this with some of my rituals, such as hand washing, but haven't been applying it to these types of situations. Who knew such a little thing on a discussion board for a piece of fiction could cause me to have such an epiphany?
I know that it will be tough to do this, but what isn't tough when dealing with anxiety disorders? I'll try to take it one day and one decision at a time and keep reminding myself that I'm not a superhero and don't want to be one. Being a superhero is too hard for a simple country girl like me who can't fly and doesn't own a lasso of truth. I'd rather just be me than hide behind a mask and a secret identity. Besides, no one would want to see me in tights and a cape. ; )
Thursday, September 22, 2011
A Tribute
I'm sorry that it has been so long since my last post. I've been going through a bit of a rough patch. You see, a big anniversary has hit me this month and has triggered a lot of emotions that I'm just not able to really deal with. Today is the 20th anniversary of my big brother's death.
It's something that, according to Rachel, I've never really grieved and actually have never really fully grasped. She feels that, even twenty years later, I'm still in shock. Maybe she's right. I don't know. What I do know is that my emotions are all over the place, I can't sleep, and my rituals are off the charts.
My big brother was the best man I've ever known. He is the one person who could tease me and make me feel loved at the same time. He's one of the few who made me feel protected and safe, even when he was weak from chemotherapy and radiation and couldn't even make it to his own bed. Even in the hardest times, he had a smile on his face. Everyone loved him.
Scott was 14 1/2 years older than me, but never treated me like a little kid. He always listened and respected what I said and how I felt, something most members of my family never did. He was the oldest and only my half-brother. He and my father never got along. As hard as my father was on everyone else, he was even worse on Scott. Still, that never changed the kind and caring person Scott was.
Because of the issues with my father, Scott moved out when I was four. I only saw him occasionally at holidays and family functions. Still, I felt closer to him than either of my other siblings. When I was nine, Scott was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease (a form of lymphoma). We first knew something was wrong when he showed my sister a lump on his neck while at my grandparents for a family gathering. After the diagnosis, my brother moved in with my grandparents so that he wasn't on his own during treatment. Shortly after that, my parents split and Scott moved in with my mom, my other brother, and myself.
Scott battled the cancer for more than three years total. He went through radiation that caused a sever fungal infection and a hole in his throat. He spent a week in the hospital. His skin became so leathery that the nurses had a hard time getting needles through it to set up IVs. His teeth became very sensitive. He had trouble eating and lost a lot of weight. Still, he was always the first one with a smile and a joke about everything he was going through.
Finally, after all of this, exploratory surgeries that split him from neck to navel, a tumor in his abdomen the size of a basketball, the removal of his spleen, and much more, Scott went into remission. He was able to get back to work, something he loved, and able to spend time with friends.
It wasn't long until we all knew something was wrong. Scott was having night sweats again. He was tired and had trouble breathing whenever he laid down to sleep. After going back to his oncologist for a check-up, they found that the cancer had returned and that Scott had a tumor the size of an orange around his aorta. Whenever he laid down, it cut off blood flow. Scott started chemotherapy. He had to travel two hours each direction to get to a hospital that specialized in the chemo he needed. My mom (who was working three jobs at the time and going to college) and my sister (who was married with a daughter) took turns taking him to appointments. I cooked many of his meals (usually French toast or soup as they were easy to eat and keep down) and helped clean up after him when the chemo made him sick. Many nights and weekends, it was just the two of us.
Chemo definitely took it's toll on Scott. His hemoglobin dropped until he would pass out frequently, once taking a header into the bathtub. He spent a week in a hospital in Indianapolis fighting a rare pneumonia. Still, he never lost his sense of humor and the smile never wavered.
Finally, Scott went into remission for the second time. He was so excited that he was done with chemo, not because of the sickness that came with it, but because his hair could finally grow back. (He really loved his hair and spent more time, and hairspray, on it than any woman I've ever met.)
The last night I saw him was the first time he'd gone out since finishing chemo. He was excited that he was starting to have hair again and was excited to be able to go out and celebrate the joint bachelor/bachelorette party for a pair of his friends. He spent extra time getting ready, despite the fact that his hair was much shorter than normal.
