Can I Borrow Your T-shirt?

Tags

bipolar, depression, faith, healing, Hope, love, Mental Illness, Mormon, ptsd, trauma, trust, twenty one pilots

I am obsessed with graphic tees. I love how expressive they can be and, if you pay close attention, provide inside information about its wearer. And for someone like me who hates having to describe things, a meaningful artistic expression splashed across my chest conveys a thought or belief or feeling almost immediately. We’ve all heard the saying, “Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt.” This phrase got me to thinking about what would my ‘been there’ shirt say. What would yours say? More importantly, would we have the courage to wear them publicly, opening ourselves up to biting judgment and ridicule? I don’t know about you, but I have more that enough experiences filled with regret, heartache, and pain I would prefer to keep in the back of my closet next to that ugly Christmas sweater. I also have wonderful experiences I would gladly wear out like my favorite pair of sweats. 

When I think back on all of the experiences I’ve already had in life it’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around them. Some are common experiences like the awkwardness of adolescence or the lasting ache that comes from losing your first love. Some experiences are unique like when I was a passenger in an auto accident involving a motorcycle where the driver ended up, head first, on the windshield/roof and I watched him die. I even remember the shoes he had on. Or when I got the highest standard 8 test score in the entire state of Texas when I was in kindergarten. They wanted to advance me two grades but my mother wouldn’t allow them to. 

Sometimes our experiences are exceptional and wonderful like when I had the opportunity to live in London, England for a year or when I went through the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints’ temple for my endowment. Other times our experiences sucker punch us in the gut causing such excruciating agony even their scars have a bite like when I was raped when I was 14 or I was homeless and living on the streets. 

There are experiences I have had that if they were a shirt I wouldn’t keep it in the back of my closet but I’d burn that bitch to the ground and drown the ashes away with water. While I want nothing more than to forget certain parts of my life, myself, I have come to learn all of my experiences contribute to who I am and who I want to be. Accepting what has really happened to me in life, along what I have done, brings me to an honest place of strength where I am capable of  building a future instead of trying to fix the past. Instead of trying to make scars disappear I’m learning to use them to create beauty. I may not be able to erase the horrors torn through my shirts, I can use the shreds to stitch together new shirts saying what I want them to say with the power and freedom to wear them where and when I choose. 

I’m at a loss to adequately describe how simply having this knowledge is in itself incredibly healing. You can’t unbreak your leg but it doesn’t mean you’ll never walk again. I can almost guarantee those first steps will faulter and hurt so much you’ll be certain you’re doomed to crawling around for the rest of your life. But I’m going to share a secret with you I desperately wish someone would’ve let me in on years ago – there is no escaping the pain life abundantly gives us, especially pain acquired from trauma. Not only that, when we try to get out of or numb the pain through alcohol or drugs or even simple avoidance (my personal favorite) we’re ADDING to it like a festering infectious wound. 

Please, don’t allow your sorrows keep you from walking away from them. Have the courage to allow yourself to feel their burn, using their flames to ignite your steps. Because the pain will never subside until it is felt trying to rid yourself of it without experiencing it is only delaying the inevitable and keeping you face first in the ground. Knowing you’re using your pain to get you somewhere gives it purpose which makes it bearable. I’ll take that; if I can’t avoid hurting or make it go away, by all means, tell me how to get through it. 

I cry more now than I ever have before and at the most inopportune times; like when I’m on the bus on my way home from work or shopping in a crowded mall. Before I would stuff those drops back into their ducts and super glue the hatch. Now I wade straight into their salty waters and I rarely end up in the deep end. I slosh on through and then get back to my shopping. Here’s the positive side of my secret – by allowing yourself to feeling hurt and experiencing pain you create a greater capacity to feeling happiness and experiencing joy. JOY. What is more beautiful than light, love, and laughter? Since there is opposition on all things the greater your depths of suffering goes the greater your depths for love and joy goes. 

As it took time to create your battle wounds , give yourself the time needed to reach those chasms. Time, by the way, does not heal all wounds. In fact, time can make those wounds deeper and cause additional pain; however, it takes time to make each individual step. It is those steps, not time itself, providing the healing balm needed. 

Most days I’m limping along when I’d rather be running, especially when I see others who live in warm, happy homes or having deep, meaningful relationships. But then I remind myself comparison is the thief of joy, a huge stumbling block, and remember I was once covered in mud. I begin to wonder what their t-shirt would say and would I want to wear it. No matter how much I have or will experience it will never be the same as them, as you, because we’re all individuals wearing custom made t-shirts instead of a generic “one-size-fits-all”. Which is why I adore graphic tees and the stories they share. And I want to hear them all, even if I’ve been there and done that. 

