Category Archives: Mental Health

Depression Thoughts: I’ve Got the Blues

I’ve been pretty good for months now but last week was rough. Last week, I caught feelings and they weren’t fucking good. One day I felt fine, the next I felt like a storm cloud that got gangbanged by the Cure. I had no energy, I got all weepy, and sad and empty and…depressed? My first thought was, “Oh shit, the depression is back!” And I started to get a little panicked because depression for me isn’t just sadness and fatigue, though those things are worse, depression in me manifests as constant panic and terror, insomnia, nausea, and vomiting. It’s like my entire body goes on strike and just implodes. It sucks.

My therapist once told me to be extremely careful with labels. She said, sometimes people dip down and get sad. Everyone has low moments but that doesn’t mean you’re depressed. In fact, telling yourself you’re depressed can actually make you feel worse and cause the issue to manifest. So, I stopped myself and started that weird internal babbling that I’ve learned to do, the fancy self-talk. I told myself, “I’m not depressed, I’m feeling blue. It’s going to pass.” I got out my notebook and went down the line of self-care acts to stave off shitty feelings. I hit the gym, put on my depression meditation on my headspace app, wrote a long list of things I was grateful for (the list included: air, shiny things, books, puppies, gravity, paper, notebooks) and looked forward to my sister coming. Against my therapist’s advice, I tried to look for a cause. What triggered it?

For a lot of people, depression comes out of nowhere. But mine usually doesn’t. Usually, one small, seemingly insignificant thought snowballs in my brain like a silent bomb and days later I feel the painless explosion. What had triggered it?

I traced it back to a thought. One single thought: I’m not good enough. I revisited something I’d done not too long ago and thought, “Wow, this is way worse than I remembered it being.” Then that turned into, “I’m never going to get where I want to be with writing, with my projects, in life, I’m decades behind.” Instead of stopping the obsessive loop like I’ve been doing for the past year, I just let it go. I took my foot off the break and just let my brain speed toward a crash for most of the day. In addition to the shitty thoughts of inadequacy, I’ve been spending a ton of time alone. I need solitude to write, but too much does bad things to me. The day after the negative dialogue with myself, the blues came and obliterated my mood.

My husband came home and took one look at me and said, “Jesus, what’s that look on your face? Are you okay?” At my dad’s house that night, my stepmom did the same thing, “I’ve known you forever, I can take one look at you and know something is wrong. What is it? Why do you look like you might cry?” Three days of that. Three days of what’s the point? Everything is dark and cloudy and shitty. Three days of feeling like my life didn’t matter and 5.6 moments of fantasizing about my death. When I get the blues, the first thing that happens is I either become terrified of dying and panic or I start having fantasies about what people might say at my funeral. Will they even go? And if so, will they say nice things?

Then my sister came and I spent two days laughing and talking and getting out of my house. I wrote more about being grateful and to a few Barre classes and took Omega 3 and 6 oils, Vitamin D, B, C, E and wrote a letter to my therapist that I haven’t given her yet. And the blues lifted, slowly.

The clouds always lift at some point.

But it was a really important reminder that I’m in a space right now where I can’t skip on self-care, I can’t let my brain go rogue, can’t skip exercise or meditation, and can’t avoid people for long periods of time (not even if I’m working on a book). It’s a reminder that self-care needs to be a part of my daily routine for pretty much ever. And, a reminder that the stories we tell ourselves matter and have a large impact on our happiness (or unhappiness).

And honestly, this post is a reminder that I need to GTFO of my house right now and go stalk my neighbor’s new puppy because I haven’t talked to another human in person since yesterday and puppies more or less fix everything. It’s science.

While I was finishing this, someone left an invitation on my door to attend Jesus Christ’s funeral next week. So, if things get bad again, at least I have that to look forward to?

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Self-Care Lessons I Wish I’d Known Before my Breakdown

After suffering from chronic depression, unbearable anxiety, and panic last year that lead to an all-out mental breakdown, I’ve been on the long, hard road to recovery. I’ve had good days and bad, perfect weeks and weeks of relapse where I slip backward, but all in all, I’ve been on the mend one act of self-care at a time. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been because for the first time in my life I’ve actually learned how to take care of myself. Specifically, my mental health. I don’t mean I’ve finally got on top of the laundry because honestly, I’ll always suck at that.

