Sunday, January 1, 2017
Meet Me on the Road to Recovery
2016 has been a rough year for everyone. I am not sure I know a single person who has not faced a major struggle this year, myself included. However, with struggle comes growth... or at least that is what they tell me.
The truth is, I have grown exponentially this year. I met people who truly cared about my well-being. People who wanted to see me get help.
See, I have fought mental illness the majority of my adult life, but I had always been too afraid to seek professional help. Too afraid to be diagnosed. Too afraid for people to see me differently. In reality, no one needs to know my diagnosis unless I choose to tell them, and the stigma surrounding mental illnesses had help me back for too long. So, here I am, telling stigma to fuck off, and professing my diagnoses loudly and proudly to the world. It's a long story, but I hope you will stick with me until the end. I say this not because I need people. I am learning to let the need for validation go. I say this because the more we educate ourselves regarding mental and other invisible illnesses, the more we can do our part to lift the stigma so others do not do what I did for so long... refuse to seek treatment.
Let's start with a little background information.
Let's start with a little background information.
November 8th, 2007: I moved in with my best friend. I was in love with him, and he was in love with me. He told me once, honestly and openly, but he said we would destroy each other if we tried to be together romantically. He was right, to an extent. We did destroy each other, but we were never romantically involved.
April 20, 2008: We were evicted. He packed up and left without a trace. My heart was shattered. At the time, I didn't see that I had been a pawn in his con. All I knew was that the man I loved more than anyone else in the entire world got in a U-Haul, drove away, and did not reach out to me for almost a year. When he did reach out to talk to me, I was so angry. I told him I could forgive everything, but I couldn't forgive him for the icy wall I had built around my heart in his absence. He told me that was my choice. He was right. The icy fortress I had built around my heart and my soul to protect myself from feeling the pain of his leaving, the drugs and alcohol I used to numb myself... all of that was my fault. I had done it to myself. Eight years ago, I blamed him. Eight years ago, I loved him. Eight years ago, I was trying to hang onto him in any way I possibly could. I refused to believe he was gone.
Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one... and we're here. 2016. Well, we are technically one hour and thirteen minutes from 2017, but stick with me.
This past year, I forged friendships with two co-workers. These people saw through my facade, saw the damage and the sickness that lived within, and wanted to help. They earned my trust. I told them more than I had told anyone, including my former roommate of seven years, up until now. They convinced me to get help. They wanted me to be okay. However, their story is not my story. They were as supportive as they could be. Mental illness can be just as taxing on the members of the patient's support system, as it is on the patient. (This is something I learned the hard way.) All the same, I will always appreciate and never forget the part they played in my story. They will always have a place in my heart, even though they no longer have a place in my life.
In March, I developed a crush on someone I never should have developed romantic feelings for. It happens, even to the best of us. I have never been able to read social cues. One of the downfalls to borderline personality disorder. I became really invested, but not so invested that I was willing to wreck this woman's current relationship. I have morals. I may misread social cues on the regular, but I understand the difference between feeling something and pursuing it. It dissipated around the end of July. No romantic feelings for this person since; however, I let myself feel. See, the aforementioned people had earned my trust, and I began to break down that icy exterior. I had no idea there were so many suppressed emotions hidden inside me, and I definitely had no idea what would happen or even how to begin to cope when they all came bubbling to the surface.
April, May, June: I spent almost every free moment I had helping a myriad of friends through their own emotional garbage. I thought I was doing good. I thought I was helping them. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't. Their stories are not mine. What I do know is that I was in no way helping myself. I was merely distracting myself from a mountain of emotional garbage, through which I did not want to sort.
Sometime in mid-July, the exhaustion of running from myself and my emotions began to take control. I felt worthless and empty or I felt so much pain I couldn't breathe or move. I believed everyone would be better off if I did not exist. My illnesses told me they didn't even notice me, that they didn't love me, that I was a burden. My brain told me I should die, and I wanted to. I wanted to build my icy fortress back around me to shut off that voice in my head, and at the same time, I didn't. This wasn't the first time I had experienced depression, but it was the first time I had fallen this far in such a relatively short amount of time. I finally went to see a counselor at the urging of the aforementioned friends. The counselor immediately referred me to a PCP to be prescribed anti-depressants. I would say they worked for a while, but that would be a lie. I wanted people to believe I was okay. I wanted them to think I had changed because I was terrified they would tire of me and leave. Another BPD moment: fear of perceived or real abandonment and frantic efforts to prevent that abandonment which, in turn, usually causes the abandonment one feared in the first place. It's a vicious cycle.
