I don't want to dwell too heavily on why I personally have a hard time with the holidays; but, I'm also not going to pretend that this time of year is welcomed in my heart. I have a plethora of hurtful, frightening memories when it comes to the holidays. My mother hated the holidays; mainly because it drug her out of bed at an ungodly hour and she behaved very poorly towards us. Her tone was biting and she'd make no qualms about how angry she was that we'd made her get up. When my step-dad wasn't in the room, she'd hit or kick or pinch or whatever she could do to hurt us. When we cried, we got "popped" in the mouth and told to shut up or we'd get something to cry about. One of my worst Christmas memories was when my brother, sister, and I were punished by having our presents thrown in the garbage. Every last one of them. I remember the empty, sad feeling when we drove past the dumpster of our apartment complex; our presents peeking above the rim, covered in fresh snow. They themselves looked sad and abandoned; it was as if they were begging us to retrieve them. I thought for sure that my mother was bluffing and the gifts would be retrieved shortly after they'd been disposed of... but I was wrong. She did not. The only lesson I truly learned that day was that my mother was cruel and had a very horrible idea on how to punish her children.
I loved Christmas once upon a time. But over the years, after having such terrible holidays, I find myself hating this time of year. I have no memories of fun, light, merry holidays; sure, there were moments, but they were blips that dotted the more dominating times. I try to hold onto the moments that were happy, but it is very difficult. I hope that I can create happy memories, and so far as an adult, I have a few.
I refuse to completely give up on loving the holidays. I hope to have a baby one day and I promise myself that should I become a mother, my child or children will know only happy moments. I will make every holiday positive and light, merry and bright. Sleigh rides and sledding, hot cocoa and marshmellows by a fire, decorating the tree, hugs and kisses, mounds of presents they'll keep, and snowmen in the yard; these are all things I hope to give my children one day.
I hope to express what I am thankful for. I'm thankful for the gift of Life. I am grateful for the moments that surprise me with happiness and hope. I am thankful for the love in God. I am glad that I will get a chance to truly know Him and I pray that each dayI remind myself to try. I am thankful for my husband. I hope I can have a strong and loving relationship with him one day. I am thankful for my pets. They offer me great joy and happiness in moments of fear or discomfort. I am extremely thankful for my family. I am thankful that I have a chance to rebuild what was lost between my brother and sister. I am thankful that I can rebuild with my mother. I am thankful for my beautiful neice and nephew and I am thankful that I have them in my life. I am thankful that I have wonderful friends like Sally, Lizzy, Deleva, Mike and Jim. I have family in them, too. They help me through moments that frighten me. I love every one of them in their own ways. I am thankful that I have these things in my life. And I am thankful for the holiday that allows me to celebrate them.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Deciding to Live
One of my favorite shows in the world is The Golden Girls. I used to curl up on the floor with my little brother and we'd share cheesecake while laughing at the jokes we were far too young to truly comprehend. To this day, it's one of my favorite shows and I don't mind watching the same episodes over and over; they never get old.
One thing that the girls always seemed to do was charity work. I never thought anything of it until recently. I've struggled so much with severe anxiety and minor depression that it's been incredibly hard for me to live beyond the fear. Then I thought; I wonder if people who are in need allow themselves to feel as terrible as I do. Then I thought, perhaps if I give myself a little, I could escape my own head.
I used to volunteer at a senior care center in my hometown. It was incredibly rewarding. The elderly people we'd go and visit were so thankful. They'd light up when they saw me and my girlfriends trooping down the hall, smiling, ready to talk, ready to help. I remember one lady in particular. I can't recall her name, but I remember her room being full of knit and crocheting work. Intricate blankets, doilies, dolls clothes, sweaters; you name it, she made it. Her walls were literally covered in the work.
I remember thinking to myself, this woman must either love to do this work, or she's very lonely. I have to believe the latter because when I'd peak in, she'd set her knitting work aside and pat the side of her bed eagerly. I'd come in, sit beside her and she'd tell me stories about when she was growing up and show me pictures of her and her family. Though, I don't recall the exact details of what she said, I remember very clearly the look in her eyes when she'd talk to me; it was like life had been breathed into her.