I grew up in a pretty tough family. My great-grandma was institutionalized after a breakdown, my grandma suffered in abusive marriages, and my mom experienced the kind of childhood that people make movies about. The women in my family have been through some serious shit and because of that they’ve got grit to spare, but absolutely no patience for wimps. Like zero tolerance. If I fell down as a kid, my mom would lean down and say, calmly, “you’re fine, if you’re going to scream and carry on, I’ll give you something to cry about,” when we moved eleven times and I changed school after school, I understood that I wasn’t allowed to complain. Not because my mom is an asshole, but because she knew the world could be dangerous and unforgiving and above all things I needed to be strong. And even though I don’t feel strong most of the time, I’ve learned that I am. My therapist once said I’m “one of the most resilient” people she’s ever met.  But sometimes, being able to cope with horrible things can work against you, like when my brother died in 2008, and I shut down and did my very best to forget him as quickly as possible–I couldn’t even begin to process something so terrible, so I didn’t. Feelings are not a thing that I do well and after decades of numbing out and pushing forward, my body had had enough, my brain basically imploded, and I ceased to function as a normal human being. It sucked. I cried. I panicked. And luckily, I got help. The entire thing has forced me to examine myself up close and learn for the first time ever to identify feelings, toxic behavior and to use fancy words like “post-event rumination.” Which basically means, obsessing like a lunatic about things that happened and driving myself crazy in the process. Once you can identify it, you can manage it. And, most importantly, I’ve realized the true value of listening to myself and taking care of myself.

I wish I’d known these things before my breakdown.

Self-Care Lessons I’ve Learned

Knowledge is Power: Reading is it’s own act of self-care even if you’re not reading about mental health or ways to heal. Although, bonus points for reading books that help you work on yourself and, most importantly, understand yourself. My friends and I started a self-care group and we read a book every month about self-care. We talk about it, implement the things, and support each other through our wellness journey. The things I’ve learned have been so valuable. As kids, so many of us are taught how to take care of our teeth, our skin, how to do our hair and dress nicely, but very few of us are taught how to take care of our mental health. I mean especially those of us who grew up in the 80’s. I was lucky if my mom even cracked a window when she chain-smoked. AmIRight?

Stress Catches Up With You: Eventually, after years of stress, trauma, or depression, shit will catch up with you and you’ll pay the price. There’s a strong correlation between complex trauma and immune disorders, gastrointestinal problems and things like fibromyalgia. You might not have a total mental breakdown, but your body will pay the price for things you’re not dealing with. Women are especially resilient and we think, “well that horrible thing sucked but I got through it.” But the truth is that all of that pain is in your body somewhere, hiding. And when it’s the most inconvenient it’s going to resurface all, “HERE’S JOHNNY,” to fuck with your shit.

Bodies Talk: For years, my body had been sending me signals that things were not okay. I’d lost my appetite but just thought, “eating is boring! Meh!” I slept poorly but just assumed it was because my husband tossed and turned or my dog moved around a lot. I yawned constantly for years for no reason. I became super jumpy and would scream when someone would come around a corner quickly at the grocery store. And I have no idea how I didn’t find that bizarre. But the truth is that living things are shockingly adaptive. Feeling like crap felt normal because it happened so gradually. It wasn’t until I started to have full-blown panic attacks did I realize something was seriously wrong. In retrospect, I wish I’d gotten help at the very first sign I needed it. It would have saved me a lot of trouble (and money on mental health services).

You Can Fix a Wounded Brain with a Little TLC: There is no such thing as a broken brain. Suffering from depression or anxiety is scary and I was terrified of being told I had a problem because the last thing I wanted was to be told that I had a disorder. But diagnosis doesn’t mean you’ll have it for your entire life, in fact, a good healthcare professional should reevaluate you annually to see if your diagnosis has changed. I was diagnosed with a panic disorder, chronic depression, and anxiety. Now? No formal diagnosis. My Dr. changed it.That being said, if your diagnosis is lifelong, that’s okay, too. The stigma that used to exist around mental health is lifting and people are coming out in droves to talk about their own mental health challenges. Self-care can help you manage and treat even the most complex issues. Anxiety, depression, panic, irritability, stress, migraines, fatigue, and pretty much any and all physical and mental issues can be improved through self-care. But most importantly, it can prevent issues from forming in the first place.

