Day 30: Happy Place

What is your “safe place” when you are upset? (This can also be a person.)

A safe place when I’m upset. Hmmm. I used to laugh at people when they’d talk about finding their happy place. It seemed so, well, Stuart Smalley! Now when I look at it, I think if I’d had a happy place (or a safe place), I wouldn’t have had the problems I’ve had to such a degree. There’s nothing really, or no place that’s a go to when I feel horrid.

In the past, and unfortunately lately as well, my happy place has been a cake, some whipped cream, or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and when you’re having a hard time it just tends to make it harder with the self-loathing that follows. Bad coping mechanism to say the least.

My safe place should be a cozy construct in my mind that resembles a velvet lined, horse-drawn carriage going down a dirt lane towards a country house in England, a library like something from Beauty and the Beast, or a Gothic house full of history to ponder and discuss by fireside. Until I manage to get myself to my destination of choice, I’m going to have to construct it entirely from my addiction to Masterpiece Classic.

However, this may as well be a real place, like a private room no one enters in your house (the study from Clue anyone? though that was hardly safe…) where you can be alone and look at your volume of British Birds to calm down. Something like that. Alas, I don’t have enough room in my house for a library. It’s been a dream of mine, to have a study. If nobody locks you in and the lead pipe isn’t missing from the locked cabinet, you’re golden. I’d love a real place I could retire to that felt safe. That safe feeling from childhood has been gone for a long time now. Far too often, the world feels nothing but dangerous and uncertain. That makes finding a safe place, be it within or without, a difficult task.

The beach has been a safe place for me most of the time. It’s an immediate calming agent, provided I’m there alone. Again, the boy has saved me more than once. He’s the anchor, the happy memories, the love, the comfort that I need during the worst of times. This morning alone, he asked me if I had a nightmare “because you’re hugging me like crazy!” It’s true that the boy is a little happiness machine for me, though that’s probably not fair nor sustainable since the teenage years *gasp* are a few short years away. I can’t imagine how I’m going to get him to hug me then!

Yesterday, in the middle of trying to write, I had a full on panic attack. It became clear that I really had nothing safe to anchor me. I laid down on my floor in front of the heater. I couldn’t imagine anything to calm me down. I couldn’t even breathe. I was crying and going into a derealization mode when the boy came over and started petting my hair and telling me he loved me. Like I’ve said before, nothing beats that. Nothing. But he won’t be here forever. It’s his job to grow up and find his own way and I’ll need to find mine. Once he’s in college I can always make his room a library, or build a bomb shelter in the back yard. The coping with food has to stop, so something has to happen. A dance floor maybe? As long as I don’t hire any maids named Yvette or Tim Curry as a butler, I think I’ll be alright.

Would anyone care for fruit or…dessert?

Day 8: No. 2 Pencils Only

Question 8: Do you have any other diagnoses? Which ones?

This is a cheerful list of questions now isn’t it? Next they’ll ask why my Aunt Griselda decided to disown the family and why, or what that growth is on Uncle Otto’s shoulder. Seriously I should have read them…Anyway, other diagnoses.

It’s a rather short story.

I was first diagnosed a while ago with general anxiety and depression back when I pregnant and getting divorced. It was a hard time, They put me on antidepressants and that was the end of it. After a while, I  stopped the pills because I had to breastfeed. That was my first cold turkey stop of the meds.

A few years later my doctor put me back on antidepressants because of my anxiety and once again, after a while I didn’t feel like they were working and I wanted to go all natural so I stopped all of the pills I was on. I felt good for a long while but as it always did, the anxiety and depression cycled through and snowballed until I got so run down I couldn’t function, think, focus, or even stand up without dizziness. This was the time leading up to my breakdown. I call it a breakdown because it culminated in me unable to get up off the floor and unable to stop crying. It was a scary time.

Once that pile of fun occurred, I was finally sent by my doctor to a therapist and a psychiatrist. I’m still in the midst really of finding out just exactly what’s going on with me. I was first diagnosed with Severe Panic Disorder and Severe Depressive Disorder. Then it progressed and my upswing happened and I was showing signs of possible BPD, Bi-polar and maybe even PTSD, which are under one umbrella of dissociative personality disorders. I’m still not quite sure what exactly is going on. I’ve just begun to travel down the rabbit hole to discover my particular brand of madness. Everyone has their own.