My mom was gone that day to a festival with a friend. my sister was at her house with her family. My other brother was on his way to Rhode Island with his girlfriend. It was just Scott and me. I was sick. It was just a cold, but I wasn't feeling up to par. Scott knew this and hated to leave me home alone. He wanted to stay until my mom got back. I told him to go. I was just going to take some cold medicine and sleep. There was no reason for him to stay. It took me a while to convince him, but finally he agreed to go. My last words to my brother were "Have fun and be sure to wear your seatbelt."
In all the days that followed, all the planning, the wake, the funeral, and even with all the people who came to pay their respects, bring casseroles, and send flowers and cards, I felt alone, angry, guilty. I was angry that my brother could have been so stupid as to have driven his truck so fast in the rain that he lost control and smashed into a telephone pole, snapping it off at the ground. I felt angry that he could leave me alone. I felt guilty and angry at myself for sending him out that night when he wanted to stay home. Maybe if I'd have let him stay, maybe just those few hours would have made a difference. I felt angry at God for taking away to one person who made me feel safe after everything else that had been lumped on my shoulders in the preceding thirteen years. I felt guilty for showing any emotion that might make the rest of my family feel worse. I felt angry for not being able to show emotion.
Twenty years later, I still feel these same emotions. I've never really been able to address them or even allow myself to fully admit them. Instead, I've stuffed them inside so that life could go on and I could be there for everyone else. I stepped immediately back in to my role of caretaker and never looked back. So, every year, in September, as the days start to grow shorter, the gloom of depression takes me over and I struggle to push away all of the emotions and memories that make every moment of everyday uncomfortable.
This year, instead of stuffing, Rachel suggested I find a way to actually let myself remember and really grieve. As uncomfortable as it is, I know it is something that I really need to do if I'm going to be able to move forward with therapy and have any success. So, today I remember my brother. I remember his smile, his ridiculous sense of humor, his obsession with his hair, his love of classic cars and really bad movies. I remember all the slightly rude nicknames he gave me (the way a older brother always does with his little sister). I remember how frustrated they always made me. I remember all the times he would bend over and tell me to kiss his butt. I remember how he would always take my report cards to work to brag about his little sister. I remember his bravery and his stupidity. I remember the good and the bad and i miss him more than ever.
It's something that, according to Rachel, I've never really grieved and actually have never really fully grasped. She feels that, even twenty years later, I'm still in shock. Maybe she's right. I don't know. What I do know is that my emotions are all over the place, I can't sleep, and my rituals are off the charts.
My big brother was the best man I've ever known. He is the one person who could tease me and make me feel loved at the same time. He's one of the few who made me feel protected and safe, even when he was weak from chemotherapy and radiation and couldn't even make it to his own bed. Even in the hardest times, he had a smile on his face. Everyone loved him.
Scott was 14 1/2 years older than me, but never treated me like a little kid. He always listened and respected what I said and how I felt, something most members of my family never did. He was the oldest and only my half-brother. He and my father never got along. As hard as my father was on everyone else, he was even worse on Scott. Still, that never changed the kind and caring person Scott was.
Because of the issues with my father, Scott moved out when I was four. I only saw him occasionally at holidays and family functions. Still, I felt closer to him than either of my other siblings. When I was nine, Scott was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease (a form of lymphoma). We first knew something was wrong when he showed my sister a lump on his neck while at my grandparents for a family gathering. After the diagnosis, my brother moved in with my grandparents so that he wasn't on his own during treatment. Shortly after that, my parents split and Scott moved in with my mom, my other brother, and myself.
Scott battled the cancer for more than three years total. He went through radiation that caused a sever fungal infection and a hole in his throat. He spent a week in the hospital. His skin became so leathery that the nurses had a hard time getting needles through it to set up IVs. His teeth became very sensitive. He had trouble eating and lost a lot of weight. Still, he was always the first one with a smile and a joke about everything he was going through.
Finally, after all of this, exploratory surgeries that split him from neck to navel, a tumor in his abdomen the size of a basketball, the removal of his spleen, and much more, Scott went into remission. He was able to get back to work, something he loved, and able to spend time with friends.