It takes constant effort on my part to prevent that cycle and many other cycles my brain wants to force me to accept as reality. Multiple times a day, every single day, I have to employ mindfulness and tell my brain to shut up. I have to recognize that the thoughts are only thoughts. That what other people think of me is in no way a reflection on me. I have to remind myself that recovery is a process. It isn't easy. For anyone without a mental illness reading this who thinks, What's the big deal? I have to do that too. Yes, you do. Everyone has to do that from time to time. It's a normal coping mechanism. It is usually such an insignificant part in "normal" every day life, that you don't even realize you are doing it. My brain chemistry, through major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder, does not allow me to function in that way. Everything has to be at a heightened state of consciousness. In an 8 hour work day, I typically practice mindfulness 96 times. For those of you counting, that is an average of once every five minutes. On top of that, I am performing my work duties, which, not to sound prideful, but I'm pretty damn good at. It's mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting. So, for those of you still in my supportive system, please understand that I am doing the best I can. Practice makes perfect, but if you invite me to do something, don't be offended if I cancel. Also, please please please do not automatically think I have experienced another breakdown that led to hospitalization. Most of the time, especially now that I am properly medicated, it is just that I am exhausted and just want to relax with quilting and Netflix.
Back to the year...
August through late October was a downward spiral. Most of which, I only remember bits and pieces. People kept trying to get me to say what I felt, and I couldn't.
I'm now learning how to do that. I consciously use "I feel" statements. I hate them. I hate the way they feel in my mouth, but I make myself say them anyway because when I look past the stereotypical therapy aspect, they do work. I feel like a tool, but if it helps me in my recovery, I will do whatever it takes.
Anyway, I tried to tell people how I felt, but situations were all I could talk about. I thought if I explained a situation enough time, they would somehow figure out what it was I was trying to say, even though, I didn't even know what I was trying to say. Then, at the end of October, I broke over and over and over again. "I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. Will this kill me? Will this? What if I did this?"
I had a similar breakdown in July to one person. I trusted this person more than I have trusted anyone since the best friend I loved in 2007/2008. I still trust this person. However, our friendship ended shortly after my birthday in August. I blamed myself. I took all responsibility because I always feel like everything is my fault. I am now learning that I cannot be responsible for all of it. His choices are his. They are not a reflection of me, regardless of how I feel about it.
I said those words to the right people apparently. For the first time since July, someone reached out to authorities for help. In fact, I got to see the police twice in a 24 hour period. This led to my 3-day hospital stay, which I will never EVER do again. Maybe some of those places are nice or even close to helpful, this one was not that for me. However, the moment I sprinted out that doorway, I tried to jump right back into my life like normal. That was a mistake they had warned me about. When they say, "Take it slow," you should listen to that advice. This led to a terrible breakdown in the middle of Red Lobster.
November 8th, 2016: My last major breakdown occurred. External forces beyond my control plus facing the anniversary of the day "the best friend I was in love with" and I moved in together, which also happened to be his birthday, for the first time in 8 years, mixed together into a breakdown that flowed right into a breakthrough.
I'm not saying I have perfected any of this. I haven't. Maybe my meds finally interacted in my brain chemistry in the correct way. Maybe I became more determined to beat this. Maybe I accepted the fact that I had lost enough and wanted to fight. I'm not sure what caused the shift, but I know it happened. Here I am, and I want to share this journey with you, the readers I may or may not have. I know I won't post everyday. I'll try for once a week. I may only achieve three post in one year, but I want to share my journey. I want others to know that they are not alone in their journey. Each of us has our own unique journey to walk, but we do not have to do it alone, even when the ones you thought would be there aren't, you cannot take it personally. You must keep fighting. You must keep pushing. You are strong. You are enough.
My name is Sarah, and this is my road to recovery.
April 20, 2008: We were evicted. He packed up and left without a trace. My heart was shattered. At the time, I didn't see that I had been a pawn in his con. All I knew was that the man I loved more than anyone else in the entire world got in a U-Haul, drove away, and did not reach out to me for almost a year. When he did reach out to talk to me, I was so angry. I told him I could forgive everything, but I couldn't forgive him for the icy wall I had built around my heart in his absence. He told me that was my choice. He was right. The icy fortress I had built around my heart and my soul to protect myself from feeling the pain of his leaving, the drugs and alcohol I used to numb myself... all of that was my fault. I had done it to myself. Eight years ago, I blamed him. Eight years ago, I loved him. Eight years ago, I was trying to hang onto him in any way I possibly could. I refused to believe he was gone.
Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one... and we're here. 2016. Well, we are technically one hour and thirteen minutes from 2017, but stick with me.
This past year, I forged friendships with two co-workers. These people saw through my facade, saw the damage and the sickness that lived within, and wanted to help. They earned my trust. I told them more than I had told anyone, including my former roommate of seven years, up until now. They convinced me to get help. They wanted me to be okay. However, their story is not my story. They were as supportive as they could be. Mental illness can be just as taxing on the members of the patient's support system, as it is on the patient. (This is something I learned the hard way.) All the same, I will always appreciate and never forget the part they played in my story. They will always have a place in my heart, even though they no longer have a place in my life.