So, can I borrow your t-shirt?

I am Not Alone

Tags

2017, bipolar, depression, fear, Fire, Hope, Legionites, Mental Illness, New Years, pain, twenty one pilots

I am an only child. And I hate it. Growing up I would beg my mom for a little brother or sister (I DID want to be the oldest, although I still wish for that older brother protection) but to no avail. Then, I thought if I married into a big family it would satisfy this lifelong craving; however, I’ve come to learn this isn’t true the more honest I am with myself about how I feel. I wish for the ideals of being part of a large, close family but the reality, the truth is I like my space; I like being alone, and because of mental illness I will always feel some sort of disconnect. And I’m not the only one this applies to.

While I may not be able to give a detailed description of my tribe I can tell you our name is Legion, for we are many. Just stay back and keep your distance. We love you but we feel that love best and most securely at a distance. When others get too close dangerous things happen and someone will get hurt – either you, me, or most likely, both.

Loving others and especially ourselves in this manner, quite frankly, sucks. It’s a loving and communication style that’s extremely difficult to explain let alone understand. The lover, the speaker is confused and lost most of all. And if we don’t know what love is suppose to feel like or understand how it sounds and what it looks like so we can both accept and give it then how will we ever believe we are a lovable person – or even worth the effort?

I wish I had all the answers. I like answers because they bring knowledge and comfort. Answers, however, do not provide understanding. That only comes with applying those answers, testing them in the experiments life so readily offers us. They’re mostly by trial and error and there’s really no other way to ‘just get it’. You can be like me and be very smart and know a lot, but you won’t know what that information feels like until you start trying it on. Some will be too small, restricting and confining. Some will be too big, immediately falling off your shoulders giving you trunk-like arms. Some will be wet and heavy while others will be slippery and gooey. The more you’re willing to try on the more you’ll understand, the deeper your feelings will go, and the greater your capacity will be to experience, to live them.

It took me 36 years to figure all this out because I tend to learn and gain understanding the hard way. It doesn’t have to be that way. There’s a reason this blog is titled “Don’t Follow My Plan”; I am an excellent example of what not to do. Enjoy the fruits of my labors and avoid the thorns and thistles that ripped through my flesh to get them. A wise mother-like figure once told me it’s better to learn from other’s mistakes than to make them ourselves. So true! I have a seemingly bottomless cup of my own mistakes splashing around. Please drink freely instead of choking and gurgling like have.

In the past year I have had a glass darkly held within inches of my face as I breathed windex. What has shone through has been beautiful and horrific, all of which I’ve have to accept because every bit has been my true, authentic self. I can cover up my hideousness, stand in front of it hoping you won’t see while turning on a spotlight trying to shimmer, and hope its brilliance will be blinding enough to cover the shadows echoing around. Sometimes it is, but all that glitters is not gold. The deafening echos still bounce around inside me resonating, shaking and breaking even my most precious beams of light. This darkness is fierce, cold, and heavy; its lies cause me to feel, even believe, sunshine will never warm my heart again.

To those reading this KNOW that is a LIE. A big, nasty sparkling lie. If the darkness has such a stronghold on your heart you can’t believe that, I completely understand. I’ve been encircled by those chains and their clamps are firm. I still wear their scars. Start with hoping its true. The spark hoping will make will be what you need to begin melting the steeliness surrounding your heart. I promise. Hope. It’s the first footsteps in many long journeys. And you’re not making those steps alone. Neither am I. Even when it really feels as if we are.

Another lesson from this year is most of life is playing the game ‘Fake It Till You Make It’. I hate this game. It goes directly against my wanting to know if a choice or a feeling or an idea is right, the truth, the very best one. I do not settle – ever – I know there are places and people and feelings which truly radiate and are exquisite. Those are what I desire in life, and they very rarely look like what I expect them to. Frustrating. Especially for us Legionites who live life at an arm’s length. Except the only way the sun’s warmth will tickle your skin is to step into its rays. But before you take that first step you have to believe those beams will work their magic. Otherwise, you’re left staring into the sun going blind. Don’t stay in the shadows. Find Ray-bans and fire yourself up. Become spellbinding.