It wasn't long until we all knew something was wrong. Scott was having night sweats again. He was tired and had trouble breathing whenever he laid down to sleep. After going back to his oncologist for a check-up, they found that the cancer had returned and that Scott had a tumor the size of an orange around his aorta. Whenever he laid down, it cut off blood flow. Scott started chemotherapy. He had to travel two hours each direction to get to a hospital that specialized in the chemo he needed. My mom (who was working three jobs at the time and going to college) and my sister (who was married with a daughter) took turns taking him to appointments. I cooked many of his meals (usually French toast or soup as they were easy to eat and keep down) and helped clean up after him when the chemo made him sick. Many nights and weekends, it was just the two of us.
Chemo definitely took it's toll on Scott. His hemoglobin dropped until he would pass out frequently, once taking a header into the bathtub. He spent a week in a hospital in Indianapolis fighting a rare pneumonia. Still, he never lost his sense of humor and the smile never wavered.
Finally, Scott went into remission for the second time. He was so excited that he was done with chemo, not because of the sickness that came with it, but because his hair could finally grow back. (He really loved his hair and spent more time, and hairspray, on it than any woman I've ever met.)
The last night I saw him was the first time he'd gone out since finishing chemo. He was excited that he was starting to have hair again and was excited to be able to go out and celebrate the joint bachelor/bachelorette party for a pair of his friends. He spent extra time getting ready, despite the fact that his hair was much shorter than normal.
My mom was gone that day to a festival with a friend. my sister was at her house with her family. My other brother was on his way to Rhode Island with his girlfriend. It was just Scott and me. I was sick. It was just a cold, but I wasn't feeling up to par. Scott knew this and hated to leave me home alone. He wanted to stay until my mom got back. I told him to go. I was just going to take some cold medicine and sleep. There was no reason for him to stay. It took me a while to convince him, but finally he agreed to go. My last words to my brother were "Have fun and be sure to wear your seatbelt."
In all the days that followed, all the planning, the wake, the funeral, and even with all the people who came to pay their respects, bring casseroles, and send flowers and cards, I felt alone, angry, guilty. I was angry that my brother could have been so stupid as to have driven his truck so fast in the rain that he lost control and smashed into a telephone pole, snapping it off at the ground. I felt angry that he could leave me alone. I felt guilty and angry at myself for sending him out that night when he wanted to stay home. Maybe if I'd have let him stay, maybe just those few hours would have made a difference. I felt angry at God for taking away to one person who made me feel safe after everything else that had been lumped on my shoulders in the preceding thirteen years. I felt guilty for showing any emotion that might make the rest of my family feel worse. I felt angry for not being able to show emotion.
Twenty years later, I still feel these same emotions. I've never really been able to address them or even allow myself to fully admit them. Instead, I've stuffed them inside so that life could go on and I could be there for everyone else. I stepped immediately back in to my role of caretaker and never looked back. So, every year, in September, as the days start to grow shorter, the gloom of depression takes me over and I struggle to push away all of the emotions and memories that make every moment of everyday uncomfortable.
This year, instead of stuffing, Rachel suggested I find a way to actually let myself remember and really grieve. As uncomfortable as it is, I know it is something that I really need to do if I'm going to be able to move forward with therapy and have any success. So, today I remember my brother. I remember his smile, his ridiculous sense of humor, his obsession with his hair, his love of classic cars and really bad movies. I remember all the slightly rude nicknames he gave me (the way a older brother always does with his little sister). I remember how frustrated they always made me. I remember all the times he would bend over and tell me to kiss his butt. I remember how he would always take my report cards to work to brag about his little sister. I remember his bravery and his stupidity. I remember the good and the bad and i miss him more than ever.
Monday, August 29, 2011
One Of Those Days...
So....today is one of those days. One of those days where it seems like everything goes wrong. One of those days when the anxiety and frustration are already sky high and thus everything just seems to add up faster.
First, I've been on pins and needles because of Hurricane Irene. No, I don't live on the east coast. No, I've never been through a hurricane. (Heck, I live in Northern Indiana. Hurricanes aren't really a part of our normal weather patterns.) Still, I've been more than a little anxious. You see I have many friends who live on the east coast. Yes, they are Facebook friends who I have never actually met face to face, but that doesn't make them any less important to me. They are always there when I need them. They support me, make me laugh, and deal with my frequent funks. They are some of the best people I know and some of the most important people in my life. I spent days watching CNN and waiting, impatiently, to hear of their safety. I'm happy to now know that they are all safe.