In March, I developed a crush on someone I never should have developed romantic feelings for. It happens, even to the best of us. I have never been able to read social cues. One of the downfalls to borderline personality disorder. I became really invested, but not so invested that I was willing to wreck this woman's current relationship. I have morals. I may misread social cues on the regular, but I understand the difference between feeling something and pursuing it. It dissipated around the end of July. No romantic feelings for this person since; however, I let myself feel. See, the aforementioned people had earned my trust, and I began to break down that icy exterior. I had no idea there were so many suppressed emotions hidden inside me, and I definitely had no idea what would happen or even how to begin to cope when they all came bubbling to the surface.
April, May, June: I spent almost every free moment I had helping a myriad of friends through their own emotional garbage. I thought I was doing good. I thought I was helping them. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't. Their stories are not mine. What I do know is that I was in no way helping myself. I was merely distracting myself from a mountain of emotional garbage, through which I did not want to sort.
Sometime in mid-July, the exhaustion of running from myself and my emotions began to take control. I felt worthless and empty or I felt so much pain I couldn't breathe or move. I believed everyone would be better off if I did not exist. My illnesses told me they didn't even notice me, that they didn't love me, that I was a burden. My brain told me I should die, and I wanted to. I wanted to build my icy fortress back around me to shut off that voice in my head, and at the same time, I didn't. This wasn't the first time I had experienced depression, but it was the first time I had fallen this far in such a relatively short amount of time. I finally went to see a counselor at the urging of the aforementioned friends. The counselor immediately referred me to a PCP to be prescribed anti-depressants. I would say they worked for a while, but that would be a lie. I wanted people to believe I was okay. I wanted them to think I had changed because I was terrified they would tire of me and leave. Another BPD moment: fear of perceived or real abandonment and frantic efforts to prevent that abandonment which, in turn, usually causes the abandonment one feared in the first place. It's a vicious cycle.
It takes constant effort on my part to prevent that cycle and many other cycles my brain wants to force me to accept as reality. Multiple times a day, every single day, I have to employ mindfulness and tell my brain to shut up. I have to recognize that the thoughts are only thoughts. That what other people think of me is in no way a reflection on me. I have to remind myself that recovery is a process. It isn't easy. For anyone without a mental illness reading this who thinks, What's the big deal? I have to do that too. Yes, you do. Everyone has to do that from time to time. It's a normal coping mechanism. It is usually such an insignificant part in "normal" every day life, that you don't even realize you are doing it. My brain chemistry, through major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder, does not allow me to function in that way. Everything has to be at a heightened state of consciousness. In an 8 hour work day, I typically practice mindfulness 96 times. For those of you counting, that is an average of once every five minutes. On top of that, I am performing my work duties, which, not to sound prideful, but I'm pretty damn good at. It's mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting. So, for those of you still in my supportive system, please understand that I am doing the best I can. Practice makes perfect, but if you invite me to do something, don't be offended if I cancel. Also, please please please do not automatically think I have experienced another breakdown that led to hospitalization. Most of the time, especially now that I am properly medicated, it is just that I am exhausted and just want to relax with quilting and Netflix.
Back to the year...
August through late October was a downward spiral. Most of which, I only remember bits and pieces. People kept trying to get me to say what I felt, and I couldn't.
I'm now learning how to do that. I consciously use "I feel" statements. I hate them. I hate the way they feel in my mouth, but I make myself say them anyway because when I look past the stereotypical therapy aspect, they do work. I feel like a tool, but if it helps me in my recovery, I will do whatever it takes.
Anyway, I tried to tell people how I felt, but situations were all I could talk about. I thought if I explained a situation enough time, they would somehow figure out what it was I was trying to say, even though, I didn't even know what I was trying to say. Then, at the end of October, I broke over and over and over again. "I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. Will this kill me? Will this? What if I did this?"
I had a similar breakdown in July to one person. I trusted this person more than I have trusted anyone since the best friend I loved in 2007/2008. I still trust this person. However, our friendship ended shortly after my birthday in August. I blamed myself. I took all responsibility because I always feel like everything is my fault. I am now learning that I cannot be responsible for all of it. His choices are his. They are not a reflection of me, regardless of how I feel about it.
I said those words to the right people apparently. For the first time since July, someone reached out to authorities for help. In fact, I got to see the police twice in a 24 hour period. This led to my 3-day hospital stay, which I will never EVER do again. Maybe some of those places are nice or even close to helpful, this one was not that for me. However, the moment I sprinted out that doorway, I tried to jump right back into my life like normal. That was a mistake they had warned me about. When they say, "Take it slow," you should listen to that advice. This led to a terrible breakdown in the middle of Red Lobster.
