Tag: mental illness

Waiting

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I didn’t expect my twenties to be like this. I didn’t expect to spend my life waiting for my life to begin, waiting for adulthood to start, waiting for the inevitable to strike. Maybe it’s because I’ve felt old since I was young; spending too many years making too many decisions above my age. Perhaps because I’ve spent many years hoping and waiting for death. It’s already been more than a decade since I first wished to leave. It seems as though I’m always waiting for what’s next.

High school, done.

Driver’s license, done.

Relationship, done.

Post-secondary acceptance, done.

Graduation, done.

University, incomplete.

Breakup, done.

Diploma, done.

Job, done.

Nursing school, done.

Job, done.

The rest of my life, …?

I work too much, I pay bills, I buy groceries, I wash dishes (most of the time), I have a cat, I do laundry, I call my grandma.

When does the settled feeling start? When does the relief come? What next? When do I feel like I’ve got it all under control?

I’ve been striving for control since I was seven years old and I have yet to find it. Does peace come with letting that go? Probably. Will I? Probably not.

Perhaps the inevitable is me spending my life striving and searching for things beyond my grasp; spending my life waiting.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Funerals, Loneliness, and Space

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At funerals, people love to use phrases like “she loved life and life loved her right back”, or “she found joy in the everyday living”, and “she lit up any room she walked into”. Even worse is “she was the life of any party”.

Anybody who uses sayings like those at my funeral will be lying or they never really knew me at all.

I’ve never really loved life, and life hasn’t loved me back. I’ve just been lucky enough to have loved people in this lifetime.

I have spent my life wishing that I could take up less space and wishing that I could take up none at all. Even as an adult, I spend my days cowering in my basement apartment, trying not to make noise or bother my upstairs neighbour.

I don’t want to be a bother.

I work hard to appear okay and work even harder to avoid vulnerability. If people don’t get close to me, I won’t be hurt when they inevitably leave.

That’s the truth.

Also the truth: I just want to be seen.

I only get hugs in my dreams, and I dream often of reuniting with people who truly know me; without me having to reach out first.

I am the friend who checks in with everyone else, I am not the friend that anyone checks in on. When I’m lonely, I reach out to others, though I doubt if I didn’t that they would notice.

I wonder, frequently, who would notice if I quit posting, quit communicating, and quit being.

I’m not sure my own aching loneliness could stand to be out of touch with people in that totality.

“Hey, how are you?”

“……. you?”

“Alright!”

This leaves no space for knowing, for wondering, for caring. I box myself into a corner by wanting people to ask how I am but then not answering truthfully when they do.

Life has always been lonely for me and I feel like it always will be. That looming perpetual loneliness is a heavy weight, one that I’m unwilling to bear.

I wish for sunshine, joy, and warmth to filter into my life as if I could remember what they feel like and I could recognize them if they came. By now, I’ve spent so much time in the dark, surely I could recognize light when I see it.

Perhaps not, perhaps all my days will be grey and cold. Maybe all my life will be empty.

I’m tired of taking up space in this world.

I’m so tired.

Nobody will say “she dreamed of death” or “she lived an aching life” at my funeral, though both will be true.

What will they say, then, to phrase the constant loneliness, emptiness, and chill that I have lived with? How can you spin looming despair into a personality trait?

If my friends can look me in the eyes and not see that I’m not okay, either I have done my job well or they’re not really looking; they’re never really seeing.

Life gave me loneliness. I searched so long for safety and protection, and now I only feel lonely. Loneliness is the only thing I am certain of.

There is no “life of the party” in me.

I do not light up any rooms.

Everyday living has no joy for me.

Who can see me?

.

.

.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Daunting

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Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts

From where I stand, the future looks nothing but daunting. It’s hard to remember the good at the end of such a terrible year. Each disappointment and struggle seems like a heavy stone in the backpack of life that I insist on carrying around.

