My last two posts were a bit dreary, and many people have asked me how I deal with what I do. Well, first, I have such an amazing support system of friends and family and I am forever grateful for them. One of the other things that has helped the most has been learning to laugh at myself.
Do you have a friend whose name you could finish this sentence with? "That would only happen to _____."
I think I'm that person for every group of friends I have. I have more embarrassing stories than anyone else I know. I don't mean embarrassing to the point of being traumatic (although some are close) but embarrassing in that the stories usually get told over and over. So, in the spirit of continuing to share the inner workings of my brain, I will tell you some of those stories.
This story I will never live down, and a certain someone I know and love with never let me live it down. She tells it every chance she gets. ;-)
I think this was in the 7th grade, a girl I went to school with, but wasn't really friends with, had a party. She lived near me and we shared a lot of the same friends. So a lot of my friends were at this party, and I wanted to go. But I wasn't invited because, like I said, I wasn't really friends with the hostess. But it bothered me so much that I wasn't there, that I decided to take my dog for a walk thinking they just might be outside or looking out the window when I walked past. They would see me and and say "Hey, do you want to join us?" So off I went, walking the two or three blocks to her house. I went past and no one saw me. So I went home. Then I thought, well maybe I'll walk by again and they'll see me this time. This went on for more time than I care to admit. Finally, they saw me and invited me in, just like I had hoped. In my world, they just happened to finally look out the window and invited me in. Little did I know, they had seen me pretty much EVERY time I had walked past and finally felt sorry enough to let me in. Yep, only me. And yet I'm laughing as I sit here typing it. But not only did I get invited in, but remember that hostess I wasn't really friends with? She is now one of my closest and oldest friends. We share much of our lives and also our son's lives together. So embarrassing or not, I'm glad I decided to walk my dog. (and no, that's not a euphemism)
The next story I will tell you is a favorite among the people that know it. But I warn you, it has a bit of a gross factor to it, so if you're easily offended, don't read this.
So back in 2006, another one of my closest and oldest friends took a trip to Florida with her daughter. We had everything planned out day by day, and it was one of the best trips I've taken. Anyway, we decided that we didn't need to spend a whole day at either Animal Kingdom or Epcot. So we bought a hopper pass and did Animal Kingdom in the morning and Epcot in the afternoon. After Animal Kingdom, we ate lunch right outside the gates at Rainforest Cafe. That is where our story begins.
I don't remember what I had to eat, I only remember that when we got in the car to drive to Epcot, my stomach was NOT happy. I'm not talking about not happy in a nauseous way, or a gassy way, but in that rumbly, "uh oh" kind of way. Now, if you know anything about Epcot, you know that once you park, that's not the end of the trip to the entrance. You then have to get on a tram and take the ride to the gate, often stopping to pick up people along the way. I was clenching like I have never clenched before. Trying to avoid pooing my pants a la Charlotte in Sex and the City was all that was keeping me going. We finally got to the gate, scanned our tickets and I ran, yep ran, to the nearest person that worked there asking where the closest bathroom was. I don't even know that I paid attention to where my friends were and I don't think I cared. I sprinted to the bathroom, ran into a stall and yet...I still wasn't willing to sit on that Epcot toilet seat without a seat cover. So I hurriedly pulled out a seat cover, punched out the middle and sat down.
Here's where things get a little offensive.
Now, obviously, when you have a major explosion of that sort, it doesn't smell good. But when I was finally done and stood up to pull up my shorts, I smelled poo. Not just all-around-me poo but it's-a-lot-closer-than-it-should-be poo. I looked down to see a lovely stripe of poo on the back of my right hand. I apparently had not punched out the seat cover as adequately as I should have, and it created a small pocket for the poo to sit in. When it came time to "clean up", I ever so gently swiped the back of my hand across that pocket, thus creating the stripe of shame. Other than disgust, my immediate thought was, "Well if it's there, it HAS to be somewhere else too." And I was right. I unbuttoned and sat back down to see another lovely stripe of poo....on the front band of my underwear. I have no idea how it got there, but I knew I could not spend the rest of the day this most magical place with poop on my underwear. I did the only thing I could. That's right; I took my favorite mint green underwear and donated them to the happiest place on Earth, and proceeded to spend my day at Epcot in my baggy vacation shorts, commando. I'm sure Mickey would be proud.
Hopefully you have enjoyed my little anecdotes. And believe me, there are plenty more. But in my life I have been shown through experience and through that support system I hold so dear, that laughter really is the best medicine.
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”
–Eleanor Roosevelt
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
Seeing is Believing...
First of all, thank you for all of the wonderful support after my first post. I'm glad to see some people are relating and/or getting something out of it.
I was originally going to write my posts in chronological order to explain my story, but I don't know that that makes sense. And I'm not sure all of it really matters. I'll just get the nitty gritty out of the way. I mentioned a little in the last post, but I have been diagnosed with chronic unipolar depression, anxiety disorder, SAD and most recently ADD. (It was actually the picturing tasks in my head but not doing them that tipped off my doc to the ADD) When I was 16 I was a cutter and ended up spending two weeks in the hospital. The good thing that came out of that was finding the most wonderful doctor in the world. I am still with him 21 years later. I have a lot of scars from cutting, but I don't hide them. I actually wear them with pride. It's my proof to myself that I have conquered this once and can do it again.