Fear. Every. Time. we give into it destruction inevitably follows. From self worth to relationships to goals and dreams, fear rips them all apart. The only way to get past it, to conquer such a vicious demon is to play Fake It. Fear is not something that will ever pass and can only be overcome. I have only found one, literally just one, thing on this entire planet powerful enough to enable us to rise above fear; that is hope. This can be devastating to Legionites because hope is one of the most difficult emotions for us to feel. Even with Ray-bans it’s hard to remember, let alone believe, how the sun warms your soul when most of your days are overcast. It’s in these moments you superglue those damn shades to your face and put one foot in front of the other. Those first footfalls will hurt and require more effort than you think is within you – but you do! Keep stepping. Stumble. Fall. And the get back up. Every time you do flecks of fear will fall away while bits and pieces of hope take their place.

I have relentlessly tried countless ways to defeat fear with things like courage or sheer effort, but I only harmed myself or worse, much worse, caused pain and suffering to those I love and who love me. Whatever you are looking for in life must first be found within yourself. This is a bitter cup to drink from, my friends. But, more often than not, it’s burning liquid will be the balm your heart needs. As you gag it down remember medicine is needed to heal and healing brings life. Not surviving but actual living filled with belly laughs and joy and true love. It’s worth the acidic swallows to heal the carnage Legionites have endured.

As you begin to reconstruct your heart and mind there will still be fear but this comes from the unknown. Everything will look different but with spots of familiarity. Your friends will still look the same but now you’ll see them with a depth you didn’t understand before. This understanding unlocks exhilaration, joy, and beauty that will ignite your soul. That treacherous arm will begin to shrink and bend; those you love won’t seem so far away. You won’t feel so far away. And when those moments come when you find you’re by yourself and the sky has grown black and ominous and your flashlight’s batteries are dead and you’ve lost your umbrella you will still have those flickers of hope embedded into your heart; nothing and no one will be able to take them from you. Those embers will brighten your memories of those you love, the love you carry inside you, and that there are others who feel exactly the same way and understand where you are and where you want to go.

I have experienced this many times over the past year. I have spent much of the last 365 days alone because of consequences for hurting others and pushing them away, grappling with chronic depression and maddening manic episodes, traveling down the road of self-discovery which is always paved with loneliness, and bearing the burden of not having living family. That big brother sure would have come in handy. Those moments only glimmered when I first had them and would brush past my fingers like feathers floating through the air. But at least I knew they were there and I clung to that knowledge like a baby clutching their security blanket. Little by little those glimmers began glowing, and that fire is spreading. I have no doubt they’ll grow into a blazing inferno. And I’ve got my marshmallows ready.

I not only know I’m not alone but I understand I am never truly alone. Quite the contrary. I am one of many, legions. If I’m not alone then neither are you. I am with you and for those times I can’t be there someone will be, and, surprisingly, sometimes that person will be you. I promise. Take a step. Reach for my hand. Look up. I’ve got an extra pair of Ray-bans and some superglue.

I Had to Go to Jail (twice!) and the Mental Hospital (twice!) to FINALLY Learn How to LIVE Instead of Survive

Tags

abuse, anxiety, bipolar, depression, faith, Help, Hope, living, love, mental health, Mormon, ptsd, suicide, surviving

  

Have you ever watched “Patch Adams” starring Robin Williams? With the circumstances surrounding Robin’s death, the irony and pathos is off the charts and makes the film even more incredible. I saw this film for the first time while I was still perusing a chemistry degree and going premed (I’ve since changed my major – again) and it really touched my heart in a very special way; for now, I’m just going to focus mainly on the first 15-20 minutes of the film. 

Patch is narrating as the movie begins and we see him sitting alone on a bus, looking out the window towards a cold, ashen sky with eyes just as overcast. He’s talking about the word home. He says how it means both where your story begins and ends, and how much the irony of that hits him. I can relate so well to both concepts since I moved so much as a child (I had three different schools my 2nd grade year) and the breath-taking aching and longing clutching my chest, my heart, with the hope of one day having a home, a family, of my own. A great lesson I’ve learned so far is this: just because you share DNA with someone doesn’t make them family and just because you don’t doesn’t mean they aren’t. And, for me, the family with whom you DONT share DNA is so much more precious than with those who do – because they/you chose to be each other’s family. 

  

Ok. Back to the flick.  After Patch’s reflections, we see him arriving at a psychiatric hospital where checks himself in due to major depression accompanied with serious suicidal thoughts (just like me!). Unfortunately, the patients, not the doctors and ‘specialists’, end up helping him more. How did this happen? Just like it did for me – his fellow patience actually listened to him and each other, expressed genuine concern and compassion, while the doctors and therapists kept their heads in their charts and orders, only listening for specific words and/or phrases. I’m sorry, ok not really, but healing a human being HEAL from major trauma takes time and investment from both parties; its seems as if our views, ideas, plans, and ultimately our progress in the field of mental health MUST be restructured upon new and different perspectives, stop throwing mind-numbing and especially heart-numbing medication at patience because it’s easier and quicker than actually listening to them and care. 