November 8th, 2016: My last major breakdown occurred. External forces beyond my control plus facing the anniversary of the day "the best friend I was in love with" and I moved in together, which also happened to be his birthday, for the first time in 8 years, mixed together into a breakdown that flowed right into a breakthrough.
I'm not saying I have perfected any of this. I haven't. Maybe my meds finally interacted in my brain chemistry in the correct way. Maybe I became more determined to beat this. Maybe I accepted the fact that I had lost enough and wanted to fight. I'm not sure what caused the shift, but I know it happened. Here I am, and I want to share this journey with you, the readers I may or may not have. I know I won't post everyday. I'll try for once a week. I may only achieve three post in one year, but I want to share my journey. I want others to know that they are not alone in their journey. Each of us has our own unique journey to walk, but we do not have to do it alone, even when the ones you thought would be there aren't, you cannot take it personally. You must keep fighting. You must keep pushing. You are strong. You are enough.
My name is Sarah, and this is my road to recovery.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Listen...
I don't often write about spiritual or religious beliefs on the blog. Mainly because those are my own personal business/relationships. I have had a particular belief system forced upon me most of my life, and I do not want to do that to another soul for as long as I live. A person's relationship or lack thereof with a higher power is of their concern and not for any other person to judge.
I've read and studied many different religions and spiritual beliefs. To me, they all contain beauty and mystique and a great level of faith. To me, they are all important. Each and every one has added some insight into the human condition for me. They are fascinating.
But... that is not what this post is about. This post is about listening to the universe, God, nature, the voice inside yourself, etc.
I have been attempting to lose weight off and on since high school. Back then, I was doing it for boys to like me. In college, my mindset was the same. A few years ago that changed, and I started trying to lose weight in order to love myself. None of those reasons stuck.
Then, last year, I decided to try it again... for my health and happiness. Guess what? It has stuck, and in the meantime, I have begun to learn how to love myself. Not because I'm thin... because I'm far from it. But, because I have to love myself in order to better myself. Have I lost a significant amount of weight? Well, 20 lbs is significant, but when I think that I still have 115 left to lose, I want to cry. So, I binge on food/soda. Then, I binge on workouts, and I keep off the 20 lbs I have lost, but I don't lose anymore than that. It's a deadly cycle because in the end it is my health at stake, and lately, I've been reminded of that everywhere I turn.
Heart disease, asthma, diabetes, cancer... these are a few of the health concerns that run in my family. Thoughts of these enter my mind a few times per day. I do not actively think of them. They just appear, spark something inside of me, and then disappear. This has been happening for well over a month.
Then, at work yesterday, a colleague and I were having a conversation. She quit smoking 88 days ago, which is AWESOME, and just started talking to me about it. She told me how she had been sick. A conversation between herself and her mother. She spoke, and I listened. Then, she said. "The Lord was speaking to me," and it was like time stopped. So, that's it! All my puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The thoughts of illness. The desire to get out of the house and enjoy nature. The terror that consumes me when I hear my father complain in pain because I'm afraid he's having a heart attack. My own pain from carrying around more weight than is healthy for my own joints. All of this is just part of the plan to get me where I need to be. The universe/God/nature/etc. wants me to be healthy. Wants me to do this just as badly as I want to do this.
Sometimes, when you've meditated and prayed on something for so long without hearing anything or seeing any kind of sign, you can begin to question your own faith, your own beliefs. Then, in a single moment, it can be answered. Am I magically thin now? No! That's not how it works... at least not in my belief system. BUT... I feel more composed and more in control of my own life than I have ever felt. I know I can do this. I have faith in myself and in my belief system. I know it will be a lot of work. I will be pushed to my limits only to defy them, but I will not give up.
"I can do all things through him who strengthens me." Phillippians 4:13 -- I have a new found love for this verse.
"But, Sarah, I'm not religious," some of you may say.
Guess what? THAT IS OK! You do not have to be religious to find inspiration or strength in a religious text. You do not have to be religious to have faith in yourself! Believe me, if I sat down with most of the people in my family and explained my belief system to them, I would probably be stoned to death. Why? Because they do not see faith the same way I see faith. They do not understand spirituality in the same why I understand spirituality. They do not walk the same road or have the same relationship with the divine that I have, and I am happy about that! If they did, we'd all be living the same lives and that would be so boring!
It doesn't matter what you believe, how you worship, if you worship, whether you meditate or pray, or only believe in science.