The weight has pulled me off the podium I stood on at the start of the year and dragged me to where I teeter on the edge. Will I be just one more casualty of this year? It seems more appropriate to close my eyes for good when it’s still a terrible year, instead of souring a new one.

People are looking toward 2021 with hope, so much hope. All I feel is dread. Once the new year starts, my life has nothing left for me to do but to be tugged along with the passing of time. I have a degree, a license, a job, a life, and a home. I’ve lived so much life in these years, I don’t feel accomplished, I just feel old.

My friends are all moving on. They have their own lives. They have relationships, pets, children, homes, and triumphs. They look forward to adventures, to new beginnings, and to a future. Joy and love fill their lives with so much colour. I’m glad for them and envious at the same time.

I can’t feel the colour in my life anymore. I’ve learned how to avoid disappointment by avoiding expectations and hope. Each day is a consistent defeat in itself, why add to it? Food is bland, tea is lukewarm, sleep is fitful, and warm is never warm enough.

A bleak winter’s day with thin sun and glaring brightness is my reality. Nothing has colour and everything is too bright to be enjoyed. The trees are bare and the wind whistles enough to chill my bones. It is silent except for my trudging foot steps. I pass houses with warm light shining from festively decked windows and see smoke from what I imagine to be a warm fire inside. These houses are not for me. I have never been inside one, nor will I ever know the love and joy bottled within them.

My chest aches with the cold, the emptiness, and the loneliness. It is as familiar to me as my breath and the beat of my heart.

Despair.

Sorrow.

Hopelessness.

I used to long and now I find myself longing no more. I don’t want to find the energy to enjoy life. I’d rather fade away into this bleak winter’s day and never trouble the sunniness of a new year.

Maybe in another lifetime I’ll see colour again and find the warmth. That, too, seems daunting but it’s the only hope I cling to, the hope that lies in death. Hope that death will be kind to me as this life hasn’t been.

I’d like to fade away in sleep, though rest is something I never find at night. Perhaps that is the secret to the kindness of death. Dying instead of sleeping doesn’t feel so daunting after all.

.

.

.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Together

leannaemgeeLeave a comment

Trigger warning: self-harm, blood, graphic description, cutting

How is it

That the only things that put me back together is your hugs

Or these

Neat,

Thin,

Red,

Lines?

Stripes that lend me endorphins;

Columns that align my life.

My breathing stills, my heart slows, and it all melts away.

Together.

I feel together when I’m with you, or in these moments,

Looking at these feelings,

Drawn across my body;

Some white,

Some red.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

What Self-Harm Was To Me

leannaemgeeLeave a comment

*trigger warnings: self-harm, blood, graphic-ish description, depression, anxiety

 

 

I have come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter if I can never comfortably wear bikini bottoms or short shorts ever again. My right thigh is crisscrossed in thin white lines, yes, the cliché term applies to me. Some are pink and are quite prominent but most are fine and white; some have even almost disappeared but the more you look, the more you see.

I started self-harming when I started university and began my journey towards my nursing degree. It felt like my anxiety and depression were overwhelming me; like someone was sitting on my chest all the time. I was thinking of 60 thoughts per second but couldn’t hold onto one long enough to finish thinking it or to process it; much like I imagine a swarm of bees trapped in my head would feel like- just as busy and chaotic, and as loud.

I have been on Tumblr for a long time and have seen post after post of self-harm and cutting and all of which that entails. So I used my tweezers to take apart a disposable razor. Since I was in nursing school, I took alcohol swabs and cleaned the blade, washed my hands, and cleaned my leg as well. I put on some music that fit my mood, psyched myself up, and made the first cut.

The first slice was like taking a deep breath of fresh air. Finally. All my swirling thoughts went quiet and my focus narrowed down to just the task at hand. The cut was timid and shallow and ironically, I knew I could do better. I continued to make thin, precise, red lines in columns down my thigh.

