Reprocessing: so much to do... so little time

11/30/2018
2:24 am

I am thinking on reprocessing as I become semi-conscious through the natural cycles of sleep. It wakes me completely as I recognize that these thoughts are new, and they are forward moving in the direction I wish to head. I know that I will not go back to sleep easily now because my mind will not easily give up the processing of them and I make a quick and decisive decision to get them out now, as they are coming, so that I may return to sleep -the very thing I need- quicker… and as I type this I remember that even going to sleep I recognized that I was not likely to sleep well since I was feeling certain emotions before I went to sleep. Not terribly overwhelming, but emotions that needed to be felt and a very natural part of the “grieving process.” Emotions that I am familiar enough with to know that they would affect my sleep.

In addition to those loss and grieving emotions (before I went to sleep) I was thinking on how he just let me go. How, somehow, in my mind I felt a switch from him that I did not see coming, at least not like that and not just then. I knew therapy would have to end with him and I had scheduled appointments for the next four weeks in a row when I realized that I needed to get this therapy stuff done so I could move on and not grow so attached to him. An ironic paradox. It really did seem to me that the moment I started to utilize him as just my therapist is the moment he turned on me and this was so confusing to me. And my research confirmed that this was confusing. I now long to talk with him human to human, preferably friend to friend, but even if he can’t be friends with me for a moment to resolve this, I hope and so intensely desire that he can at least talk real person to real person with me, without the walls, without the masks, and outside of his confining office where his Jedi mind tricks would not have power over me and he would be less tempted to use them.

The new thoughts that are attached to the old thoughts that I know... I need guidance in reprocessing if I am going to do it correctly… or at least more productively and heading down the happier healthier path that (therapist) had started me on. The paths in my thinking that I had become excited about ...and grown quite fond of.

These are the new thoughts that are coming. Something feels different about this time. “It’s not an uncommon theme with me,” I say, “ I fall in love with just about everyone, but this is a little different, you are something special.”

…-it’s not a sexual thing...maybe I needed to add that?

I have so many things that I need to reprocess that I do not want this to be another one. But it is confusing to me, as I see repeats in my patterns that I believed he would have seen, been aware of, and sensitive to as my therapist and as “the best.” I know that he is going through some personal stuff, I sensed that, and I am aware that this could have thrown him off his game… but why would that happen ...especially to me? With me? Why the timing? It was far too familiar of a pattern so I came to questioning myself and at the same time wondering if I could believe anything he had said and that I had felt. Wondering if my perceptions were so completely off. Questioning. And feeling like a fraud in both my sanity and insanity again. A very challenging thinking trap to escape. His actions seemed to confirm everything I hated about myself; the mysteries of myself that everyone else hated about me too but would not tell me (so I could fix them.) I had been here before, but this time is different. I am gaining ground. Making progress and I will not let my mistakes or someone else’s mistakes, real, projected, reflected or perceived derail me this time. I AM more solid and I WILL make it through and I AM finding my power to do that.

So, and this is what woke me up, the new thought in this process, the thought that I knew could keep me on my path to full healing and my full potential:

“I can admit that I am wrong.”

I want to be able to compartmentalize and store my thoughts, hurts and experiences more effectively and efficiently so that I can live the best and most productive version of myself. There is more to my story than he knows (so much more), whether I was hiding it from him -very well- or whether he failed to see it doesn’t matter so much as I know that he does have the knowledge and training that fits my scenario and he knows how to direct me -he really is very good. I know deep down inside that he can still be helpful for me with this if he is willing to.

My pride says "No! since I told him I would not see him again as my therapist." My ego says no because “you don’t even know what the truth is and what is the lie with him.” But my heart says "it will hurt no matter how you see him again but forward movement is what you need and you are going to continue to love him either way, besides it might be good for him as well." And my logical brain says, "umm yeah, admitting that you are wrong and utilizing his skills to help you in the right direction of reprocessing this is a good idea even if it does mean you have to admit you were wrong about coming to see him as your therapist again and even if it is painful for either of you. It is paradoxically a step in the direction of becoming that person you have been working so hard on becoming for so long."