Second, I've just felt like crap lately. My bursitis has been acting up as have my allergies. It's either go about my day unable to breathe or doped up on Benadryl. Neither works well for me. Especially when coupled with the fact that my Zoloft has been making my blood pressure run low. It just seems to take everything I have to drag my butt out of bed and do my daily chores.
So, with all this I'm already way up to the top of my "fight or flight" threshold. Then I log into Facebook. They have been "updating" and "making improvements". Some improvements. First, I can't do anything without it begging me to take a tour of their improvements.....three times. Next, my buttons to post links or videos are gone. The one to "ask questions", which no one really uses anymore, is still there. I'm just not quite sure what sense this makes, but then again, I'm not Mark Zuckerberg. Then, out of nowhere, all the posts on my feed disappear. There are no statuses, no links, no pictures, no nothing. Ironically, just as I go to report the bug, they miraculously reappear.
This doesn't even take into account the fact that I've already blown a breaker, burnt my toast, and lost the sound on my tv for about 10 minutes this morning. What a day!
This is where my outlets are supposed to come in handy. Obviously, I won't be baking a cake today when my elbow feels the size of a basketball. So, I turn to the next best thing: Angry Birds. There is something very cathartic about slingshotting birdies into fat little piggies. In between shots, I focus on my mindfulness techniques, using my relaxing breathing.
Still, I just feel off...off the charts when it comes to my anxiety and frustration. "Why?" my therapist would ask. Well, the easy answer is because I'm not in control. I can't control nature. I can't control Facebook. I can't control whether or not the household appliances work to my expectations. But, why do I need to control these things? Obviously, I want to control the weather to keep those I care about safe. I want to control Facebook so I can easily connect and be sure that those I care about are safe. I want to control my appliances because, well, I hate burnt toast...and also so I can watch CNN and keep tabs on the aftermath of the storm so that I know those I care about are safe.
For me, control equals safety. I grew up in a household where I had neither, a household where being perfect was the only way to keep everyone safe. Twenty-five years have passed, and while the man who made that household what it was is no longer in my life (for the most part), I'm still emotionally living there. I'm still trying to make everything perfect. I'm still trying to protect everyone. I'm still looking for that elusive sense of safety and security that I've never been able to find.
This is what I have to remember. When it's one of those days, it's not one of those days. I'm not five-years-old. I'm not in that same household. I'm safe. My family is safe. No one is going to get hurt over some burnt toast or a few missing Facebook tabs. Scrap the toast and start again. Copy and paste the links directly into the status line. Go on with life, enjoy breakfast and friends' status updates, and know that no one was harmed in the process (or the making of this post).
First, I've been on pins and needles because of Hurricane Irene. No, I don't live on the east coast. No, I've never been through a hurricane. (Heck, I live in Northern Indiana. Hurricanes aren't really a part of our normal weather patterns.) Still, I've been more than a little anxious. You see I have many friends who live on the east coast. Yes, they are Facebook friends who I have never actually met face to face, but that doesn't make them any less important to me. They are always there when I need them. They support me, make me laugh, and deal with my frequent funks. They are some of the best people I know and some of the most important people in my life. I spent days watching CNN and waiting, impatiently, to hear of their safety. I'm happy to now know that they are all safe.
Second, I've just felt like crap lately. My bursitis has been acting up as have my allergies. It's either go about my day unable to breathe or doped up on Benadryl. Neither works well for me. Especially when coupled with the fact that my Zoloft has been making my blood pressure run low. It just seems to take everything I have to drag my butt out of bed and do my daily chores.
So, with all this I'm already way up to the top of my "fight or flight" threshold. Then I log into Facebook. They have been "updating" and "making improvements". Some improvements. First, I can't do anything without it begging me to take a tour of their improvements.....three times. Next, my buttons to post links or videos are gone. The one to "ask questions", which no one really uses anymore, is still there. I'm just not quite sure what sense this makes, but then again, I'm not Mark Zuckerberg. Then, out of nowhere, all the posts on my feed disappear. There are no statuses, no links, no pictures, no nothing. Ironically, just as I go to report the bug, they miraculously reappear.
This doesn't even take into account the fact that I've already blown a breaker, burnt my toast, and lost the sound on my tv for about 10 minutes this morning. What a day!
