Therapy has been going great. It’s been almost a year since I completed Group DBT. 7 weeks ago I started PE (Prolonged Exposure) therapy to help deal with PTSD. The process has been tough but there’s almost always a pay off. The last few weeks though, I will admit, have been really hard. The part of me that is excited to be doing this is only in a very small minority of my inner dialogue but at this moment the part that tells me to run and, to go back to my “wicked” ways, is slightly louder than the rest. It’s difficult to see both sides and have both feelings exist, almost equally, at the same time. I just have to tell myself that while both are real there can only be one that brings about a positive outcome (in my case anyway).

Today during my session (totally sounds weird to say that but appointment sounds incorrect too) I realized how harshly I’ve disassociated from the entirety of life. It’s not just during times of duress anymore; it is has been 24/7, 365 for over a decade. Things have changed though. I find myself acting super childish sometimes but then I feel like I’m sort of watching myself experience growing up through a totally different lens. I’m interacting with the world in different ways and it’s great. Even days I have to skills hard through, if there is nothing else to be happy about I can just be happy to be alive because who knows what tomorrow will bring.

There is a fair bit of work that has to be put in at home also. Every session is recorded and every day you listen to your recording. It’s definitely not fun listening to yourself everyday. It works though and does as intended; helping rid assigned, inappropriate emotional responses because of the way our brains search for ways to rationalize situations that are too traumatic to process.

At home there’s plenty of time to be introspective. Too introspective sometimes. But there are times when I’ve been able to move something emotionally disturbing into the, ‘I see it for what it really was’ column. I may not have conquered them all but I’m working on it, one Thursday at a time.


Big huge frickin’ update

Hello everyone! It’s been some time.

I don’t know where my story left off and I really don’t feel the need to reread and give a play by play of the past; which, for me, is a new feeling. A wonderful one at that.

Last year had its ups and downs. Lots of trials and tribulations. But I’m here. 2018 was the best year, honestly, of my life. That’s no small accomplishment at 34 (and I really do mean best ever).

Therapy, and much hard work, has been amazing! If anyone out there is finding meds and various therapies ineffective I strongly recommend DBT. It is my sincere belief that without it I would be much worse off or even dead.

I value my therapist and we have a wonderful working relationship. Essentially I think we’re a perfect match, therapeutically. Never stop fighting for what you deserve because if you don’t feel like you’re getting the most from your work don’t be afraid to say just that and find someone who you’re compatible and comfortable with. That’s not to say doctor shop but a partnership of two only works if both are invested at least equally.

I guess maybe that’s what I came here to say. You deserve to be happy. Or at least happier. You deserve not just good but great treatment. Fight for it.

To anyone still reading this, you are simply worth it. Just you, just the way you are.


If you need a hand to hold reach out and if I can offer mine I will. I’ll do whatever I can to help. To listen, to cry with. I’m here if you need me. Always. You’re not alone even if it feels that way. A lot of us suffer in silence and we don’t have to. We need to demand better. And we will. When we right our ships and set our sails you might be a few boats back but you’re very much with the fleet.

There’s so much love out there. My heart beats for you, it feels for you. I’ll try and hold you up through what you can’t handle even though you may not know me. In a way we all know one another. The issues are different but we all feel it.

This world loves you. It needs you. You are valid and real. Close your eyes and just reach out; our hands will find yours and grab hold. Even if all I can do is save you from drowning and not pull you out of the water I’ll answer that call.



I made this “mistake”. I discovered Julien Baker. Her music is the opposite of what you should listen to if music triggers you in any way towards the negative side of life. Even if you’re totally manic, it’ll break that mania without slowing down or looking back. But I love it. It reaches into my chest and rips out my heart except slowly and gently. Just be careful if you check her stuff out. I’ll bet most of us have relatable experiences so no one is really safe.

Starting with what I would now call an “uptick” in my mood late last year, a peak in all of July and now at this point the subtle tugs of our dear old friend depression, this has been an enjoyable 10-11 months. At times in July I remember thinking, I don’t want this to ever change. Unfortunately things look like they have. I really felt happy. For the first time. I was slightly less burden with some of my baggage. I had gone through six months of DBT and had found some solace in my life. I was waking up looking for projects to tackle. And I would actually complete (most of) them! Really, life was great!!! I made connections with people I had considered work friends but not outside of work friends. I was letting myself be vulnerable! Told a couple people how much they meant to me in this world. Not overdoing it but trying to boost my social life and make meaningful relationships with meaningful people.