As time wears on, I may discover something wholly different from what my current labels are. For the meantime we’re sticking with the Severe Panic and Depression because apparently the other things aren’t deemed serious enough to be covered, which amazes me since those things have ruined my relationships for as long as I can remember. I’m thankful that I’m now aware of it. Hopefully no more labels fall my way but if they do, I’m ready with sword (pen) in hand to start hacking away.

 

Day 7: I’m Not Myself Today

Question 7: Have you ever dissociated? If so, how often?

For everyone who doesn’t know, which included me too a few months ago, dissociation is a term that encompasses a variety of experiences including derealization ( a sense of unreality) and depersonalization (the feeling of watching yourself as separate) and other forms and varying degrees of detachment. It’s all extremely hard to imagine until it happens to you. When it happened to me, I was convinced that I was crazy and almost got on the bus to the hospital so they could lock me up.

I have had moments a few times under extreme stress. To my friends, these moments are described as going “Pink Floyd”. I feel like my hands are suddenly numb and the first thing I do is hold them up to see if they feel like they belong to me. It sounds bizarre, and believe me the feeling is no less so. That first depersonalization moment when I felt like my hands weren’t mine, was one of the scariest things I ever felt. I thought I had gone past the point of no return. Everything went numb and then that strange feeling took over. I was staring at them like they were on tv, like I had no control over them, They were alien. I remember it vividly. I was standing in the kitchen next to the sink. My husband had just told me that he was leaving. I felt so much all at once and then it felt like I hit tilt…overload.

The second time was similar and also after a point of great stress. At this point I was on my way to work walking the last stretch and trying to decide if I should take the shuttle back toward the hospital or continue on to work. I went to work and then it didn’t happen again. Not until recently.The first therapist I ever had shrugged it off as not that serious when I finally told him about it. He never bothered to explain exactly why or what had happened to me. I was amazed that anyone would classify those experiences as not that big a deal.

Over the years as my anxiety increased, the numbness returned a little at a time, but I never had another as severe until I wore myself down with constant anxiety to a breakdown. With severe depression and panic I ended up with a new therapist who was much more understanding. I ended up back on medication but in the beginning I had one more depersonalization episode and this one was by far the worst.

It was in the midst of a panic attack. I called my therapist to ask for guidance.  I went for a walk afterward to distract myself from my thoughts but outside didn’t look quite right. I couldn’t feel my feet or my legs though I was walking. The flowers that were normally my favorite and would bring a smile didn’t faze me. They seemed colorless as did everything else. I continued moving, or watching myself moving forward. Then something happened that finally shook me awake…after the fact.

I got scared…by a little girl…

I was watching her cycling toward me on her little scooter, pigtails flowing back behind her and, well, I stood terrified in the middle of the sidewalk. I even walked in the other direction until she passed so I could continue on home. Whether human contact was too much at that moment or if it was simply that anything would trigger my panic I’m not sure. The good thing was that it passed and gave me a reason to laugh at myself eventually. At the time it was terrifying and the world, for a few minutes really did exist in shades of grey. I look back and think on that numbness as the opposite of how things usually feel. This is an illness of extremes. That is the terrifying opposite of my normal which tells me how far my pendulum swings.

A New Challenge

So being greatly in need of venting and for a reason to write…actually I’ve had plenty of reasons to write but I’ve tried to take some care of myself for a little while with varying results…I’ve found a new 31 Day Challenge. I’m a few months late but I figure, better late than never.

It’s one that is newly close to my heart as I’ve recently found out that I’m likely to be suffering from this particular “personality style” as it was put to me. I also may not know for a few years if it’s “Borderline” or “Bi-Polar”. Yay for me! As frightening as it’s been, it’s also made sense of so much I’ve felt in the past, so I’m counting all revelations good…well,  these next ones take some effort…

It’s been a rough week of vacation. I finally had the conversation and DG and I are no more. It seemed to be his idea as much as mine and although I knew it was coming, it was still a huge loss. I lost an important relationship in him. I also experienced the sudden death of another friend and nearly lost myself as well while driving.

