Tag: anxiety

Mental Illness: a part of me but not all of me

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TW: mental illness, symptoms and medication.

•• Do you feel depressed? How often do you feel anxious? I hate those questions but I know the answers. I know what depression feels like, it’s not the same for everyone who suffers from it. I know the emptiness, the exhaustion, the apathy, the hopelessness, the pointlessness, feeling unwanted, useless and unloved, feeling like a burden to everyone around me, pushing everyone away because you can handle it by yourself. Except you can’t. Not always. 

I know anxiety and what it feels like. It can present in different ways but usually manifests in similar ways. I know the palpitating heart, I know the twisting stomach, I know the uncontrollable shaking, I know the immediate threat of danger (real or perceived), I know the dissociation, I know what it’s like to snap and take it out on others because they don’t know. Even when they’re trying to help. 

I’ve known about my mental illnesses for several years now but I’d be lying if I said I’d come to terms with them. They have been in control these past months and although I’m struggling for control I still feel like I’m losing. I’m not completely convinced that medication will “fix” the chemical imbalance in my brain and that taking pills will “help restore my interest in daily living”. But I’m trying them, again. I’ve tried a few now. I’m trying to talk about it, to a professional and in everyday conversation, I’m done hiding. This is a part of me but it’s not all of me. ••

Lizzie X

 

Note: the medication in the photo was the medication I was on at the time the photo was taken but it is no longer the medication that I am on. I am still taking medication, just not the one shown.

Dissociation

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Disassociation .7

Trying to connect myself with my own skin to familiarise my brain with my physical being. My skin. My body. My surroundings. Touch is the best sense when trying to ground myself when I find myself floating away.

I recently found out that those times and those days aren’t just a weird thing I do, it’s actually dissociation.

Using grounding techniques to bring myself back to the present time and reality has been really useful, especially after a panic attack. They don’t always work but I’ll keep trying, in the meantime it’s certainly interesting learning more about dissociation.

📇: @itslizzieh

Note: dissociation is different from dissociative identity disorder. Dissociation is a mental process whereas dissociative identity disorder is a mental disorder.

Type of Sad

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I am sad.

But it’s not the type of sad that I can explain, it’s not the type that has a specific reason.

It’s the type of sad that makes me cry without realising. The type that makes it possible for me to sit perfectly still for long periods of time in silence without really thinking about it. Time still passes. I can go for hours on end without speaking, where my mouth gets this strange but comfortable sensation of being closed for so long.

It’s the type of sad where no matter how important things are that I need to deal with I just can’t bring myself to worry about them, it doesn’t mean they don’t exist or they don’t matter to me, it’s all just too much energy. The type where I’m no longer scared by horror movies but apathetic to their jump scares.

It’s the type of sad that makes me feel disconnected from my body and from my life, like I’m a shadow that’s started to come unstitched. One moment I can feel everything so deeply and it’s so painful and overwhelming but then in the next moment everything is silent and empty. Like the wires that make up the birdcage of my ribs have collapsed inwards and there’s no room left for me.

It’s the type of sad where I have to concentrate all of my energy on breathing in and breathing out. The type where I feel like I don’t really exist but I’m still here, like white noise. Then someone flicks the dial and all of sudden the emptiness in my chest is back and everything hurts. Where I’m gasping for air and the tears start again.

There is no snapping out of it, no amount of routine or consumables will make things okay. I know because I’ve tried, I’ve been trying, but I’m so tired. But I can pretend if you like, to make it easier for you, so I can get by without judgement. I’m fine. I’ve been fine for a while now.

They say that it’s the type of sadness that is caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. They give me pills to correct my brain because I’m broken. But they’re not working. None of them have so far. I’m getting to the point where I don’t think that I can be fixed. These are the cards I have been dealt and somehow I’ve ended up with the Jokers that were removed before dealing. I can’t win with this hand. But I’m still expected to keep trying.

– E. H.

Flowers

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Repeating the same thing,

Every single day.

Lonely when I’m alone,

Even in a crowd of people.

Then I remember that everything is in transit,

Everything reaches an end and somehow that’s comforting. 

 

Sundays always come too soon,

The weekend speeds by,

Until the new week begins,

The same, the same again.

But change is the only constant in life.

 

I can never get my head on right,

Everything moves so fast.

