Cue the panic..

Dear A,

I lay in bed fighting the urge to call you and let you know that today has been an emotional wreckage. I managed to stay vertical from 9-5, and slowly started to cave at 5:30 when I met a friend for happy hour (and by happy hour I mean a delicious diet coke). I brushed it off knowing at 8:00 I had an appointment with my therapist and I would probably feel better the following hour.
I leave the bar and as I sit in traffic I thumb through apple music to try and find a song that fits my mood. However, that wasn’t simple to define so I turned on Demi Lovato because she’s been through some shit and has come out on the other side. Now, one thing apple music needs to learn is how to predict your emotions and moods. When you’re doing everything in your power to hold yourself together, do not play the saddest songs the chosen artist sings. HORRIBLE IDEA, APPLE! HORRIBLE! So, as you can guess…there I am crying on the interstate, stuck in traffic, so of course the 2 cars that I’m playing catch and mouse with can see the beginning of my melt down. As I get closer to my therapist I can feel my body start to shake. I think, “oh no, just 5 more minutes. Hold yourself together for 5 more minutes”. Stuck at a red light..“shit, okay. 7 more minutes and you’ll be there. You’ll feel so much better after talking to your therapist.” Turn at the light, cue full blown panic attack…”ah hell, who cares. just let it all out. **calls mom** MOM I”M GO-GO-Go-…ahhhhh”. I’m sure you can infer from there.

Recently, I have felt so anxious and in a panic when I think about A. I wish I could find a way to ease the pain, get rid of the tears, and just be happy again. I fear there is no amount of medicine or mood stabilizer that can fix my broken heart and the emptiness I feel not having the man I love in my life.

It’s so hard to let go…

;

One thing I have yet to open up about is my coping mechanism that results in taking a blade to my wrist. I have been cutting myself for the past 12 years and have yet to find an alternative that provides such an instant release. Trust me when I say I fight with myself, scream in pillows, and read quotes on pinterest to try and talk myself out of adding to the scars on my wrist. Not because I don’t think it’s unhealthy, but mainly because I’m running out of excuses to hide them and I REFUSE to go back to the mental hospital. A couple months ago I got a tattoo of a semicolon, which means the author could have ended the sentence, but chose to keep going. It’s a nice reminder to not go all the way I guess. However, I like to think I am taking steps in my life to find different alternatives that provide a similar release; running until every part of my body hurts, screaming at the top of my lungs in the car, walking my dog, etc. Tonight was one of those nights where I had to rely on my strength to not pick up the blade. While I was at work it took every ounce inside of me to not cry and have another panic attack. I thought running afterwards would help. I ran a couple miles and decide I needed to go pick up my Zoloft prescription before the pharmacy closes. Once I pull out of the pharmacy, I loose my shit. I am crying the entire way home, sobbing in the parking lot of my apartment complex, and crash on the floor once i’m inside.  I cried so hard. I tried to explain the pain I feel inside and it’s such an empty feeling that I don’t even know where to begin. I want so badly to have the person I love with my whole heart back in my life, sitting in front of me, holding my hand, and telling me everything will be okay. Unfortunately, that’s the person every self help book and sane soul in my life has told me to not reach out to. It’s been 48 hours and I haven’t reached out. I guess that’s progress and something to celebrate.

I’ll hold off on the celebration. Because this feels like the loneliest place in the world.

I check my phone constantly to see if today will be the day he checks in to see if I’m okay. Each day I hold out that hope is another day of disappointment and wondering how can he know how badly I’m hurting and not want to check in? How can someone who told me a couple weeks ago that they love me and can’t let me go know how much I’m suffering and not ask how I’m doing. Well, let me tell you how… He’s doing everything that I should be doing. He’s taking care of himself, keeping himself busy, and trying to focus on the positives. Unfortunately for me, the fog in my head is so thick that I can’t see that it gets better on the other side and that, I too, will be okay eventually.

 

 

The bottle of vodka keeps dwindling…

So, here I am. 5 hours since my last post and I’ve made a little progress….and by progress I mean I’m swimming at the bottom of my vodka bottle with what little dignity I have left this Sunday evening. The nights are certainly the hardest as I fight every ounce of my being to not contact him. I try and distract myself with  humorous shows like The Big Bang Theory and Todd Chrisley Knows Best. I’m successful while I have a drink in my hand to slowly numb the pain…but crawling into bed, alone, realizing you’re tipsy for no reason, and you feel about 10 shades darker than you did before, is a hard pill to swallow.