That's one of the problems with mental illness is that there is no cure. You have to conquer it over and over again, and many times I have understood the desire to just get tired of it and end things. It's exhausting. But I know I was put on this earth for something, and I don't know what it is for sure, but I know I'm not done yet. This is a hard thing to remember in the darkest times though.
The other thing I wanted to talk about, and the reason for the post title, is that mental illness has no physical manifestation that can be witnessed by others. At least not unless they know what they're looking for. I can't call in to work and say that I can't get out of bed. The response would be "What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" No, I literally can not bring myself to get out of bed. But you can't SEE why, and really when I'm that low I don't want to talk about it, so therefore I'm left to make something up. I have a cold, the flu, my son is sick, my car won't start, and it goes on and on. I have lied to co-workers about why I was gone, and I kept the lie going when I went back to work. "How's your son?" "Oh he's good, feeling much better." Because what would you say if I told you that I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed, and I laid there and cried the entire day and had myself convinced that no one loves me and the world wouldn't miss me. Sometimes I just want to disappear. Not necessarily end my life (although that sometimes comes into play), but cease to exist. Let me just lie there. *crickets* How awkward would that be?
In a recent job I went in to talk to my bosses about my issues. I was at a really, really low point and they seemed genuinely concerned...until I told them I needed to go home for the day. Then there was skepticism and, dare I say, judgement. You're just sad, why do you need to go home? I imagine a lot of people with depression that have trouble controlling it get fired. Because they can't talk about it with their boss(es) and can't explain why they keep missing work. And if you have to change medication you might just be screwed. Usually it takes up to 4 weeks for a new medication to kick in.
I don't have a solution for this other than to talk about it. My husband and I have a code. I tell him I'm having a "bad day" and he knows exactly what I mean. And he will MAKE me talk to him. Have I mentioned I married a saint? He puts up with this and never complains. He knows exactly how to deal with me, even if he doesn't always think he's doing a good job.
I promise that not every post will be this dark and dreary. I actually have quite a good sense of humor, especially when it comes to being crazy. Happy Friday, everyone. Tomorrow is another day.
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”
–Eleanor Roosevelt
First of all, thank you for all of the wonderful support after my first post. I'm glad to see some people are relating and/or getting something out of it.
I was originally going to write my posts in chronological order to explain my story, but I don't know that that makes sense. And I'm not sure all of it really matters. I'll just get the nitty gritty out of the way. I mentioned a little in the last post, but I have been diagnosed with chronic unipolar depression, anxiety disorder, SAD and most recently ADD. (It was actually the picturing tasks in my head but not doing them that tipped off my doc to the ADD) When I was 16 I was a cutter and ended up spending two weeks in the hospital. The good thing that came out of that was finding the most wonderful doctor in the world. I am still with him 21 years later. I have a lot of scars from cutting, but I don't hide them. I actually wear them with pride. It's my proof to myself that I have conquered this once and can do it again.
That's one of the problems with mental illness is that there is no cure. You have to conquer it over and over again, and many times I have understood the desire to just get tired of it and end things. It's exhausting. But I know I was put on this earth for something, and I don't know what it is for sure, but I know I'm not done yet. This is a hard thing to remember in the darkest times though.
The other thing I wanted to talk about, and the reason for the post title, is that mental illness has no physical manifestation that can be witnessed by others. At least not unless they know what they're looking for. I can't call in to work and say that I can't get out of bed. The response would be "What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" No, I literally can not bring myself to get out of bed. But you can't SEE why, and really when I'm that low I don't want to talk about it, so therefore I'm left to make something up. I have a cold, the flu, my son is sick, my car won't start, and it goes on and on. I have lied to co-workers about why I was gone, and I kept the lie going when I went back to work. "How's your son?" "Oh he's good, feeling much better." Because what would you say if I told you that I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed, and I laid there and cried the entire day and had myself convinced that no one loves me and the world wouldn't miss me. Sometimes I just want to disappear. Not necessarily end my life (although that sometimes comes into play), but cease to exist. Let me just lie there. *crickets* How awkward would that be?
In a recent job I went in to talk to my bosses about my issues. I was at a really, really low point and they seemed genuinely concerned...until I told them I needed to go home for the day. Then there was skepticism and, dare I say, judgement. You're just sad, why do you need to go home? I imagine a lot of people with depression that have trouble controlling it get fired. Because they can't talk about it with their boss(es) and can't explain why they keep missing work. And if you have to change medication you might just be screwed. Usually it takes up to 4 weeks for a new medication to kick in.
I don't have a solution for this other than to talk about it. My husband and I have a code. I tell him I'm having a "bad day" and he knows exactly what I mean. And he will MAKE me talk to him. Have I mentioned I married a saint? He puts up with this and never complains. He knows exactly how to deal with me, even if he doesn't always think he's doing a good job.
I promise that not every post will be this dark and dreary. I actually have quite a good sense of humor, especially when it comes to being crazy. Happy Friday, everyone. Tomorrow is another day.
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”
–Eleanor Roosevelt
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