I nearly drove off a cliff. For real.

You’d think one near fatal car crash would be enough wouldn’t you? It’s really true, never drive angry or upset. To be clear, no, I didn’t do that on purpose. I was thinking too much, upset by recent conversations and couldn’t have picked a worse road to go down in that state. Sea cliffs and sharp drops. I may be a drama queen sometimes, but that’s not my preferred way to go. I think I’d go more for a theatrical scene more than squished on a rock, but I digress… I had some extreme anxiety and panic attacks afterward but it also made me think.

All the talk you hear about living in the moment finally hit me after all of that happened within a few days. Oddly enough it came to me over a pear. Yep, a squishy, gritty, sweet, bell shaped, near-rotten pear. I’d gotten a bag of them and meant to eat them, I really did. Time went on and I’d look at them and do something else. I was down to the last one that looked somewhat viable but it was a toss up. I stared at it.  I thought about it for a minute and thought, damn it I really want a pear. Just eat the damned thing! What are you waiting for? If you want a pear, eat a pear. What if it’s the last pear you ever eat?

Yes, it’s a random train of thought but it brought home the larger point. What am I waiting for in all areas of life? If I want it, do it!

So, one thing I want to do is write about this new road I have to travel. I figure, if you have something you’re going through, and sharing about it might help one person, it’s worth the time…plus I get to write and (hopefully) remove some of the stigma. There’s other stuff that comes up and it’ll all be good. I get to learn what it is to be human and how to choose what that looks like for me. What better journey could a person have to explore?

Day 11 – Bad Dates

Let’s see, my worst, funniest, or most embarrassing date…I’m not really into dating in the formal sense. I usually like to get to know someone for a while first in a casual sense before heading in that direction, hanging out as friends. When I go down the road of thinking  about the actual dates I have gone on, they’re all kind of depressingly bad.

Let’s see, I had the guy that climbed up the side of my house to sneak in and scare me to death, the guy who told me I had big legs (supposed to be a pick-up line??), the guy who made me a fetish box full of nail clippings (ew!), and then the guy I dated last.

I went to have my car worked on and the mechanic asked me out. I liked that he seemed nervous and I couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually asked me on a date. I decided to have coffee, actually tea, with him at my favorite book store. I figured at least I’d be in a place I liked if it didn’t work out. We talked for a while about this and that. He’d almost become a priest but didn’t because he liked new wave, which I found hilarious as a visual. Why not put on the vestments and dance around to a little Echo and the Bunnymen, you know?

Anyway, it was ok, though I was nervous and a bit uneasy the whole time. He asked if he could see me home. I declined but we made a date for the weekend. He went in to kiss me but I couldn’t do it. Just not that quick and to be frank, I hated his cologne. I’m big with smells. That should have been my first red flag…

Just why I went out on a second date with him I don’t know. I figured if the guy could hang with me at the cemetery, a place where I was likely to feel comfortable, then it would be a good sign. I met him at the garage (he smelled like grease which was oodles better than that cologne!) and told him where to meet me. He was up for it. I went to the store to get almonds and coconut coated dates and rushed to make it back to meet him at the time we agreed on. Well, I was there, got it set up and waited. I had the kid with me, which was unorthodox, but the guy thought it was sweet so that was another check in the good column. Still, I should have gone with my gut…

It was a peaceful Saturday afternoon with a nice breeze blowing the leaves on the hanging branches. No one was around. The kid was climbing the nearby trees having fun, and I waited. Then I waited some more. When I finally decided to break into the almonds, he finally showed up. I asked what had taken so long. He’d decided to go home and shower so he didn’t smell like garage. That’s right, the cologne! It carried on the breeze like the noxious fume it was. I tried to ignore it and we started chatting. It was pleasant enough until he made an off-handed comment about it being his lucky day because he could see my underwear. Soon, he was onto his favorite physical, intimate activities and asking me questions about mine.