It all worked! I was dealing with negative feelings and interactions that would make me want to act on my old ways, unskillfully. Instead I was putting into practice what I had learned. I felt like I had a place somewhere. Almost whole.

Towards the end of August I noticed I was beginning to react to things very unskillfully, wondering where had all my “training” gone. What had I worked so hard to become and then watch myself as I threw it away? I had a therapy appointment today and I was super excited about it. I honestly always am – good or bad spot in my life. It was rough. One of the toughest I’ve had with almost 5 years continuous years of therapy. But I am glad I went. I learned a lot in those 50 minutes. I unfortunately watched my therapists heart break. She actually began to move towards me to comfort me when I started to cry. She didn’t though. She pulled herself back. But I know at the end of her day she’ll tell the other providers about it. I’ve seen people break in front of me. I’ve seen them snap. Not in this empathetic of a way though. I could tell, even though she’s probably not supposed to, she cares. It’s comforting. Unless that’s just some sort of reverse psychology tactic. Either way, it worked.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t want to be alone right now and at the moment this is the closest thing I have to having a conversation with anyone. I’m ok. I’m safe. I’m not hurting myself. Suicide isn’t there. Sure I wonder why god can’t just take me and I don’t want to be alive but no, I am not wanting or going to kill myself. Just wishing I could be having a face to face convo with someone. Ok. Enough rambling. ✌🏼❤️

Anesthetic Please

I know that as part of this journey of mental health at some point I was told that even though my problems might not have been ones I created I do have responsibility to fix them. And I understand that concept. I didn’t do anything consciously to bring any of this on myself; to contribute to my individual disorders. But I’m starting to realize I place a lot of blame on my dad. I’ve got it in my head it is a big part his creation. I know a ton of factors contribute to the end result but in the meantime I think I’m gonna sit with my blame and feel resentful. It isn’t healthy but I don’t want to feel good right now.

I’ve been on this 6 month longish depression free, hypomanic rush. And my doctors know. It’s not causing real problems and I don’t want to die everyday so it’s what I get to deal with. See, I’m bipolar along with the borderline and also have some pretty bad depression. I get the mood swings from basically all 3 and they happen at different times. Sometimes they line up and it’s good and I’m not that grandiose, extravagant, crazy, spending spree nutcase. It’s just enough to make me slightly scatter brained but happy and energetic and motivated. I’ve thought it wasn’t just a mood. That maybe, finally, we found something that worked. And life threw challenges and trials my way. It wasn’t all just ohhhhh something bad happened but that’s ok. I had to deal with things, real things. And I had to act like an adult. I was free it felt. Free of the negativity and weight of my depression. It was amazing. Yesterday was terrible though. Ate dinner and went to bed at 8. I work nights so normally I goto bed 4-5am. Just depressed. It’s the opposite alignment of when things go good. It’s all worked out to be a triple whammy of bad.

I had this realization yesterday that there aren’t a lot of people who understand what I’m dealing with. There aren’t a lot that want to try and learn about what I go through. It’s a lonely feeling. It came to light when talking to a close family member and we were talking about anxiety(someone else’s, not mine strangely enough) and she was like, what makes her anxious though? And I was like nothing has to make you anxious. And proceeded to point out 20 different things in less than a minute of driving that cause me anxiety and it was like she had seen a ghost. My family member then was just like really? Wow. And that was it. It just shot me right in the heart all to hell.

Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe I feel invalidated. Who knows. I guess I just feel. Today I wish I didn’t.

Any Other Way

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.


What’s the difference?