It is now 3:21 am and I feel like I have gotten it all out -I hope I have as I’d like to go back to sleep. “How are you sleeping?” He would ask regularly … because he knows that I am going to be extra sensitive to not getting enough sleep.

I broke my therapist

It's been awhile. I had been working so diligently to create my illusion that I almost had myself convinced.
And this morning, at 5 am, I believe in my realization that I had my neuropsychologist convinced.
It's such a funny irony, paradox, hypocrisy whatever and a million other things that I have struggled so much with my sanity, to keep it in check, and yet somehow I feel neither here nor there in the land of crazy and the sane. I can't accept that I am *crazy and I can't accept that I am sane -as if I am perfectly at home as a fraud in both spaces.  (*have any type of medical diagnosable mental illness)

I somehow have the ability to look at myself scientifically and rationally even when chemicals are raging through my system and there are mystical signs and omens at work on me. I don't know that I always recognize it as well as I think I do, but I do a pretty damn good job.
My therapist, who I had been seeing for several months, has been helping me to uncover my buried story, bring it to the surface, and to learn to accept and love my perfectly imperfect self.
I had my story so far buried I had forgotten why I had buried it; how I had gotten to that point. I figured I was just there to deal with PTSD from a car accident, that involved a concussion, thus it also meant dealing with the head injury of my youth, which seemed to be contributing to the problems I was having while offering reliving style memories and feelings from my teen years that I was not realizing were in fact head injury related and that I had been left to handle alone.
There are so many ironies, repeats and parallels in this
That is probably why the spirit animals came into play.
I do in fact need some other worldly comforting.
But back on track. I was also aware of recent painful experiences with friends and an employer. I do certainly scare people, but my therapist didn't believe I was scary; because I had him fooled.
Yesterday I remembered my blog.
I revisited you (blog) it's been years and I have to say it is a bit sad that it lacked sharing of some of the happier sides of my beautiful crazy life.
Ironically I feel it easier to share the depression stuff, I think it is safer to share and I often look back with embarrassment at the other. ...and I allow my self to digress again ... but back on track
You see the problem is that I fell in love with my therapist. It is not an uncommon theme with me, I fall in love with most people and it's not a sexual thing, it's just love. But because it is coming from me or is channeled through me it is a deep and intense love that I struggle to handle myself. Forget expecting other people to handle it.
What if you saw God, or Jesus, how would that effect you?
This is a deep confession and not where I expected to go with this, but I am going to let it continue, because my box is broken, my therapist is broken and I am tired of hiding, it never felt quite right when my parents told me it was something I should not share freely.
I wasn't crazy then. I didn't even have a damaged brain. I was a young child and it was a dream, but as sure as I was that I was alive and human, that my parents were my parents and that anything tangible really existed I knew that I had seen Jesus. I knew it because I had felt his love. A love so intense and so powerful that it changed me, it shined out of my little blue eyes as I proclaimed to my mom "I saw Jesus." It shined out even without me talking about it.
As an adult, as a teen, I questioned it, questioned if it was just a dream. I often tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, but that was a destructive lie.
When I was around 17, in a religious studies class, in order to illustrate some point, my teacher carelessly asked for a raise of hands from anyone who had ever seen Jesus; In that moment I became the damned as I tried to convince myself that it had merely been a dream despite the fact that I knew better. It likely scarred me more deeply than I know. I had just denied seeing God.
This was not what I came on to write about, but sometimes it is best to stopping fighting with ourselves and our egos and just go with the flow.
And  just like that my mind is empty again. Ready to go back to sleep.

“I think I am struggling a little with depression.” I say as tears well up and then silently slip down my cheek trying to escape to the dry ground before anyone notices their presence. 

It’s just me and my husband on the trail at this point but that is enough and I am exposed.

“You probably will your whole life,” he says.

“Nope” I say flatly and I mean it even as more tears escape.

“Good” he comments with a slight sense of pride.

He reassures me that I have done a good job at keeping myself out of depression. He praises me for my efforts to beat it. And I am glad for this.