After about 15 minutes straight of my trying to change the subject and him keeping on the intimate track, I asked him point blank. “Are you actually interested in me at all or looking to have a relationship?” He point blank said “No”. I was shocked to have him be so blatant but at that point I realized that a funeral procession was on the way up the drive and that we were in a bad spot. Unable to help myself, I watched the service  as I packed up wondering if I knew anyone affiliated with work. He suggested we go back to my place. Flabbergasted, I said I wasn’t comfortable with that as I hadn’t cleaned for company. I had my son with me for crying out loud! He then dropped the doozy I’ll never forget.

“I want to see where you sleep.”

I was so creeped out I wanted to run. I thought back to his wanting to follow me home the first night and was feeling close to a panic attack. As we walked to the cars to leave, he tried again to kiss me, rather forcefully and I managed to fight him off. He told me he could be extremely persuasive and told me to call him, mouthing “Call me” as he drove past out the gate. I just felt dirty and took the kid to visit grandma, not wanting to drive home. I didn’t call. Oh no, no I didn’t. It wasn’t so funny, or embarrassing, but it was by far the worst, at least since high school which pretty much says it all.

Crazy, That’s How It Goes

When I started to blog, it was a diary of sorts. I named it Tangent off the Lifeline because I believed that I was taking a step towards a complete and utter change from my automatic, reactionary life into something completely different. I had no idea how right I was.

Of course, what I intended was a complete life makeover in the image of the dreams I had in my head, paved with strong intentions, affirmations, meditation and a daily dose of the guru blogs that had me enthralled for so long.

Then, reality happened.

I was hit square in the face with it. I can’t recall what I was looking up, advice on this or that. I was feeling weird and down a lot and my anxiety was rising to levels I hadn’t seen in some time and I found solace in a special put on about Bipolar Disorder called “The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive” hosted by Stephen Fry; one of the people I admire and always listen to whenever he speaks. That led down a strange path of self discovery, wondering if I had a mood disorder, if I was just tired, who I was, what I believed in. I ended up falling upon a debate with him and a striking figure by the name of Christopher Hitchens. My life took a dramatic turn off the main highway and far from the one I had so carefully mapped  in my head. I watched debate after debate and heard words spoken that I’d only ever previously kept to myself; questions I’ve asked in the secret unseen parts of my soul, if there is such a thing. It changed everything. And then the crash happened.

My health took a dramatic turn. A new injury to my previously injured spine caused pain and numbness which caused my already high anxiety to spike to unseen heights. Then  digestive troubles added on, stress headaches, worry, irritability, loss of interest and eneergy and then the inevitable…I had what is commonly referred to as a nervous breakdown. It’s not the sort of thing one admits in public, and hell, most of the people I know don’t fully know the extent of what happened to me, just that I’ve had a nerve problem. The diagnosis came after a bad weekend where I was unable to get up off the floor and unable to stop crying, feeling somehow out of my body and unable to breathe. I had hallucinations and every nerve felt like it was being strummed like the strings on Tiny Tim’s ukulele. I had to take a week off for “health reasons” and had to try to explain to my employers my situation. Severe Panic Disorder and Major Depression were the labels. So much for my meditative guru lifestyle. I had to accept that I wouldn’t be guest blogging for The Daily Love anytime soon. In fact, writing has been out of the question, my mind blank in sometimes near catatonic states and my focus in the trash bin.

No one was surprised when I decided to just come out with it. Everyone had seen it coming but me. My refusal to take care of myself before my other responsibilities, my empathetic nature, my inability to leave things at the door when I went home, and a lot of negative thinking brought me to where I am now; trying to slowly and deliberately get better. It’s ironic in a way. One of my fears has always been, from the time I was a child, being locked up in an asylum or losing my mind. While I’m not considered psychotic by any means, I don’t quite make it to healthy. I just came in after looking at a startling array of pills lined up on the counter, the latest of which makes me sick and groggy. Another one bites the dust, but it’s a beginning. I plan on making it to my destination, but I think there might just be a slight detour; a breaking down and a rebuilding that needed to happen but that I definitely didn’t see coming.