The pain I feel without having him near me or in close contact is down right unbearable. Nobody in life prepares you for what its like to feel everything so deeply. Nobody tells you the walls you’ll have to climb when your heart gets broken or the amount of muck you’ll have to dredge through to feel a sense of calmness for all of 10 minutes. When you’re Bipolar, nobody can prepare you for the rollercoaster ride we call life. You pick up people along the way and the restraints from the curves, sudden drops, and inversions can’t keep them safe…so you let them go. Because you know that’s what is best for them. Or maybe not even what’s best for them, because lets be honest here. Half the people in your life that you let go because you think you’re doing them a favor is a disservice to yourself. The majority of the people you cut loose will be your biggest and strongest soldiers.

So, why do we do this? Why do we make it so hard for others to fight for us? Why do we insist on fighting these battles alone? Why can’t we comprehend what it’s like to not feel like we’re dying  slowly in a shallow grave?

Like I mentioned in my previous entry I was recently prescribed Zoloft. I’m debating if it will help the overall picture or if it’s a temporary fix. If I stop taking Zoloft for whatever reason will these emotions that I’m trying so hard to work through come back? Or will I be cured?

I need a healthier coping mechanism because finding my problems at the bottom of the bottle is only adding fuel to the fire.

cry, sleep, medicate…repeat

I have been seeing a therapist for over a year and about 5 months ago he diagnosed me with Bipolar II disorder. Sitting on the couch with my palms nervously sweating and my heart racing like I had just sprinted a marathon, it all made sense. The emotions and mood swings I have been struggling with for years finally had a meaning, or better yet a prognosis. That meant, if there is a prognosis there is a cure. I immediately went home and researched everything I could on Bipolar II disorder; mood swings, hypomania, deep depression, suicidal thoughts. The more I researched, the more my life started to make sense.

My long term relationship with the man of my dreams, A, ended a month before this diagnosis made its way into my life. The constant roller coaster of feelings from loving life and having a surge of energy, to crying incessantly at night and feeling like life would never get better seemed to be clear. I was a huge part of why our relationship failed. I wish we would have dove deeper into my mood swings and gotten off the rollercoaster of emotional wreckage before the damage became permanent, but I can’t allow myself to focus on that. Since I am now focusing 100% on myself and not involving anyone else in the equation, I am able to take a headstrong approach to living a stable life.

Before we realized I was Bipolar, I was put on Wellbutrin, LexiPro, and another brain drug that made me feel like I was drunk as a skunk.  Everything I have been on up to this point has not helped my depression or mood swings, it’s actually done the opposite. I gained 14lbs in two weeks, none of my pants fit and every time I went to the mall to try on clothes I felt like a fat lard.It got so bad one day I was crying in my Gyno’s office explaining how miserable I was and she immediately sent me to a mental hospital where they threatened to keep me for 72 hours. (That’s another story I shall tell later)
A couple weeks ago I was prescribed Zoloft. Just like being diagnosed with Bipolar, I have researched the shit out of this drug to see if it’s something even worth trying…and after last night, I don’t think I have another choice.

Last night I hit another low with uncontrollable crying that led me to a full blown panic attack where I text A to reassure me that 1) I wasn’t crazy and 2) he’s not dating anyone. Luckily for me, we never stopped loving each other and I know without a doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t lie to me and he’ll always be there to support me. He has his handful of issues as well that he is trying to work through. Anyways, after last night I think getting on a medication to help me see past the “fog” is something I desperately need. I sit back and reevaluate my life and want to shake myself and say “GIRLFRIEND! You are 26 years old; you’re smart, funny, have a great head on your shoulders…you need to get a grip. Everything will be okay”.  But, those of you that struggle with depression, anxiety, mood swings, etc. you know you can say that to yourself throughout the day and if you’re lucky you’ll believe it for a whole five minutes, and then it’s back to the endless pits in your stomach, emotionless conversations, and feelings of not giving a damn.

Today, I’m back at Starbucks observing the elders trying to use their smart phones and teenagers move around on hoover boards rather than walking (what’s the deal with that anyways?). It’s a beautiful day outside and I’m going to go for a run and enjoy the weather.

I hope you have a great day!