The preparation and organization, the neat and clean end result, and the endorphins are what drew me to this to settle my mind. It felt like I had been searching for something to bring me calm and I finally found it, here, in my bedroom with bloody kleenexes and sad music. It provided me with a feeling of clarity like I had never felt before.

The subsequent days, when the marks were fresh, I did not have to make more because just pressing on them was enough to keep the buzz and the noise of my own thoughts at bay.

The feeling of being in complete control was intoxicating. I have had many instances of not being in control in my life and this felt like I could reclaim pieces of myself and like I could be an overcomer instead. Nothing else in the world mattered outside of these lines, my steady hand, clarity, and control.

I never self-harmed to try and end my life, those were different actions entirely. This was all about control for me. It was all about chasing the feeling of finally being able to breathe again. I was never angry, it was never an action of self-hatred, and I never went deeper than what would cause a small scar: one thin, inch-long mark at a time.

Some people drink, others use substances, some use sex, others use therapy, some can use avoidance. I used self-harm to cope. When I was restless or overwhelmed or stressed or any similar feeling, I knew I could find a moment all to myself and it would lead me to peace… as peaceful as deliberately cutting into your own skin for endorphins can be.

I suffered from insomnia and nightmares almost every night and rarely slept for more than 3-4 hours, usually from 3 or 4am to 7am; once I knew that dawn was coming soon and there was a chance for me to be safe when I woke up. The nights after self-harming I was also able to sleep, to truly rest. It was an escape in more ways than one.

The morning after self-harming, I always did it at night, I did feel guilty and shameful. Obviously, as a healthcare provider and as an adult, I knew better. I knew all about alternate coping methods. I knew behaviours that could replace self-harm. I could tell you all about self-care and harm reduction. The guilt and shame and the knowledge were never strong enough to outweigh the freedom and peace I was finding.

Gradually, it went from days between each column, then to weeks, soon to months. Now it has been close to a year since I last made any cuts. I went to therapy every week for months, and then every other week. It has been one year and five months since I started going to free counselling offered at my university. I found a family doctor I trusted and a medication that works for me. I have a best friend who will do anything for me and I for her. For the first time that I can remember I feel in control of my own life, my own choices, and my own thoughts. My mental health has actually done a complete 180 degree turn and has stayed that way. There are consistently more good days than bad days. It has been more than a year since I last attempted suicide. It gets better. I never thought I’d be able to say those words and I find myself planning for a future that I never planned on having.

It gets better.

 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

 

Hope this finds you well,

-L

 

A Letter to my 16 Year Old Self

leannaemgeeLeave a comment

Dear Me,

So you are in love, real love. You love reading, texting, kissing, and crying. You love your family, you hate your family, you love your boyfriend, you hate yourself. You have recently discovered the world of dating, drinking, partying, and sex. You have four best friends, two divorced parents, one dog, one grandma, one brother, one sister. You are a Christian full of inner conflict. You are depressed and are struggling with life. Here is what I wish you would have known, wish you could have heard, and wish I could have told you.

When you drink and go out and kiss other boys while holding D’s hand, I would have asked you if that was really how you wanted to treat those who love you. I would have told you that being a designated driver has so many more pros on its list than drinking does. You can enjoy those warm summer nights through a clear lens, you can enjoy the company of a crowd, you can remember everything you said and did come Monday morning, you can be happy and celebrate without alcohol. I would have told you that you are worth being happy and sober.

When you spend time with D and feel like he is your whole world, I would have told you that you’re not wrong. I would have reminded you that as much as you love him and as much as he is your sun on cloudy days, you have a life outside of him. Don’t leave behind parts of yourself just to be in love. I would have asked you if how you treated him made you proud, and if it did, then tell him and show him what he means to you. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too young to know what love is, you’re not. I would have told you that you are worth being loved this much.