I am glad that he understands and is supportive of my intense desire to beat it. To change that aspect of me so that I don't have to struggle with it my whole life. It has been many years that I have struggled with depression and it has brought me very near to breaking points... Or I may have broken many times but I am not beat by it 

and I can proudly and confidently tell you that it is not a struggle for my whole life. 

I have beat it because I know it. I know what it looks like, I know when it is coming, and I know what to do about it. I know how to take care of myself and I know how to beat it again and again until it is not a struggle and it is not a burden of my whole life to wallow in. 

I am a better and stronger person because of it but eventually I will lose touch. 

I will forget what it is like to go through and I will be yet another person who just doesn't get it, not because I never have like most who don't get it, but because I have lost touch. I have healed, I have beat it, I have outgrown it and I have moved on.
I am happy to know that and I feel better already.

my five senses.

A good early education will move from concrete to abstract to make sure the student has a solid conceptual understanding of the subject.
I think so much of our lives has become so abstract that we often forget how to live concretely. How to live in and enjoy our real life physical surroundings and existence.

Often we want answers. I often find myself praying. Then I find myself looking for the answer. Wondering where and who to turn to to get the answer I am looking for.
...Because God is silent.

But what if He wasn't?
What if he gave solid answers.
I have been trained to believe that he does and yet it is a code you have to decipher and while no one else can receive revelation for me I am supposed to turn to certain books and people for answers. Who have been trained and conditioned in the same way. and sometimes they are wrong.
So why isn't God himself giving me answers that I know are actually coming from him? That I know I can trust? I am sure I am not the only one to feel this way.
I am not one who likes to believe down the line. I like to go directly to the source or at least as close to it as I can get and then figure out and decipher for myself how to interpret that data.
There is so much data out there.
And data can be changed, tweaked, manipulated for what ever purpose people have.
It's exhausting.
No wonder there are so many crazy people.

I once rolled my car by over correcting.
My metaphoric mind was thinking about all those "crazy" people who tout loving and forgiving yourself, and all the good karma ideals that occasionally frustrate me. (We can include at least one of my alter egos among the tout-ers.) But I think the thing that can frustrate is when I see those who fully love and forgive themselves all the time instead of changing the offending habit. I feel a bit apprehensive to fully accept myself as a good person when I am not yet.  It's tricky.
On the one hand I realize the power of forgiveness and that I'll not be capable of change if I don't forgive myself and give myself some credit and yet I don't want to excuse my own bad behavior. To correct is good.
...But to over correct can be just as bad and at times even worse.
I rolled a car once because I over corrected.

Sometimes I think I just might say "depressions a #@*$^*" but I think the censored word is quite offensive and degrading toward women and it bothers me that there isn't a term as equally degrading to be directed toward men.  Or maybe "man" is offensive enough. Kidding, that is my super-feminist alter ego trying to overtake.  I'd really rather the world just be less derogatory toward women. But I digress.
Those thoughts weren't even on my radar when I logged in to write about my bouts with the depression and anxiety that are recently trying to overwhelm the system.
Depression is a beast and it's not easy.  It seems to lie patiently waiting for any break in the system. Pressing on all sides just waiting for any little crack to open up so that it can ooze back in and slowly, or rapidly depending on the size of the gap, attempt to drown out all hope, ambition, light and joy.
A sinking ship.
But I've come up before and I will again. My ship will not go down today nor tomorrow. And it most certainly won't go down without a fight.
So to repairs before all sides collapse against the weight!

 :)
(and the little iconic friend is the first patch)

Sometimes I feel as if locked inside of me are the secrets to the universe.  Deep, deep down lie all the answers I am searching for. Just don't know quite how to tap into them and utilize my enlightenment.  Should I ever access those reserves...

Rational?