I’ve toggled with the idea of writing a blog for the past several months… no, not months. Years. As many of you that write, publishing your feelings so vulnerably online can be intimidating. After all, the more you put yourself out there the more susceptible you are to being hurt. But since I’ve tried everything else in the book to move on from the relationship that ended six months ago, this seemed like the perfect time. So, here I am, sitting outside of Starbucks in the quiet community of Celebration, FL. People are passing by; riding bikes, walking their dogs, starting happy hour 3 hours early, and enjoying the beautiful weather. I seem to blend in as I sit here with my laptop and headphones in. Nobody knows the silent hell I’ll be writing about for the next hour. I guess that’s the beauty of blogging. You can be amongst society where you feel out of place for the feelings that consume you, but yet nobody you’re next to has to know what you’re doing. For all they know I’m a local college student writing a paper for my final exam. So, let’s get started…

I’m here hoping to find a release of some sort, or to find those that can relate to the pain I feel daily. I was with my ex-boyfriend, (which, by the way, I HATE referring to as my ex. It sounds so final) for two years. He was my entire world…Maybe too much of my world at some points. He was my bestfriend, my shoulder to cry on, my partner in crime, my everything. When we went on our first date on November 8, 2013 I knew I had met the man of my dreams. I told my friends and families that was the last first date I’d ever go on. Saying I fell hard is an understatement. It’s like I jumped off the Empire State Building and hit the ground in .01 seconds. After our first date, I was hooked…and so was he. From the outside in it looked like a magical love story. We were blissfully obsessed with each other. It was as if I had dumped a puzzle out of a box and the pieces magically fell together to create a beautiful picture. Everything was easy. Everything was perfect.

Two months into our relationship things took a turn, and what I didn’t know at the time was a turn for the worst and I should have ran like hell. He told me he struggled with people he loves drinking and going out. Being 24 years old I was always going out with my friends, drinking way too much, and waking up with headaches where I swore to never drink again. It was a life I became accustomed to in college and never saw a real problem with because ‘everybody is doing it’. Everybody except the person I fell in love with. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around it or drink himself, he had a full blown phobia with me drinking. Anytime I would mention having a beer, just one beer, it would turn into a panic attack. One night it got so bad I had to call his parents and apologize, but to try and help me explain. it became hard to hang out with my friends, it became harder for me to feel like I was able to do what I wanted to do…and that my friends, is when I started to lose myself.

Fast forward a year and a half later, we were still trying to make it work. There were months where I became complacent with my new, sober life. And then there were the moments where I would lose my shit, go off the deep end, and drink like Captain Jack Sparrow. Those nights never ended well, obviously. And the days to follow were accompanied with quiet dinners, awkward stares, and lots of “I’m sorry”.

–Let me pause for a moment. If you have read this far and can relate at all to slowly changing yourself for a relationship, stop. Don’t do it. If there’s any advice I could give my younger self it would be to NEVER change what you like to do or who you are for someone else. You’ll spend a lot more time trying to get yourself back then you did altering yourself for another human–

Another four months go by and the amount of phone calls I am making to my parents about being unhappy are increasing by the week. I’m crying a lot more, losing weight, not sleeping, and becoming quite the raging bitch. My Mom visits me from Oklahoma and as I’m crying in a restaurant about how much I love this man, but yet I’m so miserable, she asks “is it time for me to move down here?”. I was floored. My Mom, who is happily married to my Stepdad, is offering to uproot her life and move down here with me to help me get through this toxic point in my life. I didn’t pause, I just said yes.

A couple months later she moved here. I moved out of the house he had bought for us to start our lives together and started the process of moving on. However, we hadn’t broken up yet. We originally took me moving out as an opportunity for us to give each other space and to work on ourselves. Being together, but living apart, was the first hurdle. I thought it was exactly what I wanted, until 24 hours later. I was unpacking my clothes, putting shirts on hangers and placing them in my closet and I collapsed to the floor balling my eyes out. The only thing I could think is what the heck had I done. The nights were rough, I would cry myself to sleep, cry when I woke up, cry in the shower…I cried all the damn time. Everyone told me this would be a good thing and I needed to give myself time. I was encouraged by almost everyone in my life to end the relationship completely so I could move on because he wasn’t the right one for me. So, that’s exactly what I did.

I showed up at his house feeling absolutely nothing…and I ended my relationship with him.

Here I am, six months down the road, and I still can’t figure out what came over me that night to end a relationship with someone I love. Why didn’t I just give us time? Why was I impulsive? Why did I go through with it?

Those are questions I don’t have the answer to, and probably never will. Because, truth be told, when you love someone and it doesn’t work out for whatever reason, it hurts like hell.

Now that you know a little bit about why I started this blog, I hope you’ll be able to offer words of encouragement or share your story if you have experienced something similar. Somehow knowing that other people are experiencing the same things, it makes you feel less alone.