  

 Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe or thing all mental health professionals are like this, only that they are few and far between; the ones who do care are typically overworked and under paid or their fees are too high to pay out of pocket and don’t take your insurance. This struggle is real for me because I, too, have faced these challenges trying to battle and cope with deep depression, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and general anxiety disorder. So when I hear of stories such as Patch Adams and especially Robin’s, I pay more attention and take notice because learning how they were able to carry their heavy burdens may possibly help me carry mine. But, for some of us, those burdens become to heavy, a noose around our necks, an extra round in our pistols, one pill too many in the bottles. 

Sadly, Robin’s burden became too heavy for him to bear in 2014 and he committed suicide; I still feel the coldness from the shadows left behind when his warm, blinding light went out. How I wish that light shown upon his own face and gave warmth to his large, generous heart. Crazy how you can miss someone you’ve never met and so much, ay? Part of me also wishes I couldn’t relate to this story, too, but I can and intimately so. I was just released from the Provo Canyon Behavioral Hospital for finally collapsing under the weight from 30+ years of burdens, most of which I carried in secret and alone; that was mostly my choice because I didn’t know any other way but I accept full responsibility for the consequences for making those choices. I was ready to snuff out my own light and go home, and honestly, part of me still feels that way; I’m tired, so tired – tired of fighting, surviving, being alone without any family, the pain, the scars, the truth. But I’m still here. I’m still breathing. At least for today and that’s all I need to worry about. For those of you who feel the way I do and see/feel your light getting dimmer, stay with me to the end of this post – because today, this moment is all you have to worry about, too. 

Surprisingly, a week in the nut house did me more than I ever imagined. My first couple of days were rough, but by the time it came for my release, I had and felt something I hadn’t had in such a long time – hope. It may have barely been a spark, but flames can reach to lick the top of redwoods with a single spark. My very first day they allowed me to sleep, mostly because it was due to side effects of new medications, but also because of the collapse of finally sharing my burdens; but by the second day, I was required to go to groups, participate in discussions and therapy, and do my part. That can be a lot to ask someone who’s severely depressed because of how hard and painful it can be just to get out of the bed. Before being struck with such mind/soul crushing mental illness, I had no idea how physically debilitating depression can be. The struggle is real AND true; that’s one of the things I love about truth – it’s true whether you choose to believe it or not. The groups were especially hard for me since I’d been so use to enduring and dealing with the majority of life on my own; they were torture, really, but dammit, when I set my mind to something, only God Himself is able to stop me, and I’d decided if I wasn’t going to fade away as seemlessly as the chords of a melancholy melody I was going be happy and live. 

  

Except the idea of being happy, living and enjoying the life I have is a daunting one on its own; add in a laundry list of mental illness and unresolved trauma and it almost seems impossible. But, remember as I am constantly trying to, take it one day at a time and, when needs be, one moment at a time. One of the main things I learned this past week is how incredibly strong, with almost super-human strength, the human mind is. Did you know the main purpose we dream, particularly the REM cycle, is for our minds to process all it’s taken in that day? Fascinating. But having to survive all that I’ve been through for the past 35-35 years I couldn’t, not wouldn’t (that’s where I’m at now), acknowledge those atrocities – even while I slept. So what did I do? I SHUT MY DREAMING DOWN – for over 30 years!! Do you have any idea how hard and mind blowing that is?! To be able to overpower your subconscious is huge and is a testament as to how strong I am, mentally anyway. Still, if the psychiatrist who treated me last week hadn’t been the one who told me this I prolly wouldn’t believe it myself. Perhaps my mom was right – I can do anything I set my mind to. . . .  

  

About a year ago, outside the Provo Temple on a cool Sunday night during a snotty, crying, yet tender hearted and genuine prayer I not only laid my life at the Lord’s feet but my whole soul. I was literally handing back to Him what He created and said to Him, “Alright, do it with what You will.”, and a year later I can tell you what it’s all come down to – He wants me to LIVE this life, not merely survive. A true and real life filled with love, joy, family, contentment, peace, and happiness; non of which is even possible in survival mode. You can only be focused on what you will do with your next breath so you’re able to take another instead of suffocating to death. There is no middle ground in survival mode, not even one shade of gray. It’s an exhausting, soul crushing existence for this life in the world we live in. And I’m tired. So tired. 