A punching bag.  At sixteen, that is all I wanted for Christmas.
My dad tried to convince me that I wanted a little speed bag.  He said "you'll get out more energy and aggression with that."
He may have been right but it was not what I wanted. Not what I felt like I needed.
I wanted to hit something.  But I wanted to hit it hard. I wanted to be able to hit and kick and punch and tear it a part with all of my pent up fury.  I could punch it, kick it, push it and even body slam it.
I couldn't do that with a speed bag.
I got a punching bag for Christmas and my dad hung it in the basement for me.  One of the last unfinished rooms in the house.  It was my dads old work room, so-to-say, full of wood for the construction and completion of our house that he and his brothers had built.  There was a tall black and wood table for a large radial arm saw (or at least I think that was the type of saw), a couple of five gallon buckets, various tools, a few hidden treasures left from us kids when we'd use it as a play room, several spiders no doubt, and who knows what else.  Now in the center hung my punching bag.  A large blue bag suspended from shiny silver chains with the word "Everlast" stamped on it.

I'd bloody my knuckles on that bag.

Sometimes my aggression would result in a black and blue hand, or two.  I didn't have gloves but I eventually got some wraps. I had to learn how to keep my thumbs in and hold a tight fist.  Little things like that.  Then I could unleash and beat the crap out of that bag, the blood scars evidence that I had won... And yet I didn't feel any less defeated.

Sometimes I feel that same pent up aggression. Fury.  The desire to tear something apart and roar like the Hulk as he turns green with rage.

In the car I felt like ripping the steering wheel right off and throwing it through the window.  I didn't because I understood the consequences of my actions. I knew that would mean no car to drive and a pricey repair or replacement.  But I really wanted to unleash.  It would be so satisfying to just tear it right off and hear it crashing through the glass as it shattered into a million little pieces of sparkling satisfaction. But I wouldn't even try because I knew I didn't want to cause damage that would later be regretted.

At least I have learned that much.

...But I'm not strong. This hadn't occurred to me before.
Then the thought, "I probably couldn't actually tear the steering wheel off... really."  Probably I wasn't actually strong enough to get it all the way off.   I realized I have never actually tried. Always resisting because I didn't really want to deal with the damage.

Then my scientific nature set in and I wondered if I really actually could (How come I had never considered this?).  I still was reluctant because really I didn't even want to cause minimal damage. "I'll just give it a little tug," just to satisfy curiosity.  It was completely resistant to my effort. Not the tiniest bit of insult. So I decided to give it an honest yank.  Completely solid.  No tension on it at all.  My best effort could not yield even the slightest stress on that steadfast steering wheel...

What me should I entertain?  What me should I develop?
Currently I find myself all dressed up for church and I actually look pretty good. But having such a hard time making myself go.

Sometimes so much of it feels like superstition.  Sometimes I seem to have an overactive imagination and lately I am feeling the need to break free of superstitions.

I'm not so sure that reflecting on the unknowns of supernatural settings is a good thing for me.  I find myself trying to attach meaning to everything but logically trying to remember that is probably not accurate.  So I decide it might be a good plot for a story and that maybe I should develop that idea.  But somehow in the developing of the plot for what is sure to make a good novel or movie, or something, I find myself trying to attach meaning and symbolism that again connects me to some supernatural, spiritual, transcendental, or psychic phenomenon.

aaahhh... sigh

And here I am all dressed up not wanting to go.

Ever Plagued by Ghosts of the Past and Love that does not Last.

"Anxiety girl"
That is how I was labeled in my high school senior yearbook by a cute well liked boy who had barely started allowing himself to speak to me again after my hurting his heart just before our junior year.
I couldn't understand why he hated me so badly for not wanting to be in a committed relationship at sixteen.  (Which suggests it may have been his ego that I hurt more then his heart.)
Why anxiety girl?  Did he know me that well though he didn't speak to me or be even remotely friendly for well over a year?  Was I transparent?  Was that what others said of me?

It's been many many years since I've last encountered this boy and yet he haunted my dreams the other night.  He's haunted them before.  Too sensational and very romantic causing a deep pain upon waking that is not to my liking.
A hundred or so years ago when I "broke up" with him I really truly did not want to hurt him.  I still like him quite well.  In fact there were things about him that I liked so much it frightened me. And I couldn't restrict my repertoire to one flavor when there were so many to try.  Especially knowing that I could easily find myself getting into trouble over indulging in a flavor that agreed with me when my senses were so new to these tempting treats.
As high school progressed and I watched this flavor develop I was sad that it was not a flavor that I was any longer allowed to even flirt with.  He wouldn't have anything to do with me.  He seemed angry and cold toward me ever after.   I was not good enough for him then but why did he have to hate me for it?  It hurt me.  Then he deemed me anxiety girl. Is this why he haunts me?  He saw what I was and since it hurt me that I was no longer worth his time or energy I feel compelled to work out my feelings of inadequacy via some mystic connection to the vain imaginations of my heart and soul?