Prevention is Better: It’s so much better to learn how to manage stress and prevent larger issues from forming than to wait until your body and brain freak out on you. What’s that saying? Prevention is worth a pound of cure? I wish that I’d learned growing up how to pay better attention to my body and my needs. Seriously, self-care and mental health should be taught in school alongside sex ed. For decades we’ve known so little about the way the brain works and only now are we starting to really understand it at a basic level. We need more education so that we can take action sooner and prevent ourselves from slipping into something worse.

Any mental health lessons of your own? Put it in the comments below. And please share if you liked the post.

 

 

 

 

7 Things I’ve Learned About Therapy

Looking back, I’ve definitely needed therapy for pretty much my entire life. I mean, obviously. Mostly because my childhood was,  uhm, interesting (more on that later) but also because I’m just the kind of person who needs some grounding.  A lot of grounding.

Despite the fact that I’ve obviously always needed therapy, I’ve only ever sought help when I’ve absolutely had to. I.E., the two times I had a nervous breakdown. Yeah, two, because I’m apparently a Goddamn overachiever when it comes to life meltdowns. The first one, I was in college. The second, last year. What caused it? Not sure entirely sure but my therapist has a few theories that sound pretty legit.

When I started therapy last year, I was desperate. Not only was I 100% sure that I was actually going insane but I’d convinced myself that I was also dying. And this desperation probably contributed to my therapy has worked so incredibly well for me. I walked into my therapist’s office ugly crying, shaking, my hair in a horrifying tangle. I was a giant gaping wound, begging to be healed. I would do anything to feel normal again. ANYTHING.

If I hadn’t been that “raw,” and honestly, a little pathetic, I don’t know if I’d have gotten the same results. Because I’m a little bit of a know-it-all and probably would have walked in challenging the therapist like, “I’m smart, you probably can’t help me,” and I’m also not at crazy disciplined in life. Trust, dedication and opening up completely are pretty much required to get the most out of therapy, for it to actually work. Which brings me to what I’ve learned.

1.Do the Work. When I first walked into my therapist’s office I was a hot mess. Bawling, gagging from nerves, my mind racing in circles two-hundred miles per hour of the scariest shit ever. At the time, I was so messed up I couldn’t eat or sleep. I’d been up for 4 days straight and had only eaten carrots all week. I vomited everything I possibly could to my therapist and she gave me a list of things to do: Meditate, take a sleep aid, and make an appointment with a psychiatrist for temporary meds. I didn’t do any of it. I hate medication (my brother died from a prescription a doctor gave him), meditation seemed like weird hippy bullshit, and didn’t Kurt Cobain go into a coma at one point after downing sleeping pills? No thanks. I was in therapy! That would fix me! Nope. Therapy helped and brought my anxiety from a 10 to an 8 but I still couldn’t sleep, eat, or function. After two more weeks, my therapist once again suggested those things and since I’d nearly started to hallucinate from insomnia I agreed. I meditated and felt some relief. I took a sleep aid and my God I felt amazing after that first night’s sleep, and I made an appointment with a Psychiatrist. She gave me a non-addictive prescription for anxiety (a tempory solution, she said), and within two weeks my panic attacks stopped and my anxiety had dropped to a manageable 4.  After one year, my anxiety is a zero, depression is all clear, and I don’t need medication anymore. Although, if I get super stressed out (like when we bought a house, I sometimes need some help sleeping). Also, there’s no shame at all in needing meds, but it’s not to need them.