Just love yourself. Love who you are. If you do not like something about yourself, take the steps to change it, but never forget it. Those pieces shape us into who we are and who we are going to be. Put your faith in you or the universe or God. Do what feels right to you! Do what is right FOR you! Just take the time to listen because there may be a voice inside of you cheering you along on your way.
I've read and studied many different religions and spiritual beliefs. To me, they all contain beauty and mystique and a great level of faith. To me, they are all important. Each and every one has added some insight into the human condition for me. They are fascinating.
But... that is not what this post is about. This post is about listening to the universe, God, nature, the voice inside yourself, etc.
I have been attempting to lose weight off and on since high school. Back then, I was doing it for boys to like me. In college, my mindset was the same. A few years ago that changed, and I started trying to lose weight in order to love myself. None of those reasons stuck.
Then, last year, I decided to try it again... for my health and happiness. Guess what? It has stuck, and in the meantime, I have begun to learn how to love myself. Not because I'm thin... because I'm far from it. But, because I have to love myself in order to better myself. Have I lost a significant amount of weight? Well, 20 lbs is significant, but when I think that I still have 115 left to lose, I want to cry. So, I binge on food/soda. Then, I binge on workouts, and I keep off the 20 lbs I have lost, but I don't lose anymore than that. It's a deadly cycle because in the end it is my health at stake, and lately, I've been reminded of that everywhere I turn.
Heart disease, asthma, diabetes, cancer... these are a few of the health concerns that run in my family. Thoughts of these enter my mind a few times per day. I do not actively think of them. They just appear, spark something inside of me, and then disappear. This has been happening for well over a month.
Then, at work yesterday, a colleague and I were having a conversation. She quit smoking 88 days ago, which is AWESOME, and just started talking to me about it. She told me how she had been sick. A conversation between herself and her mother. She spoke, and I listened. Then, she said. "The Lord was speaking to me," and it was like time stopped. So, that's it! All my puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The thoughts of illness. The desire to get out of the house and enjoy nature. The terror that consumes me when I hear my father complain in pain because I'm afraid he's having a heart attack. My own pain from carrying around more weight than is healthy for my own joints. All of this is just part of the plan to get me where I need to be. The universe/God/nature/etc. wants me to be healthy. Wants me to do this just as badly as I want to do this.
Sometimes, when you've meditated and prayed on something for so long without hearing anything or seeing any kind of sign, you can begin to question your own faith, your own beliefs. Then, in a single moment, it can be answered. Am I magically thin now? No! That's not how it works... at least not in my belief system. BUT... I feel more composed and more in control of my own life than I have ever felt. I know I can do this. I have faith in myself and in my belief system. I know it will be a lot of work. I will be pushed to my limits only to defy them, but I will not give up.
"I can do all things through him who strengthens me." Phillippians 4:13 -- I have a new found love for this verse.
"But, Sarah, I'm not religious," some of you may say.
Guess what? THAT IS OK! You do not have to be religious to find inspiration or strength in a religious text. You do not have to be religious to have faith in yourself! Believe me, if I sat down with most of the people in my family and explained my belief system to them, I would probably be stoned to death. Why? Because they do not see faith the same way I see faith. They do not understand spirituality in the same why I understand spirituality. They do not walk the same road or have the same relationship with the divine that I have, and I am happy about that! If they did, we'd all be living the same lives and that would be so boring!
It doesn't matter what you believe, how you worship, if you worship, whether you meditate or pray, or only believe in science.
Just love yourself. Love who you are. If you do not like something about yourself, take the steps to change it, but never forget it. Those pieces shape us into who we are and who we are going to be. Put your faith in you or the universe or God. Do what feels right to you! Do what is right FOR you! Just take the time to listen because there may be a voice inside of you cheering you along on your way.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
WOW! Hello again, blog! I am so sorry I have neglected you for so long! Let me tell you... it has been CRAZY in my life since my last post! For the most part, it has all been uphill, too!
In November '14, I left my job. That's right! I left. Ten years with a company, and after many applications and interviews, I landed a part-time job in a different town. PROS: I LEFT A JOB I HATED! I also started a job I enjoy. CON: I had to move back in with my parents.
I'm not saying that living with my parents is necessarily bad. It has its benefits. However, I strive to be an independent woman. I'm also a bit of a lone wolf. I enjoyed the freedom I had after I left here many years ago. Moving back here has caused me to feel like a high school student again. I try to follow their house rules because it is their house. But, I count myself as very blessed to have parents who would take me back in while I get my bearings on this new path.
In January of this year, I received and accepted a job offer at a local community college, and I could not be happier! Is it theatre? No, it is not. However, I find myself helping people every single day. These people come from different walks of life. They each have their own stories and struggles, and they fascinated me. It is beyond satisfying to help someone better themselves, not because they are expected to but because they want to! It has been a thrilling and rewarding ride!