This is nonsense. The imagery is quite romantic but it is merely symbolic.  Logically I recognize this.  But symbolic of what? Symbolic of  lost time and my own shortcomings and lack of accomplishment.  Back when I was 16 I hadn't figured out what was worth holding onto and investing in.  My own sense of inadequacy has ever thwarted my attempts to pursue dreams.   Maybe it is my lack of faith in myself that hurts me.  Maybe it hurts others. I don't know if I have figured out yet what is worth investing in and holding on to.  What is worth working at or through and what is worth letting go of.
...or how
I am trying to change my course.  Trying to "make" something of myself in order to open the doors to dreams and possibilities.  My insecurities have not vanished. My flaws seemed to have, if anything, more deeply rooted themselves over the years.  It would be nice to feel that security of passion and possibilities cuddled up next to an icon of handsome success.  To feel desirable and worthwhile.
Nail is this the head?

And yet here I am Anxiety Girl through and through.

I feel blah.  Tired.  No motivation.  No energy.  Confused about life and how to live it.  Not sure where to go.  Who to turn to. 

I want change. 
I just want to feel happy and positive.
I want to be easygoing.
I don't want to be so hard on my kids.
I think sometimes I take things too serious.
I am tired and truly I want to call in to work.

... It is tempting...

I want happy, but I don't know how.

Have you ever looked at a person and felt as though you were looking into a mirror?
 Not that the person looks just like you but rather something about them seems to reflect something about you. 
You can't quite put your finger on it but you know you are seeing just enough of you in that person to wonder exactly what it is they are reflecting that you truly relate to. 
I wonder if they ever feel the same way?

Who's who and what is what

Have I ever said that I hate taking medication?
I decided to try going off the old lamictal. I've been taking it for about two years now. It has been good. I would say definitely what I needed.  But now I'd like to detox.  That and I never can tell exactly what is what. I have impatience. Is that medication or is that nurture or is it the old scar from a head injury?  I don't know.  I have been so unmotivated and there are acne issue's.  Could this be related?  I don't know.
I quite taking the antidepressant months ago and other then some anxiety that seems to have mostly subsided, I have been fine. ...No wait there have been a couple of times that I have experienced a little darkness, but nothing to concerning and nothing that has lingered.  I am OK there.
I quite taking the antibiotic I had been on for acne for the past year and a half because I just don't like the idea of it and it was not completely wiping it out anyway.  I think I could probably control that better with diet if only I could relocate that motivation and will power.
So there is just one left before I can completely detox my body.  But that is the scariest to try to go completely off of.  And as always any little change will have me wondering and guessing what is what. I suppose it is good that I don't just go off without thinking about it and am concerned with keeping myself in check.  No, not I guess- it is good. The thought of some of my previous feelings and being is pretty horrifying really.

And that is just it... It is horrifying.  I am starting to have tears well up and my throat is getting tight as I once again realize that my brain has the ability to get really screwed up.  That it has been very screwed up and it really can suck bad. 

I was down to half the dose of lamictal.  After a week of being pretty much fine, things got tough for two days.  Just an intense tired and the world was looking a bit stranger then it has in awhile.  A couple of times over the past week-and-a-half I have felt some intense excitement, something that used to be quite common for me, swelling up inside my body. It is the kind of excitement that if it continued to rise (like bread dough) it would explode from my body and I don't know that I could handle it.

I've heard a romantic ideal of letting go of all inhibitions... What a terrifying thought.

Thing is we just did the daylight savings switch, the season is changing (and in a hurry) and I've been trying to stay away from the Halloween candy that I have allowed myself to over indulge in.  All of these things could attribute to my slight changes in brain function...
But I still got scared and jumped my dose right back up to the previous increment.  Am I a chicken? Or am I being smart?