2. Find a Therapist You Can Trust. In college, I went to a few therapists who tried to diagnose me with a handful of mental illnesses and prescribe medication on my first visit. Fuck, no. Brains are complex, I don’t trust anyone who simplifies them and believes they know exactly what’s wrong with you after a thirty-minute conversation. I found my current therapist through a friend who saw her and loved her. I immediately clicked with her and that allows me to trust her advice completely. She doesn’t spend our sessions trying to slap me with some kind of label. This makes it very, very easy to tell her everything and just do what she says. If she tells me to spend less time with my husband, I do it. If she tells me to meditate, I do it, and if I didn’t trust her, I wouldn’t because I have trust issues. The same goes for my psychiatrist. I didn’t want some typical pill-pusher so I took a lot of time to find the perfect doctor for me and my unique personality. There’s nothing more frustrating than looking for a good doctor or therapist but it makes all the difference. My doctor is holistic, meaning that she’s an M.D., but she also believes in treating the entire body and mind. She tested my blood and put me on 2,000 vitamins to fix imbalances in my system. She recommended relaxing yoga and meditation. And, yes, she gave me a medication along with herbal supplements. My first meeting with her was THREE HOURS. I trusted her. And that trust allowed me to focus on healing instead of wondering what her motives were for her suggestions.

3. Just Walk in and Word Vomit. A lot of people, including myself, think they have all the answers, or they’re worried about being judged or scared of what they might learn about themselves. This doesn’t work in therapy. You might know what some of your issues are but if you’re like most people, there are probably patterns and roots that you can’t see or honestly don’t want to see. Walk in and spill it all. Start with your week, fights with friends, arguments with your spouse, a bad memory about your mom, that weird thing that happened at Thanksgiving when you were 6. Just say it all. Open the gates and let it all come out. My therapist noticed things that I never noticed. Like, that I’m super co-dependent and that I allow myself to be triangulated between others and their problems to avoid dealing with my own shit. In fact, what I thought was causing all of my problems were only a fraction of the issue. The real issue was something that had never, ever, occurred to me and never would have without her insight. And what’s even better, once we identified problems, she gave me guidelines for how to deal with it moving forward. And, ta-da! It worked.

4. Self-Help Books Are Stupid But Also Helpful. My therapist gave me a shitload of stuff to read and it took me a while to get to it all. I’ve always been the kind of person to roll my eyes at self-help books because they just seem lame and weird but they actually help. They helped me understand how trauma impacts the body and mind, what anxiety actually is, and how stress causes or worsens depression. That information really helped me to understand myself so much more and fully understand the treatments my therapist suggested. Suddenly, meditation actually made scientific sense and I was even more on board than before.

5. It Takes a Village. Therapy works best if you have a support system who understand what you’re trying to do to heal your brain and body. I had to distance myself from people who made shitty remarks about therapy or “didn’t believe in it,” blah, blah, blah, and spend more time with friends who understood it. Why does it matter? Because negativity doesn’t help anyone and also because in therapy there’s a lot of weird shit you’ll have to set boundaries and say really obnoxious shit like, “I can’t get involved because I’m not supposed to let myself be triangulated anymore.” And friends who get therapy will be like, “ah, totally,” and they’ll support you. Family or friends who don’t get it, will throw tantrums or take it personally and make it about them. It doesn’t mean you have to change friends permanently, but you might want to temporarily surround yourself with people who are willing to support you. I lucked out for the most part because like eight of my friends see a therapist and a few of them see mine. A group of my female friends also meet for a self-care night where we talk about life, therapy, drink a shitload of wine, and talk about books or articles we’ve read about mental health or self-care in general.

6. It Will Work. With the right therapist and doing all the work, I’ve gone from chronic depression with paralyzing anxiety to zero depression and zero anxiety. That’s not to say that I’m “fixed,” but I’m able to manage with relaxing yoga, exercise, daily meditation, positive self-talk, weekly therapy appointments, supportive and amazing friends and lots of dog cuddles. And, I’m happier now than I’ve probably ever been in my life and feel shockingly stable. It’s honestly a little weird to not be super irritable, or anxious, or off all the time.

7. Your therapist Can’t Fix You. A lot of people think that by going to therapy and chatting you should see amazing results overnight. From my experience, that’s not a thing. It’s a process and it takes time. My therapist is like my mentor in healing. She talks with me, for sure, because we do talk therapy along with cognitive behavioral therapy and EMDR (magic). And she gives me tools to build a stable and healthy brain. But she can’t build it for me and she’s not a Goddamn magician. It’s entirely up to me to make sure that I use the tools that I’m given. It’s up to me to go in and word vomit at her, it’s up to me to meditate, go to yoga, and stop myself from repeating whacko behaviors. Above all, it’s up to me to give it ample time. It took me one year to feel like me again.