Time cannot be controlled,

Cannot be contained.

My thoughts swirling down the drain,

Slipping away.

 

I send out so many letters,

I write even more.

But no post is for me,

Only bills and weeds.

Useful for cleaning up the stains.

 

So many games, so many rules,

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Everything’s written down,

But not everything is followed.

Whichever suits the suitor and their tailored ways,

A tuxedo, a three piece or maybe mourning.

 

I bought my own flowers,

I could have chosen better.

But my hands are cold,

and the soil was futile.

They manage to bring some comfort.

 

– E.H.

 

 

Coming Home

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I can’t believe that anybody,
Would ever want to come home to me
I can’t see myself with with anybody,
Let alone anybody with me

Coming home to my own thoughts,
My own mind, no escape

I am alone, no one’s here
It’s just me, we’ll make it through
The same day, over and over and over again
It’s okay, we’ll make it through

Is this enough? I’ve always wanted more
(I thought there was more)
Dream, plan, wish, work, hope, work
Sleep, worry, work, stress, work, eat, work, work
Maybe more wasn’t for me

Nobody would ever want to come home to me
I can’t see anybody ever coming home to me

I’ll Call You Anxiety

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“I’ll call you”, to say this is a phrase that I’m not particularly fond of is an understatement. I do not like telephone calls. They are anxiety inducing for me.

This anxiety can be triggered with the mere thought of having to call someone; talking myself into actually picking up the phone to dial and breathing calmly—breathe in, breathe out—while it rings.

What are you going to say? They don’t want to hear from you. You’re boring. What if they don’t answer and you have to leave a voicemail? Just hang up, it’s not too late.

The instant anxiety of the phone ringing. This is consistent with my own phone or one that I have to answer, but is also applicable to the people or person’s phone I am spending time with. My heart leaps into my throat, palms start sweating and mouth goes dry—breathe in, breathe out—shake it off and answer the phone.

Why are they calling? They’re angry about something. It’s your fault whatever it is. Will I be able to answer their questions? No, your mind has gone blank. What are words?

The sheer apprehension of a promised phone call. The anxiety that comes with waiting for said phone call can make me not want to check my phone and instead distance myself from it. The anticipation of will-they-won’t-they call has my heart racing in the back of my throat all day. Until I pick up my phone, check it—breathe in, breathe out—see there are no missed calls and my heart is allowed to slow down for a few minutes. This anxiety can last all day, depending on what time the phone call actually comes in; the relief that is felt afterwards is so great. However, sometimes that phone call never comes, so after a certain time (when a respectful person will no longer make a telephone call) I allow myself to discard my phone entirely, just in case, and squash the anxiety that has been building up all day as best as I can.

They’ve changed their mind. Why did they want to talk to me anyway? They didn’t, it’s a test. Why couldn’t they just write it down? What are they going to say? Don’t call, please.

The anxiety of actually being on a phone call. The ability for my brain to function and get my mouth to say the words has completely failed me but the ability for all saliva to stop being produced in my mouth is working overtime. If I haven’t prepared dot points to direct the conversation in some way most things that needed to be said will be forgotten. My hands sweat and shake, my skin is itchy—breathe in, breathe out—just say a closing statement and finish the conversation then you can hang up.

What did they say their name was? I wonder if the saliva from my mouth is coming out of my palms? What did they just say? I was thinking about hand saliva. Say something so they know you’re listening. I have to pace now, keep moving. What do they want from me?

There are some exceptions for the telephone call induced anxiety, which include calling a select few people, calling automated machines, answering a call when I know what it will entail such as when making plans or meeting up with them. Calling someone back when I know what it will entail, like after they have left a detailed voicemail or sent a text message that was in no way vague or ambiguous. Adrenaline fuelled phone calls.

The anticipation of a phone call that never comes can at times be disappointing or dejecting but far more often that not it is such a relief. To talk to someone in person, see their expressions and body language, or to have their words to look back over is much more comforting and pleasant to me. Being face to face with someone and occasionally sending someone my words (that I perceive as potentially risky) can bring on their own type of anxiety, but it’s a type that I find I can manage more easily than the kind that comes with telephone calls.

Lizzie X

Muted

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It’s 3:00 pm and I can feel that my brain has been slowly shutting down over the past two hours. It’s quite a scary feeling really. Why don’t I have have control over my own head?