So, where am I now?
Well, I'm currently still at my parents' house. Both of my "paying" jobs are part-time, so I could not leave one to go to the other. Instead, I work both. It still doesn't allow me to participate in theatre, but fingers crossed, the college position will turn full-time. If that happens, I will definitely be able to fully submerge myself in theatre again.
This does not mean I haven't been participating when I can. I've auditioned. I have consulted with an arts center about possibly teaching a few classes. I have volunteered to assistant direct a show. I cannot get to every rehearsal, but I go when I can. The director is very laid back and understanding of my situation. Everything is moving forward. It's not perfect, but it is better. For once, I feel as if I am in the exact place I am supposed to be at this time. Life is a journey, and we're all just along for the ride. Let's make the best of it!!
In November '14, I left my job. That's right! I left. Ten years with a company, and after many applications and interviews, I landed a part-time job in a different town. PROS: I LEFT A JOB I HATED! I also started a job I enjoy. CON: I had to move back in with my parents.
I'm not saying that living with my parents is necessarily bad. It has its benefits. However, I strive to be an independent woman. I'm also a bit of a lone wolf. I enjoyed the freedom I had after I left here many years ago. Moving back here has caused me to feel like a high school student again. I try to follow their house rules because it is their house. But, I count myself as very blessed to have parents who would take me back in while I get my bearings on this new path.
In January of this year, I received and accepted a job offer at a local community college, and I could not be happier! Is it theatre? No, it is not. However, I find myself helping people every single day. These people come from different walks of life. They each have their own stories and struggles, and they fascinated me. It is beyond satisfying to help someone better themselves, not because they are expected to but because they want to! It has been a thrilling and rewarding ride!
So, where am I now?
Well, I'm currently still at my parents' house. Both of my "paying" jobs are part-time, so I could not leave one to go to the other. Instead, I work both. It still doesn't allow me to participate in theatre, but fingers crossed, the college position will turn full-time. If that happens, I will definitely be able to fully submerge myself in theatre again.
This does not mean I haven't been participating when I can. I've auditioned. I have consulted with an arts center about possibly teaching a few classes. I have volunteered to assistant direct a show. I cannot get to every rehearsal, but I go when I can. The director is very laid back and understanding of my situation. Everything is moving forward. It's not perfect, but it is better. For once, I feel as if I am in the exact place I am supposed to be at this time. Life is a journey, and we're all just along for the ride. Let's make the best of it!!
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
28 going on 90
This post is brought to you by three things:
- Binge watching Gilmore Girls
- The cast recording of the Broadway musical If/Then
- My own reflection
I have been watching and listening to the first two religiously lately. I have yet to tire of belting "Always Starting Over" whenever and wherever I can, even it that means while standing outside my workplace during a break.
However, this thought really came to mind when I had just finished the episode of Gilmore Girls when Rory is researching the Life and Death Brigade. At the end of the episode, she asks Lorelei if she is too safe? If she's a mouse? That stuck with me because I am. I do not take risks. I've been at the same job since I graduated high school, and even though I have BIG dreams, I know I'll never achieve them for the simple fact that I am too afraid to chase them. I'll never even come close to them. I sit complaining that I am stuck because I'm not brave enough to do ANYTHING.
I turned off Netflix and decided to go to bed because the sheer thought that I am that terrified of life was too depressing. So, I came upstairs and started to get ready for bed. As I stood there, staring at my reflection as I brushed my hair, I thought to myself, "Who is that old woman?" I'm old. I mean, I understand that 28 is not OLD, but I'm not talking about my actual age. I got my first grey hair at the age of 16. My face is covered in wrinkles and looks weathered. How I feel on the inside is showing in my physical appearance. My fear, my stress, my inability to love myself... it's all there, written on my face for everyone to see.
My entire life, I have been told "You have an old soul." I believe that now more than ever. Have I made childish mistakes? Yes. Of course I have, but for the most part, I have done nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing extreme. I can't even find the strength within me to follow my one true passion in life. I'm feeble and weak. I go through life as if I've already LIVED, but I haven't. I'm not 90. I'm 28. I have done absolutely nothing with my life. I have to move back in with my parents' after my roommate graduates for crying out loud. I have no outlook for the future. It simply doesn't exists because in my mind, I'm going to die any moment now because I'm old and decaying prematurely.
"Well, what are you going to do about that?" is probably what all of you are thinking. I always have some sort of positive spin for these sort of posts. But, tonight, I don't. I don't have a positive spin.