The great thing about therapy for me is that I have this incredible relationship with my therapist who provides an amazing support system to help guide me through all of the shit going on in my brain and the general difficulties of life. She once told me, “you’re not alone in this battle, I’m here now,” and it was priceless. And then I cried all over her. Once you have the tools and really understand how to use them, you can heal, you can live a normal life, and you can be happy again.

I Could Outrun A Tiger: Panic And Anxiety

Sometimes, my brain is a real asshole and seems to hate me. I’ve had anxious episodes a few times in my life. I suffer from low-grade depression, not always, but often. I’ve had a few panic attacks throughout my life. Lately, it’s been bad.

About four months ago I went out for drinks with colleagues and ended up in the emergency room around two a.m. after I demanded Francesco to take me because I believed, completely, that I was dying. It felt like I was. My heart was beating out of my chest, my legs were shaking, I couldn’t take a full breath of air, and I felt a kind of fear that is hard to even imagine.

Panic attack, the doctor said. They handed me an orange pill, tucked me into some warm blankets, and monitored me until the Xanax kicked in and I fell asleep in the hospital bed. The next day, it was as if nothing happened. I was fine. I’ve been fine.

Speed forward to this week. For no rational reason, I’ve been having a lot of anxiety. It seems like I’ve been overthinking everything and it’s been leading to some shit feelings, terrifying thoughts, and bad nights. I lay in bed at night, my mind racing, thinking, “oh my God, Francesco is going to die. So am I. So is everyone.” And I’m terrified for eight hours in the dark. This last Tuesday night, F was in class and my anxiety crept up again. I watched Bad Moms, snacked a little, tried to stay preoccupied. But around ten p.m., I was struck by the same indescribable fear as four months ago. My entire body started to shake, and I felt, once again, like I was going to die. Somehow, though, I fell asleep eventually but the next morning I woke up with the same panic. Let me tell you, it’s a shit way to start your day. Good morning, terror.

I was able to get into the doctor at eleven a.m. and was given a prescription for Ativan. I hate pills. I am scared of them and I don’t trust them. Still, it I didn’t have a choice if I wanted the horrible, terrible, scary, awful, feeling to go away. I practically sprinted to the Pharmacy and popped it right then and there. Twenty minutes later,  I felt slightly better but not great. I still felt shaky, my muscles were still tense and trembly, and despite my burning stomach, I couldn’t eat. Even crackers made me gag, which made my anxiety ten times worse. Eating is the most basic human thing. And I couldn’t do it. I was convinced I’d die if I didn’t eat. Which made it so I couldn’t eat. Let’s just say it was a terrible fucking cycle.

Unlike last time, it took me two full days to stop feeling panicked and anxious. And six days later, I’m still not at 100%. I stopped taking the Ativan after the second day and I feel better but I’m still slightly weary and uneasy. I’m still not able to sleep through the night. I’m still worried that it will happen again. Luckily, I have an amazing husband who all but dropped everything to reassure me, cuddle me, and stay with me until this feeling passes.

Fun fact about anxiety: All of its horrible symptoms, are actually your bodies way of preparing for combat and or running away developed from some time where we needed to fight crocodiles or club your dinner to death. You guys, I could outrun a fucking Tiger right now. Seriously, bring it. outrunning-tigers-image

I’ve also done a lot of introspection and realized that ever since I moved home from Italy, I’ve been stressed out, irritable, distracted, just below the surface. I don’t know why exactly but it’s been there and I’ve ignored it. I’m not a highstrung person, in fact, my parents make fun of me for being “too relaxed,” all the time. Apparently, all of the stress has boiled to the surface and is like, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME YOU TWAT!”

I am. I’m paying attention. I made an appointment with a therapist and I’m going to go to Yoga. And, I’m going to stop thinking about things that don’t matter. You really don’t realize how great your life is until you’re cowering in fear for no fucking reason praying for the horrific scary feeling to pass.

It’s been a shitty reminder to take care of myself. I’ll be doing this for a minute instead of worrying about getting pregnant and starting a family. Apparently, I need some self-love for a minute. It’s so easy to get caught up in life and forget to take care of yourself. Your body and brain will only take so much abuse before it bitch-slaps you from here to China.

Also, have any of you had panic attacks, anxiety? Have you experienced it with children? How do you manage? What has helped you?