When you and D break up, I would have told you to be honest with him. I would have told you it’s okay to cry because if you don’t cry now, you’ll be crying for years. I would have told you it’s an all in or all out situation. Be together, or be apart. Being together, but apart didn’t work for you guys and it broke your heart over and over and over again. When you guys work on your long-distance relationship the most important thing is communication. Talk to him honestly, don’t use “I love you” to fill gaps in conversations.

When your mom hits you for the first time, know that it’s not your fault. I would have told you that she does love you and she will love you how she should later in life. I would have told you that you get to choose who you love and you are not responsible for the actions of others. You don’t deserve this, and this is not on your shoulders. You are right in not trusting her, you are a good judge of character.

When your dad tells you with venom in his words that you’re just like your mother after you stayed over to look after your drunk step-cousin, family in your eyes but suspicion in his, I would have told you that he’s projecting. I would have told you to wait it out and to stay. It’s okay to be hurt but realize that he’s not mad at you, not really.

When you feel like you have nobody in your corner, know that you do. Know that there are people who will go to bat for you. Know that your real friends will come later in life and they will make a world of difference- wait just one year and you’ll see. The world stretches beyond these two broken homes and beyond these two small towns.

 

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Hope and Sparkle

leannaemgeeLeave a comment

I hadn’t felt any sparkle in a very long time. Not the sparkle of joy, the sparkle of love, not even the sparkle of hope. No hope for the future, no hope for today, and certainly no hope for myself. My life has been awash in grey, different shades of grey, but still gloomy and monotone for so long. I can see joy and recognize it in others, I can see their sparkle and be envious of it, but try as I may I cannot generate that same sparkle in me. At least, until today.

You came with me to my appointment the other day, you came with me for blood work, and you came with me again today. You sat patiently by my side and prompted responses from me when needed. The doctor was terrible, and when she blindsided me by asking me to give myself a diagnosis, you were there. You sat as I haltingly stuttered the textbook symptoms of depression.

You see, I’ve lived with it so long I couldn’t identify them in myself anymore. I’m not sure I remember what it feels like to not be depressed and to not be living behind the invisible wall my mind has constructed. If I was handed a list of symptoms I’m sure I could pick out which ones I notice in my life but I’ve learned that they are just part of life for me. Not wanting to get out of bed and not having the energy for it is normal for me. Days go by where I realize I’ve been zombie walking through life without feeling a single thing. Nights where I’m up all night with maybe 2 hours of sleep are the norm. Needing caffeine to function during the day and alcohol to love myself in the evenings is just what I do. Negative self-talk is my inner monologue, there is no reprieve.

You sat me down after another night of being up late with me and you told me you were going to book an appointment with a doctor for me. You said that you would call, you would book the appointment, you would drive me there, and you would sit with me. You knew I wouldn’t if I had to do it myself, and you were right. And I am ever so grateful that you were.

You have that sparkle that I wish I could find in myself. It speaks of hard work and determination, it speaks of selflessness and a heart of gold, it speaks of love and laughter, and now it speaks of our friendship. You’ve been telling me over the last couple days how proud you are of me, how I deserve to get better, how life can be so much more, and how there is a future beyond this current struggle. I could see you shining.

Today after going again to the doctor and then to the pharmacy, I finally have the medication we’ve been working towards getting for me. I know I’ve taken it before. Part of me still believes that I don’t deserve to get better, but today I can feel a sparkle. It’s a small sparkle, I don’t think anybody can see it but me. It’s a sparkle of hope. It’s hope that maybe I can get better, that I can feel the love people are showing me; hope that I can laugh with others around me and truly take part of the joy.

So love, keep sparkling.

It’s starting to rub off on me, I can feel that I have hope to one day sparkle with you. Imagine how much good we could do and how bright our days would be. There are so many more sparkles for us to discover along the way. Today I’m settling for the sparkle of hope.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

PS: If anyone is having these feelings, please reach out. You don’t have to be alone. Find friends or family, or talk to the good people over at Random Acts

via Daily Prompt: Sparkle