  

Not only am I a culmination of my ancestors who survived, not just ‘lived through’, heinous events but became stronger because of them; and with MY soul’s capabilities and gifts I am practically indestructible. Because the only thing that’s a greater toll than surviving on your mind, body, and soul to endure is to have to do a 180 degree turn and learn how to live. That change is BRUTAL and is the darkest hole, devoid of any light, besides the flames of the refiner’s fire as it licks your heels and face. Did you know you can actually die from the pain of a broken heart? So fascinating but I digress. 

  
I am the last of my family; the Pendagraph name will die with me, whether by marriage or death. So it falls upon my shoulders to make this huge shift for my future generations. This isn’t just about me because somehow I know I will be married one day, have a family, and they deserve better. Which means just knowing how to live isn’t enough, I have to be able to teach it; and as a former chemistry mentor once told me, “You don’t know something until you’re able to teach it.” Bam! Listen to those words – they contain much wisdom and insight. It also means if I’m going to have to teach my children to live I first have to know how – and this thought makes every part of my mind and body want to scream. 

I like to think of it as walking for 35 years on my feet with my legs and now I have to learn how to walk on my hands with my arms for the rest of my life. Everything inside of me is screaming this isn’t right and keeps trying to go back to walking on my feet. I firmly believe Peter had the same feelings and thoughts as he climbed out of the boat and took his first steps upon the water, and is why he looked down instead of keeping his eye on Christ; the same goes with Jonah just as he boarded to Tarshish and landed him inside the whale’s belly. 

  
Only, this time trying to learn how to live, is my final choice to keep my eyes upon Christ and NOT get on the boat to Tarshish. Heavenly Father had boxed me, quite uncomfortably, into an extremely tight corner; my choices are stark and blantantly obvious – learn how to live and stop surviving, mainly by being open and completely honest (both with you and myself), sharing my story from the past and as I take this journey OR chicken out, keep trying to hide (both literally and figuratively), and allow my fear to rule out over my faith. All of this being an informed, conscious choice I would knowingly make. In the words of Joseph Smith, Jr., “I knew, I knew God knew it, and I could not deny it.”

  
Now, my faith is as a member of the Church of Jesus Chriat of Latter-Day Saints. My testimony regarding the truthfulness of its doctorine, its validity of its prophets and apostles, and it containing the fullness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is ROCK SOLID so please don’t comment or say anything negative about my religion. I can promise you I will never slam your belief nor will I try to ever ‘convert’ you (I couldn’t even if I wanted to – the Holy Ghost has to do that). I’m sure you can tell (or at least you will) that I am not your average “Mormon” but don’t let that fool you – I fully support its teachings and leaders. An all-time favorite quote of mine is from Aristotle saying, “The mark of an educated man is having the ability to entertain a thought without accepting it.” The purpose of this blog is to share with you my journey through life and all that goes with it, sharing such incredibly personal things about myself. I’m just sharing stories, and I hope and pray maybe, just maybe something I’ve gone through and share will help someone, anyone who might be going through the same thing. Because if I can just ONE person not feel alone or like a freak or a weirdo then that’s enough for me and make all that I’ve endured worth it. 

  

I have a ZERO model plan or even an idea of what this ‘sharing’ will look like or what to do, but I do know this: I promise to ALWAYS be 100% honest with you and myself because if I’m not this isn’t going to work. Plus, lying and telling myself ‘I’m ok’ had gotten me into some serious trouble the past few months and sabotaged some very precious relationships. I also hope to post on here 2-3 times per week to keep you updated (& myself accountable) on what’s going on. I warn you they may be short, rating and raving but I’ll at least let you know how I’m doing (no matter how bad it is). I hope you will join me in this journey and see where it goes. Yes, being one of my BFF’s is exhausting and excruciating so let’s just be pals, buddies through this. I’ll help dry your tears if you’ll just allow me to shed mine. 

  
I wish I could say I’m doing better and everything is fine, but the truth is while I type this I’m sitting in an emergency room waiting to go back to the mental hospital and trying to pass a kidney stone. But I haven’t given up, almost but not yet, so stick it out with me, keep praying, keep believing because I barely do, and hopefully I’ll get through this, too. I hate Christmas this year, being alone without any family and having hurt those I care about the most (not knowing/remembering what happened makes it worse not better) and is the cherry on top of a very bitter, painful cake I want to stop eating. Having 30+ years of repressed memories of trauma and abuse is overwhelming and more than I can handle with daily life. We’ll see if I can make it. We’ll see what happens. We’ll see if tomorrow really is another day. Maybe I should find a big, red nose to wear; if it helped Patch, hopefully it can help me.