I spend every single moment I am in public putting up some sort of appearance of happiness. (My positive spin for the public.) Then, I looked in the mirror tonight and realized that there's no way I'm fooling anyone. If they see the face I saw in the mirror tonight, they see the torment and the struggle and the pain. If they see that face, they must know all the "happy things" I say are false. Put there to convince them (or even myself) that I am someone who is strong and brave and happy. I'm not fooling anyone, and if I am, I must be a better actor than I have ever given myself credit for being. Because, even though it is my passion, I've never thought I was very good at it either.
So... if you have a positive spin... I'm all ears. (or eyes in this case I guess) Because I'm honestly at a loss. If I weren't allergic to cats, I'd just go ahead and adopt 50 because that's how I've been living life since high school (minus a year or two in college)
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Light in the Dark
Unfortunately, this post is going to be mostly sadness with little to no glitter. Sorry.
My current employment has really begun to get the best of me. When I have the weekend off, I feel so good on Saturday. It's a sort of freedom, peace, tranquility, that fills my heart with such a relief. It's so relaxing, which could a product of the fact that I do absolutely nothing on Saturday. I binge watch Netflix, play a game or two... sometimes, I sew a little, but for the most part I do NOTHING! I do nothing because I lack the energy to do anything. The stress and headache and panic attacks and everything that builds up over the week completely drains me of everything that is ME.
Then, Sunday happens, and I have LOTS of energy. I usually get up early and clean or go shopping. Something that provides some sort of joy. But, around 3PM every Sunday, the dread sets in. I'm not talking a "I don't want to go work" sort of dread. I mean.. the panic attacks, the crying, the hyperventilating, the physically noticeable increase in heart rate. All I have to do is THINK "I have to go to work tomorrow" and I feel like my chest is going to cave in on itself.
The worst part is that my actual JOB is not hard. Customer service, prep, clean, order, count... rinse and repeat. Nothing special. Nothing exceptionally difficult. But, I've been doing it for so long, and the people... Well, I won't air their dirty laundry here, but I will say that I receive no respect but they respect it from me in return.
I lie in bed every morning of the week and cry. I've honestly wanted and considered death as a way of escape because it has just become too much. I set a personal panic attack record of 6 in a 2 hour time span. It's getting to a point that I'm not sure escape exists. How do I get out?
Well, I've applied for countless jobs. I've only received two interviews, and honestly when the second one called, I could barely even remember applying. I apply for anything and everything that isn't food service. Not a lie. Retail. Sales. Administrative. Banking. No option is worse than what I currently have, and honestly, I just NEED out!
No one should feel this way. No job, especially when you are spending nearly 50 hours a week doing it, should cause a person this much distress. Not a job that a high schooler can and does have. Hell! I began working for this company when I graduated high school. It helped me pay rent and such all the way through college. After college, when I needed a job FAST and was having no luck, the company took me back, gave me 2 promotions... and now I'm at a dead end. I can go no further, and even if I could I wouldn't want to because of the treatment I've received. This past week not excluded.
A coworker told me, a couple weeks ago, that I was "wound up tighter than an 8-day clock." (Yes, we quote Reefer Madness to each other.) When, I replied with the following line, "One too many giggle sticks," she replied, "More like not enough." One should not have to do drugs in order to not go crazy at their job. One should have a balance of work and life. Yes, our jobs are important, but they are NOT who we are. WE, as people, are SO MUCH MORE! Granted... I do not believe my job is important. No one is going to starve because I am not there to make their food. In fact, no one would starve if the store wasn't there at all. The fact that someone would tell me that makes me wonder what we, as the human race, are doing with our lives. Numbing ourselves will drugs or drinks or what have you just to not care so much.
Well, I do care! I care because I know I am better than the way I have been treated. I'm better than secret phone calls and disrespect and blame for things that weren't even my fault. I'm better than what I do to pay the bills because I am MORE than what I do to pay the bills. I am just an important as anyone else in the world or else, I wouldn't be here.
I had "Frustration" has the title of this post, but I changed it to "Light in the Dark" because as I continued to type I realized how much I have grown in the past few months. I have hope, even though it may not seem like it, but I do. I have hope that I am finding the person I am, who I was always meant to be. I have searched, almost my entire life, for the approval of other, but I don't need it. I am good enough for me. I cannot benefit others if I do not benefit myself. It has been a HARD lesson to learn, but I'm learning it a little more every day. With every tear I shed, every increase in heart rate, I stand a little taller.
Yes... I have panic attacks. Yes, I cry. Yes, I feel lost, and things are very, very dark right now... However, this is not the end of me. I am not dead yet. I am being beaten down and dragged through the mud, and thrown to the rocky bottom below... but I am not dead yet! I will continue to persevere. I will continue to live. I will learn how to be me. I will find another job. It will happen, but for now, I will be filled with a dread that causes me to cry and ache and not be able to breathe.