This is where my outlets are supposed to come in handy. Obviously, I won't be baking a cake today when my elbow feels the size of a basketball. So, I turn to the next best thing: Angry Birds. There is something very cathartic about slingshotting birdies into fat little piggies. In between shots, I focus on my mindfulness techniques, using my relaxing breathing.
Still, I just feel off...off the charts when it comes to my anxiety and frustration. "Why?" my therapist would ask. Well, the easy answer is because I'm not in control. I can't control nature. I can't control Facebook. I can't control whether or not the household appliances work to my expectations. But, why do I need to control these things? Obviously, I want to control the weather to keep those I care about safe. I want to control Facebook so I can easily connect and be sure that those I care about are safe. I want to control my appliances because, well, I hate burnt toast...and also so I can watch CNN and keep tabs on the aftermath of the storm so that I know those I care about are safe.
For me, control equals safety. I grew up in a household where I had neither, a household where being perfect was the only way to keep everyone safe. Twenty-five years have passed, and while the man who made that household what it was is no longer in my life (for the most part), I'm still emotionally living there. I'm still trying to make everything perfect. I'm still trying to protect everyone. I'm still looking for that elusive sense of safety and security that I've never been able to find.
This is what I have to remember. When it's one of those days, it's not one of those days. I'm not five-years-old. I'm not in that same household. I'm safe. My family is safe. No one is going to get hurt over some burnt toast or a few missing Facebook tabs. Scrap the toast and start again. Copy and paste the links directly into the status line. Go on with life, enjoy breakfast and friends' status updates, and know that no one was harmed in the process (or the making of this post).
Friday, August 26, 2011
Outlets vs. Receptacles
This Wednesday was slightly better, however. I'm becoming more comfortable with my therapist, Rachel. She and I share similar personalities. We both have super sarcastic senses of humor, and we both prefer alt rock (especially when compared to the cheesy spa music played in most relaxation cds). It has also helped that Rachel is no longer "flooding" me as part of my sessions. Let's just say "flooding" and I don't get along.
Instead, we're taking it slow. She's helping me to look at the events that happen between sessions and the emotions that go along with them. This is much more pleasant than diving head first into my past. Instead, I can explore which emotions are amped up because they are linked to my past experiences. She also helps me understand which behaviors I experience due to these emotions are appropriate and which are illogical. (Ranting for a couple of hours and including some choice words in those rants, because a semi-driver wouldn't move into the fast lane and nearly ran me down on the interstate is okay. Following said truck driver until he exits the interstate and beating him with a tire iron would not.)
While I acknowledge that this is an important part of my therapy, it is also extremely difficult. I simply don't do well with emotions. I often find them overpowering and simply can't understand them. So, I lock them up and let them build up until they all come out in an eruption that cannot be reigned in let alone controlled. Not only is this not good for those around me, but it's also terrible for me. When this happens, I immediately feel guilty for having such outbursts. The guilt leads to depression, which leads to anxiety, and around in the whirlpool we go.
So...needless to say, one of my "homework" assignments is to work on finding "outlets" for my emotions. Since I have trouble voicing them, I have to find another way. What is an "outlet"? Let's look at the definition: "A means by which something escapes, passes, or is released, in particular". In this case I need to find some means by which my frustration, anger, sadness, etc can escape or be released (before it explodes like Krakatoa). I've never really focused on this. Instead I've relied on "receptacles": An object or space used to contain something.
Think of an electrical outlet versus an electrical receptacle. What good is the receptacle (which contains the plug) if there is no outlet to allow the energy to pass through the wires and into the cord which carries it to our appliances of choice. All this time, I've been plugged in, but the juice hasn't been making it's way through to the necessary destination.
So....I need outlets (other than 2 hour rants about the decline of civilization as seen in traffic violations). I love to cook and it does make me feel better. I mean, I get to torture food by hacking it into pieces, beating it up, and baking or frying it under high heat. What better way to work through frustrations? (Plus, in the end I come out with something beautiful and nourishing to share with my family.) Still, sometimes I just don't have the energy to hack, beat, and bake. Sometimes my anxiety level is so high that I simply dread touching the raw ingredients. So, what do I do when I can't cook? I'd love to take up kickboxing, but I'm not sure the injuries to my hip, elbow, or back would cooperate. Goodness knows meditation is not my forte. So, where does that leave me?
Any ideas for me to try out? What kind of outlets do you have that might be helpful for me?
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