I remember initially being uncertain about dedicating so much time to the work. I was worried about boys and having fun. Who had time to sit around with a bunch of old people? However, the first day, when I went in and I saw all the warm, genuine smiles, I realized I would gladly come back, over and over. And I did.
Somehow, over the years of getting older and having my own adult responsibilities, I'd forgotten how rewarding and beautiful the experience can be. I've recently decided to go back to volunteering because it's a way to live for someone other than myself. I have a lot to give and a lot of love in my heart. I think this is one of the best ways to overcome anxiety and depression; to love. It's a sort of healing that no medicine could possibly bring. I've decided to live. Not for myself; but for others. I think that's the best way to live.
One thing that the girls always seemed to do was charity work. I never thought anything of it until recently. I've struggled so much with severe anxiety and minor depression that it's been incredibly hard for me to live beyond the fear. Then I thought; I wonder if people who are in need allow themselves to feel as terrible as I do. Then I thought, perhaps if I give myself a little, I could escape my own head.
I used to volunteer at a senior care center in my hometown. It was incredibly rewarding. The elderly people we'd go and visit were so thankful. They'd light up when they saw me and my girlfriends trooping down the hall, smiling, ready to talk, ready to help. I remember one lady in particular. I can't recall her name, but I remember her room being full of knit and crocheting work. Intricate blankets, doilies, dolls clothes, sweaters; you name it, she made it. Her walls were literally covered in the work.
I remember thinking to myself, this woman must either love to do this work, or she's very lonely. I have to believe the latter because when I'd peak in, she'd set her knitting work aside and pat the side of her bed eagerly. I'd come in, sit beside her and she'd tell me stories about when she was growing up and show me pictures of her and her family. Though, I don't recall the exact details of what she said, I remember very clearly the look in her eyes when she'd talk to me; it was like life had been breathed into her.
I remember initially being uncertain about dedicating so much time to the work. I was worried about boys and having fun. Who had time to sit around with a bunch of old people? However, the first day, when I went in and I saw all the warm, genuine smiles, I realized I would gladly come back, over and over. And I did.
Somehow, over the years of getting older and having my own adult responsibilities, I'd forgotten how rewarding and beautiful the experience can be. I've recently decided to go back to volunteering because it's a way to live for someone other than myself. I have a lot to give and a lot of love in my heart. I think this is one of the best ways to overcome anxiety and depression; to love. It's a sort of healing that no medicine could possibly bring. I've decided to live. Not for myself; but for others. I think that's the best way to live.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Is it okay...not to be okay?
The feelings overwhelm me sometimes; to the point I find myself wondering if I'll find my way back to being okay. Anxiety swells inside of my body and I have this little voice in my head that asks, "Am I going crazy? Is the point of no return?" I get scared and I feel so alone; like there's no one else in the world who feels the way I feel...
The real woman inside of me knows that I'll come away from it; battered, confused, scared and trembling with remnants of the storm, but always okay. The "survivor" in me tells me that I can pull through and to just "suck it up", everything will be okay. I don't know how to experience negative feelings without taking it to the extreme in my thinking. It's always, "Oh no, I'm losing my mind," "Oh no, I'm dying," or something equally over dramatic.
I feel like if I'm not JUST happy or just okay, then everything is going to fall apart and I'm going to end up in a psych ward, rocking back and forth, medicated and living sub par. It's my greatest fear; perhaps, even more than dying itself. I fear losing myself. I fear going crazy the most because it's the ultimate loss of control. You lose what makes you you and then what...what happens to you? If your actions are no longer your own? If you can't decipher truth from lie, reality from fantasy? To me, it's hard to distinguish fear of losing control from actually losing it. I get so scared that I feel as if there is no coming back.
My body is probably the biggest culprit. Sometimes, it feels like it is betraying me. I get a sensation that I'm not really here; like I'm observing, but not present. Or the anxiety swells so much that I feel as if I'm drowning in my own emotions and I can't make it back to the surface. It feels like hell. And I have yet to figure out how to allow the emotions to come and go without worrying about the what ifs and the how comes.