So, if you find yourself in one of these situations... do NOT give up. Learn. Stand tall. Breathe... no matter how shallow the breaths may be. Cry, if you need to. Scream. But, above all... FIGHT! Fight for yourself because no one is going to do it for you. Fight to find yourself. Fight to become your own light in the dark!
My current employment has really begun to get the best of me. When I have the weekend off, I feel so good on Saturday. It's a sort of freedom, peace, tranquility, that fills my heart with such a relief. It's so relaxing, which could a product of the fact that I do absolutely nothing on Saturday. I binge watch Netflix, play a game or two... sometimes, I sew a little, but for the most part I do NOTHING! I do nothing because I lack the energy to do anything. The stress and headache and panic attacks and everything that builds up over the week completely drains me of everything that is ME.
Then, Sunday happens, and I have LOTS of energy. I usually get up early and clean or go shopping. Something that provides some sort of joy. But, around 3PM every Sunday, the dread sets in. I'm not talking a "I don't want to go work" sort of dread. I mean.. the panic attacks, the crying, the hyperventilating, the physically noticeable increase in heart rate. All I have to do is THINK "I have to go to work tomorrow" and I feel like my chest is going to cave in on itself.
The worst part is that my actual JOB is not hard. Customer service, prep, clean, order, count... rinse and repeat. Nothing special. Nothing exceptionally difficult. But, I've been doing it for so long, and the people... Well, I won't air their dirty laundry here, but I will say that I receive no respect but they respect it from me in return.
I lie in bed every morning of the week and cry. I've honestly wanted and considered death as a way of escape because it has just become too much. I set a personal panic attack record of 6 in a 2 hour time span. It's getting to a point that I'm not sure escape exists. How do I get out?
Well, I've applied for countless jobs. I've only received two interviews, and honestly when the second one called, I could barely even remember applying. I apply for anything and everything that isn't food service. Not a lie. Retail. Sales. Administrative. Banking. No option is worse than what I currently have, and honestly, I just NEED out!
No one should feel this way. No job, especially when you are spending nearly 50 hours a week doing it, should cause a person this much distress. Not a job that a high schooler can and does have. Hell! I began working for this company when I graduated high school. It helped me pay rent and such all the way through college. After college, when I needed a job FAST and was having no luck, the company took me back, gave me 2 promotions... and now I'm at a dead end. I can go no further, and even if I could I wouldn't want to because of the treatment I've received. This past week not excluded.
A coworker told me, a couple weeks ago, that I was "wound up tighter than an 8-day clock." (Yes, we quote Reefer Madness to each other.) When, I replied with the following line, "One too many giggle sticks," she replied, "More like not enough." One should not have to do drugs in order to not go crazy at their job. One should have a balance of work and life. Yes, our jobs are important, but they are NOT who we are. WE, as people, are SO MUCH MORE! Granted... I do not believe my job is important. No one is going to starve because I am not there to make their food. In fact, no one would starve if the store wasn't there at all. The fact that someone would tell me that makes me wonder what we, as the human race, are doing with our lives. Numbing ourselves will drugs or drinks or what have you just to not care so much.
Well, I do care! I care because I know I am better than the way I have been treated. I'm better than secret phone calls and disrespect and blame for things that weren't even my fault. I'm better than what I do to pay the bills because I am MORE than what I do to pay the bills. I am just an important as anyone else in the world or else, I wouldn't be here.
I had "Frustration" has the title of this post, but I changed it to "Light in the Dark" because as I continued to type I realized how much I have grown in the past few months. I have hope, even though it may not seem like it, but I do. I have hope that I am finding the person I am, who I was always meant to be. I have searched, almost my entire life, for the approval of other, but I don't need it. I am good enough for me. I cannot benefit others if I do not benefit myself. It has been a HARD lesson to learn, but I'm learning it a little more every day. With every tear I shed, every increase in heart rate, I stand a little taller.
Yes... I have panic attacks. Yes, I cry. Yes, I feel lost, and things are very, very dark right now... However, this is not the end of me. I am not dead yet. I am being beaten down and dragged through the mud, and thrown to the rocky bottom below... but I am not dead yet! I will continue to persevere. I will continue to live. I will learn how to be me. I will find another job. It will happen, but for now, I will be filled with a dread that causes me to cry and ache and not be able to breathe.
So, if you find yourself in one of these situations... do NOT give up. Learn. Stand tall. Breathe... no matter how shallow the breaths may be. Cry, if you need to. Scream. But, above all... FIGHT! Fight for yourself because no one is going to do it for you. Fight to find yourself. Fight to become your own light in the dark!
Monday, September 1, 2014
Secondary Blog!
I've started a secondary blog dedicated to my Herbalife journey. Follow the link below to check it out and subscribe!!!
http://herbasarah.blogspot.com/
http://herbasarah.blogspot.com/
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