I don't know.  I just want to be me and not have to always be guessing what is what. 

Lately I've liked the idea of blaming some of my negative traits on my adolescent head injury.  It might help blaming some of the intense anger and impatience that I can be prone to on brain damage. 
The other day when I was overly angry with my husband for a miscommunication, that I was likely just as guilty in, I was able to allow myself time to settle down without saying as much and venting as much. The feelings can be so intense that in the moment I am sure I will never get over it. That it is a gross injustice and possibly the end of the world as we know it. But I let it sit.  this time reminding myself that this just might be the irrational thinking of a scarred old brain.  Before long, and with out inflicting damage to my husband I actually did settle down and was able to realize it was OK and I was in fact feeling some rather irrational and extreme feelings for the situation. 
That is another thing. I don't have the extremes in excitement, spirituality and depression (Heaven AND Hell) with lamictal but I've got the intense anger and impatience still. Then there is memory and focus... Focus was bad before, maybe worse not sure on that one.  But the memory, though it was not great before, now I feel like I am getting Alzheimer's.

So once again what to do? Dropping a bit seems like it has been good.  Maybe I should just stay here for awhile.

Nomads

"Hello darkness my old friend. I've come to talk with you again." "Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high...why oh why can't I?"

Depression seems to be peaking it's ugly head again. Yesterday I had a lot I wanted to write and say. Today is just another day those thoughts all blown away. But I am tearful.
I wish to disappear.

Yesterday I saw myself on a street corner with all of my belongings. My long blond hair radiated the highlights that only days spent in the sun can achieve. My skin had formed a protective layer of tan against the sun. I was not alone but had a travel companion. A man equally as unassuming but unshaven and nicely weathered.

It was not actually me. The couple did not appear to be unhappy. They did appear to be somewhat vagrant or maybe nomadic would fit better.

I noticed the lady most.
She was unlike your typical obvious vagrant person in that her hair was somewhat neatly pulled up into a single ponytail appropriately placed, much like mine so often is. She, at least in observation while passing, seemed rather clean. Neither had visible tattoo's or cigarette hanging from lip or limb. There was no card board sign visible. They both looked strong and healthy. Enough healthy mass that you had to be confident they were not starving. They most certainly lacked the emaciated look of drug depleted addicts. But it seemed obvious by their somewhat tidy mass of belongings and there weathered skin that they have not been home for awhile, nor spent much time indoors.

I felt a longing.
Though they were weighted down by a few belongings they did not seem to be weighted down by the world.
Maybe my perceptions were skewed by my own discontent but oh what a wonderful way to live.
If I were to allow myself I could make up a million stories to attach to this atypical pair, but I do not wish to bind them to the negativity's of my realizations of reality nor limitations of my imagination. I want to keep the vision in my head of this couple pure and simple.

I would have liked to have driven by again.

lafindumond post comment

I like this statement. "but an all consuming force, as natural as the body’s drive to heal itself; your soul must put right that which threatens it."
It explains better then people realize.

This type of depression/suicidal disease is not about "wanting to kill myself" From the mind of one so afflicted it is about having the "guts" to "fix" the problem. The diseased minds default mood. The body ever fighting to keep that mind from winning. That mind that wishes to move on, to be healed of it's infirmity, knowing that the only healing is in death, that mind will win.
But hope.
Hope that it is an ailment and not "me." Realization that sometimes only medication can give, that such a mind is not the "normal" workings of a physically healthy brain/chemistry. There is hope that can bring back life and aid those who are fighting so hard to live and be alive, against there own mind.
thanks sister

Lost in Mental illness.

Yesterday I got to have lunch with an old dear friend with whom I do not get to see much. Some things that we talked about made me think and I am feeling "inspired" to post.

This dear friend was expressing some concern and frustration with a family member who had broke down and is dealing with some serious mental health issues. In talking, my friend said one thing that made so much sense and I think happens so very often. She said
"it's like she is lost in mental illness."
She totally hit the nail on the head.

This friend said another thing at a different point in our conversing that day that in retrospect made a nice connection.