My fear isn't founded. I've been through a LOT and I have a lot of insecurities and sorrows that come with that. I have to allow myself to have moments of sad or mad or frustrated and not jump to the conclusion that it indicates that I'm losing it. I'm still me, even if I feel a little strange or a little sad or a little frustrated or angry or even a little overwhelmed. I'm not losing anything; the fear should tell me that. Crazy people aren't afraid of going crazy. They're not even aware they're in that state. I think my fear should be my greatest indicator that I'm still me.
Thoughts aren't always going to be pleasant and happy; especially with what I experienced as a child. The everyday isn't truly scary anymore, but I've lived that way for so long, that I still have attacks, as if I am back in my childhood, dealing with the insane situations I couldn't have possibly understood. AND maybe that's why those feelings scare me. Because they make as little sense as the situations I grew up in. Maybe I never learned how to seriously deal with anything uncomfortable except to get overwhelmingly scared and THAT is the only coping technique I understand.
I say this now, but I know when a thought blips through my mind, I'll have another anxiety attack; I'll feel alone and crazy and worried and then...I'll come back like I always do. Because sometimes, it is okay not to be okay.
The real woman inside of me knows that I'll come away from it; battered, confused, scared and trembling with remnants of the storm, but always okay. The "survivor" in me tells me that I can pull through and to just "suck it up", everything will be okay. I don't know how to experience negative feelings without taking it to the extreme in my thinking. It's always, "Oh no, I'm losing my mind," "Oh no, I'm dying," or something equally over dramatic.
I feel like if I'm not JUST happy or just okay, then everything is going to fall apart and I'm going to end up in a psych ward, rocking back and forth, medicated and living sub par. It's my greatest fear; perhaps, even more than dying itself. I fear losing myself. I fear going crazy the most because it's the ultimate loss of control. You lose what makes you you and then what...what happens to you? If your actions are no longer your own? If you can't decipher truth from lie, reality from fantasy? To me, it's hard to distinguish fear of losing control from actually losing it. I get so scared that I feel as if there is no coming back.
My body is probably the biggest culprit. Sometimes, it feels like it is betraying me. I get a sensation that I'm not really here; like I'm observing, but not present. Or the anxiety swells so much that I feel as if I'm drowning in my own emotions and I can't make it back to the surface. It feels like hell. And I have yet to figure out how to allow the emotions to come and go without worrying about the what ifs and the how comes.
My fear isn't founded. I've been through a LOT and I have a lot of insecurities and sorrows that come with that. I have to allow myself to have moments of sad or mad or frustrated and not jump to the conclusion that it indicates that I'm losing it. I'm still me, even if I feel a little strange or a little sad or a little frustrated or angry or even a little overwhelmed. I'm not losing anything; the fear should tell me that. Crazy people aren't afraid of going crazy. They're not even aware they're in that state. I think my fear should be my greatest indicator that I'm still me.
Thoughts aren't always going to be pleasant and happy; especially with what I experienced as a child. The everyday isn't truly scary anymore, but I've lived that way for so long, that I still have attacks, as if I am back in my childhood, dealing with the insane situations I couldn't have possibly understood. AND maybe that's why those feelings scare me. Because they make as little sense as the situations I grew up in. Maybe I never learned how to seriously deal with anything uncomfortable except to get overwhelmingly scared and THAT is the only coping technique I understand.
I say this now, but I know when a thought blips through my mind, I'll have another anxiety attack; I'll feel alone and crazy and worried and then...I'll come back like I always do. Because sometimes, it is okay not to be okay.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
When I grow up...
Remember how when you were a child, you thought the world would just be the way you wanted it to be the moment you stepped out of your parents' house? No more bed times, no more homework, no more answering to anyone... You were just going to be a musician or a lawyer or a doctor or something really neat who made a lot of money... Then reality hits and you realize that the world is the same place it was when you were a kid.