I can feel it getting worse by the second. I’ve gone running up and down the stairwell, I’ve taken a break from the computer, I’ve had water and still I feel as if my brain is slipping away from me. I could just sit and do nothing. I am becoming nothing.

I am not here sitting at my desk, taking notes, doing work, I am sinking  down through the earth. The ground does not touch me but it envelopes me. I am not trapped but I can’t get out. I am safe and it is quiet.

My head is up in the sky but there is no wind. I can’t see for miles. I think my eyes are open but I can’t see at all.

My head is not cold. It is in a charcoal grey cloud but it is not wet. My head is solid but melting. Everything is fuzzy and muted; sounds, smells, sights. Everything is numb.

It tastes like that moment when you realise you haven’t spoken anything or even opened your mouth to pretend to in a very long time. It’s a strange comfort.

I feel if I fell off my chair and onto the hard floor that the jolt would bring my body up out of the earth and my head down out of the stormy rain cloud and they’d be reunited.

But then, what would I be?

 

Lizzie X

Sexuality?

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I don’t think I have ever been in love. 

I think at the time I thought I was, so I said it but in retrospect I don’t believe it was love. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be in love. 

I know that sounds pessimistic but I just don’t see love in my cards. I think of myself as a romantic but I’m also a realist. 

I am an introvert. I suffer from anxiety. I am independent. I have trust issues. I’m also lonely but I think I have been for a while now and it’s become the norm. 

I fall in love easily and often but only with strangers. 

I don’t party. I stay in. I fall in love with strangers on the street, in the coffee shop, out at breakfast, on the train, on the internet. But they’ll never know because I’ll never tell them. I always keep my distance. 

I don’t think I’m scared of commitment but I don’t like opening up to new people. I realise that that can come off as snobbish and arrogant but if people that I’ve met in real life and have had a conversation with think that about me, then I’m baffled. 

I have wondered whether I’m demisexual, which I thought made sense, but after doing some research I don’t think I am. I may actually be the opposite. I think I wanted a label for what I’m feeling and how I am but I honestly don’t think there is. So many people don’t like labels but sometimes it helps me to understand myself. 

Or maybe I am demisexual but until I am able to form that emotional connection with someone I’ll only fall in love with strangers. 

Sometimes it makes me feel helpless but mostly I just accept it. 

I don’t mean any disrespect or hate by this it’s just how I feel and my experience with life and “love” or lack thereof. 

Lizzie X

Stay

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I was made for

Good books and good coffee,

Rainy days, thunderstorms and autumn weather,

I was made for the moon and quiet nights.

 

I was made to

Be a daughter and a sister,

A cousin, a niece and a friend.

To maybe one day be a wife and a mother.

 

I was made to

Love, to have empathy and compassion, to listen and to learn.

I was made to help others feel less alone.

I was made to survive.

 

I was made for

The clouds and the sky,

For cats and their love, for music and live shows and the arts.

I was made for writing and dancing and travelling.

 

I may not be this person yet but these are the reasons why I have decided, on several occasions, to stay.

 

I stay so that I can become that person, experience these things and live.

 

[ click here to watch the video ]

What Wasn’t There…

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I just pulled out 15-20 eyelashes from my right eyelid.

I have a bald patch where they used to be. It looks really ugly. I don’t know how I’m going to cover it up or make it look “nice” tomorrow. And the day after that or the one after that. Thankfully eyelashes grow back but it takes a while, so this is something I’ll have to deal with until that happens.

This isn’t really a blog post like usual where I discuss something but it’s rather one where I’m writing it down because I can’t sleep now and it’s really started to panic me, which seems so stupid, surely it’s just an aesthetic thing?! But it looks horrible.

I couldn’t stop pulling them out and before I knew it there was a small pile of eyelashes in front of me and several in my fingertips. I felt horrified.

I think I’m just being dramatic, I can’t imagine that anyone will notice but I still feel like they will and I’m going to be self conscious about it all day, and the one after that etc.

I’e said before that I don’t have Trichotillomania in Eye Lashes but I don’t know why I did it. A nervous habit? Boredom? Subconsciously? Anxiety? I don’t know.

It’s such a superficial thing but when I looked at myself in the mirror after I’d somehow managed to snap myself out of it, all I saw was what wasn’t there.