It has been quite awhile since I felt the urge to post but I recognize the desire to post. It’s been on my mind for awhile and it’s like I have to work up the courage to put what’s going on out there. Strike that. It’s not lack of courage at all. It’s a desire to have the words and get things right. I had no idea how much forethought can go into what seems a simple blog post. Maybe that’s why I consider many of my posts weak and shallow. Honesty. What would I do without it?
I’m not quite sure where we left off in the saga that has been my 34 years. Somewhere around my DBT group therapy and my individual therapist having to go on maternity leave. It’s possible I also posted about my med prescriber not being available until August (yes I have an appointment to see him. S for those paying attention). Other than a memory of saying DBT was working and was wonderful, I don’t think I went much farther. It’s now the beginning of July (happy 4th of July everyone!!! Celebrate freedom!!!) and I’m in a better place.
I completed six months of DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy); once a week, an hour and forty-five minutes each. I missed one session and while I hade intended to make every one it didn’t work out that way but that’s ok. My therapist said I still was the person who has attended the most meetings. I’m proud of that. I’m proud I completed the program. The things I learned, I won’t say I have a mastery over. I will say that I learned a lot of valuable skills that I can use everyday for the rest of my life to make situations I encounter easier than they would have been had I not learned these tools; these ideas, these ways of changing my perspective, reframing the situation. I’m forever grateful to all my instructors and teachers. Each one brought a different element and style that enhanced my experience.
From this chapter I’ve moved on. It’s through the lens of a newly shifted paradigm with which I am trying to view this new world. A world in which I don’t hate myself. A world in which I am just as worthy as anyone else, and I do mean anyone else, of deserving happiness and success.
I no longer wake up every day and wish I were dead. I don’t imagine a world without me and think of how everyone would move on just fine, continue on with life and never give my death a second thought. That’s not true. My life matters. To me. I matter. To other people. It’s so fulfilling!
I’ll be honest. It was tough in the beginning. I wanted to dive in head first and tackle the big stuff. I know now that I didn’t posses the skills to embrace and confront my past. It would have steamrolled me and put me in a worse place. I’m glad I had good people watching out for me. I’m at a place now where I’m thinking about my past differently than I did before. Objectiveness is easier to obtain. I’m not saying it’s all flowers and cupcakes. But it’s utterly freeing. The more you experience it the more you want to feel it again.
I’ve found my “center”, my ground. Duh. Gardening. I can’t spend enough time with my plants and gardens. I have something to look forward to on my days off. My time away from work is spent not thinking about going back to my job but how to take care of my plants. How to spend time centering myself and doing something that brings me happiness, something that brings me joy. Something that fulfills me. Something, that without trying, brings me entirely into the present and I think about one thing. Not all the crap that happened to me. Not all the bullshit I put myself through. The thoughts of self hatred and destruction are replaced by connecting with living things and caring for something other than myself. I’m not worrying about my job when I’m in my gardens. I’m not doing anything other than being present and grounded in the moment and for the first time in my life I loose myself in anything and am just myself. It’s an incredible sensation.
It may not last forever. It may be the wine. It may be the “controlled mania” I’ve decided to endure (by taking an antidepressant that brings me up to touch mania and then stop it enough so it drops me a tiny bit before depression) but anything, and I mean anything, is better than the crippling depression I went through for almost 6 years. I never want to be there again. Mania is no good. I know that. It’s not healthy and I don’t think it is beneficial to be there. But I will never go back to that depression. NEVER. I’ve always felt it’s important to feel and truly feel your emotions. And it is. But I can’t let them control me. That kind of depression is controlling. There is no pushing through the day and putting a happy face on. You can’t even get out of bed to use the bathroom and you just hope that work understands when you call them next week and explain why you didn’t show up for three straight shifts in a row. Never again will I ever let it get that bad. NEVER.
So we’re here. The present. I’m happy. For whatever reason. I’m gonna enjoy it. I’ll take this for everything it is, as long as it lasts. I won’t fake it. I won’t lie. When my downhill comes I won’t deny it. I won’t bring it on though. I won’t dwell on everything that brings me down. I’ll deal with what I can and won’t worry about things that I have no control over. It’s impossible to take everything on at once so I’ll take it slow and realize it took time to get here and it will take time to get out. For the first time the word recovery makes sense to me, for me, on my journey. It doesn’t mean I’m there. But it makes sense.
My journey is far from over. It’s already started but I have plenty far to go.
I truly and honestly wouldn’t want or have it any other way.