You still have to answer to a boss. If you want to get somewhere you still have some form of homework and the idol dreams of a child are dashed the moment you realize the bills and the responsibility of life isn't going to just take a back seat while you figure out whether you're a doctor or lawyer. You find yourself settling for a desk job that pays well but doesn't exactly give you chills every time you slink into work. You find a close circle of friends and you hunker down for the remainder of your life until the Good Lord decides it's your time.
And believe it or not, I'm okay with that. What I want to be when I finally grow up is: Me. The fun loving, spirited, confidant, vibrant woman I know I am. I want to put to to rest the anxiety that riddles me nearly every day. I want to hush the fears and the what ifs and stop worrying about whether or not I feel okay. I'm exhausted right now. I am tired of the constant worry and panic and feeling as if every moment I'm going to just pass out because I've worked myself up so much. It kills me.
I keep waiting for that miracle answer to come from somewhere. I even hoped for an accident where I am hit in the head and somehow the anxiety and fear is gone, but I'm still me. Crazy, yes, but when you're desperate, sense has little room. I am tired of feeling as if every little thread that holds me together is just going to unravel and leave me with remnants of what I used to be.
For a while, I was fine. Very few anxiety attacks. I felt great... for the most part. Then I found out I had hypothyroidism. Suddenly, every little twinge my body makes, I'm terrified I'm dying. I'm either too hot or too cold or incredibly dizzy... everything points to a certain doom. And every time these thoughts encompass me, I fail to realize that I am still here! I'm still alive. I'm even healthy. Most of my issues are truly in my head.
Heaven help me. I pray in all honesty that one day my spirit may rise above all of this and leave me with a happiness that I didn't realize I could have. I pray these things in the name of your Son, Amen.
You still have to answer to a boss. If you want to get somewhere you still have some form of homework and the idol dreams of a child are dashed the moment you realize the bills and the responsibility of life isn't going to just take a back seat while you figure out whether you're a doctor or lawyer. You find yourself settling for a desk job that pays well but doesn't exactly give you chills every time you slink into work. You find a close circle of friends and you hunker down for the remainder of your life until the Good Lord decides it's your time.
And believe it or not, I'm okay with that. What I want to be when I finally grow up is: Me. The fun loving, spirited, confidant, vibrant woman I know I am. I want to put to to rest the anxiety that riddles me nearly every day. I want to hush the fears and the what ifs and stop worrying about whether or not I feel okay. I'm exhausted right now. I am tired of the constant worry and panic and feeling as if every moment I'm going to just pass out because I've worked myself up so much. It kills me.
I keep waiting for that miracle answer to come from somewhere. I even hoped for an accident where I am hit in the head and somehow the anxiety and fear is gone, but I'm still me. Crazy, yes, but when you're desperate, sense has little room. I am tired of feeling as if every little thread that holds me together is just going to unravel and leave me with remnants of what I used to be.
For a while, I was fine. Very few anxiety attacks. I felt great... for the most part. Then I found out I had hypothyroidism. Suddenly, every little twinge my body makes, I'm terrified I'm dying. I'm either too hot or too cold or incredibly dizzy... everything points to a certain doom. And every time these thoughts encompass me, I fail to realize that I am still here! I'm still alive. I'm even healthy. Most of my issues are truly in my head.
Heaven help me. I pray in all honesty that one day my spirit may rise above all of this and leave me with a happiness that I didn't realize I could have. I pray these things in the name of your Son, Amen.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Breaking the Cycle... Easier said than done
I always try to tell myself I'm going to be okay...everything is okay; but the moment you have an anxiety attack, it's incredibly hard to do. My heart thunders in my ears and I feel like any moment I am going to just die. Of course when you feel like that, your thoughts are your worst enemies. You can't get escape until it subsides.
When I have an attack, the entire world is scary. I feel like I am going crazy and even if that's not happening, I am still dying. Everything that matters to you sinks into an oblivion of fear and for the next 30 minutes or more, I'm wishing I could just sink away, too. It's an awful feeling because somewhere behind all of that, there is still the fun, bubbly woman I know. I feel like there are two people living inside of me; one I know and love, the other is a fearful, unhappy hypochondriac and I can't stand it.