She asked what it was like for me. How I was different with and with out medication. She was interested because I have always been "functional." It's logical that one would wonder the difference.

It is hard not be frustrated and sometimes critical when we know someone who seems to fair better through something similar. And especially if we have endured some seriously hard hardships in our own lives.

That is human nature and it can be (in my opinion) a productive coping and building strategy.

However it is important to note that we are all different, have had different experiences and have different levels of, well, everything (various chemistry of the body noted here) that cause us to react differently. There is so much going into a persons mental health.

Going back to the conversation. I was explaining some of the things that she, and most, would not see unless I hit a breaking point. A point at which I no longer could keep my insanities hidden and/or myself "functional" in the public eye.
One thing I mentioned was the intense anger and sometimes violent feelings and urges I would have to fight. She responded "and that's not you."
She is right THAT is NOT ME.
We were roommates in college. And when I say roommates I mean we shared a room more close in size to a closet then a room. It fit a bunk bed, barely, and not much else. We were close friends, we shared just about everything and knew each other well. It is nice when there are people in the world who know who you are and were for just that and not for a degenerative disorder that changes things.

She is absolutely right, that is not me.

I am an optimist but I struggle with a very dark, negative and hopeless depression. I am a deep thinker and quite logical, always have been, but there are times when I can be quite irrational and ridiculous. A black hole of open-minded-ness. It's incredibly embarrassing to look back at. It scares people away and there is often no recovering- no winning them back.

One thing I do know is that I have been fortunate enough to have felt "normal" in my life. At least what I like to think is normal.
I think I likely had a head start on dealing with mental health issues when I was put away for a day, against my will, by some one in authority, and I had to face something I knew little about, did not understand and did not know if I accepted anyway. I was also put on a medication that was not only extremely hard, if not impossible, to get off of but worked. It took a year to get me there, but it worked well enough.
I also had good influences and accepting friends. This dear friend being one of those. My family loved me and though they did not (yet) understand and did not know if they accepted it as a true ailment, they tried. They did not abandon me but they also DID NOT enable me or excuse bad behavior.

This dear friend is right that is not me.
"That" was MOSTLY mental illness, some the result of an old head injury (brains don't heal and head injuries change things).
But I still had options. I am not a victim of my chemistry, my disorders, my illness, what ever you choose to call it. Or even my injury.

I realized in those little grains of wisdom from my friend that if we do not want to become lost in our mental ailments then we have to know and/or decide who we are.

devloping identity

Two posts today. Read the first posted first and this will make more sense. But I think this post needed to be split.

I am happy.
I am easy going.
I love to do things.
I love to play.
I love adventure.
I love people.
I am intelligent and rational.
I like having a family and home (usually)
I believe in humanity.
I am friendly, though I can be shy and reserved.
I am not super neat and tiddy.
Sometimes I say stupid things.
Sometimes I don't want to fight.
Sometimes maybe I hide when I should not.
Sometimes I avoid things.
I am a bit lazy.
And I am NOT crafty.

...and many other things.
that is me and I am ok with that.

But I am also hypersensitve and I have to watch that closely. My deep thinking can get me in trouble and I have to watch that. I can be over the top, angry, slap happy for no reason at inappropraite times, and ridiculous. Darkness can creep in. I can have some serious anxiety...
...and many more things.
But that is not me.
And when those things start becoming me, when it takes all I've got to keep myself in check. When I become too affacted by every song, picture, movie, book, dialogue, I am exposed to then I can know that I might be loosing myself in my chemistry.

I don't think everyone has had that opportunity to develop their identity. I don't think everyone has been able to feel "normal" and if you don't have that to go back to then how can you? If you have never had a rational thought in your life then is there hope?
I don't know.
I suppose my ideal would be that people with mental ailments might be able to at least identify who they want to be and then do what ever is necessary to get there. Comprimisses will likely be necessary and we are likely, in our less-then stable and rational states, to have an unrealistic picture of who we would like to be. But maybe there is at least some hope for some of us in treating the issues at hand.

It is easy to say and believe it is possible from this side of the glass anyway.
And yet that statement could at least give hope to those who are not yet on this side of the glass.