Of course you think you can reach out to a doctor for help...but the only thing they want to do is push a pill on you. Yes, the answer to all of my health issues and fears are in this little pill... so what if I could potentially commit suicide? I won't be anxious anymore, right? :(
Please. Let's deal with the real issues at hand. I had a rough childhood. I grew up afraid. Everything was scary; I never knew what was going to happen. I'll give a few examples so you understand; this isn't something you just get over and forget about.
When my mom's boyfriend would get drunk, he'd dangle me and my brother over our third story balcony. He'd hold me by my legs and pretend that he was going to drop me. All I could see was the concrete floor three floors down. It scared me so bad.
I would watch the same happen to my little brother and I think that scared me even more. The terror that was scrawled over his face was incredibly hard to watch. What is worse, this would happen and my mother would continue to stay with the man. I can never understand that. It wouldn't matter to me what I thought I had with a man; you hurt my children that way and you are gone forever... but that didn't happen.
My mother's boyfriend tormented me. He had it out for me. Everything I did was up for an argument. I wasn't good enough, my efforts were shit, and I swear I spent 70% of my childhood in my bedroom because of him.
My mother was venomous when it came to her children. She was plain mean. I remember one day she literally yelled at us the entire day. She didn't stop. Intermittent beatings were also part of the agenda that day and, as much as I hated him, I couldn't wait for my stepdad to get home because he didn't let her hit us.
The worst beating I had ever gotten was when I was 12. I'd lied about having homework for two weeks. I was depressed and I didn't care about school. I didn't want to bother with any of it. My sixth grade teacher informed me one day that my mother had called to inquire about my homework. Chills and fear ran over me and I looked at my teacher and told her she had no idea what she had just done. Of course, my teacher had no idea what was going on at home, so she shrugged it off and asked me why I'd lied.
It's hard to explain why I lied. I thought is was just easier than saying I'm sad and I feel alone and I don't want to live in this house with this kind of fear. Who would listen? Certainly not my mother; she was the person who inflicted this on me. In any case, I did lie and the consequences were more than I could bear.
I remember I came home and I knew I was in trouble. I tried to make light of everything; it was close to Christmas and I'd spent the afternoon in the Santa Workshop school put together. I tried to appeal to her, but it didn't work. She looked at me with such disdain... I knew at that moment that she'd contemplated what she was going to do to me all day. It was like she was excited to punish me and that idea terrified me.
When I got in, she directed me to the bathroom. She shut the door and began to yell at me. I can't remember everything she said because the fear that had rolled over me was so intense it was a blur. I remember it was something about how my friends might get away with it, but I wouldn't and if I thought I was a big girl, I was wrong. She then had me sit on the toilet and she started to beat me in the head with her hands. She hit my ears over and over and over. Then she made me eat two bars of soap. If I stopped, she'd hit me. She then brushed my teeth with the soap and I remember her face being scrunched up; like she was pushing as hard as she could to inflict the most pain.
I remember when I caught a glimpse in the mirror, there were white bubbles with blood racing through the suds. It scared me so bad. She didn't let me spit. She made me swallow. After she'd made my gums raw, she took me to the kitchen and made me eat jalepenos. I remember it burned so incredibly bad. I felt like I was never going to stop hurting. Then, she took me to my bedroom, layed me over the bed and beat me with the belt. It was after all of this, she made me go to bed without dinner.
All the while, my grandmother was there. She saw everything...and did nothing. I remember I was laying on the living room floor the next day, my stomach churning and feeling like it was on fire. I remember throwing up and there was a little blood in my vomit. My grandma said, "I think you might have overdone it." My mom just looked at me and said, "Good. Maybe she won't lie again."
This episode did something to me. It scared me. it mademe realize I couldn't trust anyone. Anything could happen. Being afraid like that everyday... I think it taught me to be afraid most of the time. I don't know that I will ever get over that.
But I do plan to seek counseling. Because I know that my anxiety can be controlled. And I know that I am more than my anxiety. I know that I am more than the things that happened to me. I know that I am a good person with a good heart and I deserve to be happy. And one day, very soon, I will be.
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