I was just thinking to myself about how to explain something relating to the use of my DBT skills to my therapist. I anticipated she would ask me how the skill I’m using does work. And I came up with a really good explanation. When I was done explaining this out in my head so I’d have a story ready when needed I had a thought jump into my mind. Man, I’m good. Even I believed it. I knew it wasn’t true for me but it had all the right words and it made sense. It made it seem as though I am using a skill that really should be helpful and that it was really working marking some proof or evidence that all this therapy is actually helping. I just sorta asked myself what that meant. That if I knew it was a lie, what did that say about me? Am I capable of coming up with these stories so quickly that were everything the truth should be but weren’t and using them everyday with everyone? When was I being real and when was I saying what I knew I should be? It’s a little alarming and frightening. Makes me wonder if I can really feel anything. Man. What a wicked night.

Why I hate life.

(Trigger warning. I wrote this awhile ago. I’m fine, read: fucked up insecure neurotic and emotional, and I’m safe now but I really wanted to post this. Maybe someone else can relate and won’t have to feel so alone like I did when I wrote this.)



Just go fucking do it. Quit whining about it and do it. Even if you only take enough to fuck you up as a cry for help. I don’t know how else to ask for help. I can’t articulate my problems any better to explain what is wrong with me and I just feel like I’m not getting the help that I need. Medications. Fuck off medications. I can’t see not taking you but I despise you and I can’t tell if you’re working. Therapy. Yea therapy and DBT is starting to help but eh fuck it. You look back on hopeful years and think it can all just be lost and gone seemingly overnight so why not wipe this slate clean too.

Then you think of your family and someone having to find you and how when you found someone it forever changed you and forever turned you into a headcase. That you can’t move on from that point and that nothing you have ever done has ever helped that. Knowing I’d be ruining my mothers life is enough, for now. It makes me sick literally to think that I have to be walking around this planet for the foreseeable future. It only adds to my depression and makes me spiral more.

I can’t share this. I can’t share any of this. People would know. I mean sure they know now but they just see me as this weird 33 year old boy who has made poor life choices and can’t seem to get his shit together. Behind the scenes he’s been working hard to change things but things just aren’t changing. I’m still horribly and miserably and exhaustedly and utterly truly depressed. That’s a lot of ‘ly’s’! That looks weird.

I’m trying. I’m really trying this time. I spent two three! years with a psychiatrist for fucks sake and even she didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me. After weekly sessions for months! One consultation basically and wham my entire life is upside down, again. It wasn’t bad enough to get the bipolar disorder diagnosis, no I had to go and grab onto a personality disorder too. Great. Thanks mom and dad, really love being alive. Lets get PTSD along the way but stop you at 16 cuz that’s a great age to be as an adult. I can’t do anything. I don’t know anything. I’m not good at anything.

I need to refill my saphris. I didn’t take it last night because I haven’t filled it in time. Why is this not more important. You hate feeling this way and there seems to actually be an answer and yet you deny yourself the very privilege of taking the pill. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re just trying to prove that you can do it without the help of pills but just fucking admit it. You can’t and you won’t. Give in already. It’s a terrorizing thought having to take pills forever. Forever means forever. Or as long as I can afford insurance. I refilled my saphris just now. I’ll be taking one tonight.

I’m good. I feel better. Kinda. Better enough to make it through tonight and then with work tomorrow its basically automatic. Thank God for an anxiety driven start to my day. Nothing like what feels to be some good ol adrenaline to help wake you up. I’ll linger in bed longer than I want to but that’s just how shit is gonna be. I’ll snuggle my pups extra close tonight so I can feel their love but I know I’ll be crying myself to sleep. Like I’m crying now. Tears streaming down my face, leaving fat wet drops where they land.

Can’t live can’t die truly stuck and I hate it.

Titles are hard.

Finding a therapist that you like and have a good rapport with can be frustrating. I’ve been pretty lucky and only have had to try a few. I’ve heard stories and read a lot of blogs that deal with this issue. Trusting can be tough. Sharing isn’t always easy. So when you find someone you get on with it is super wonderful. Sometimes I wonder if because of my lack of experience with therapists I’ve found the right one or simply one that will do. Either way I got some news about mine the other day and it got to me more than I expected.

I was at my therapists office and decided to schedule a few appointments while I could partly because it’s just better to get the dates planned and partly because it can be tough to get into my therapist. I figured why not get ahead and just schedule as many as I could. I now have appointments scheduled all the way until May 1st. Which I like. But, and there’s most often times a but, I found out my therapist sometime after my last appointment is going on maternity leave. I don’t know for how long and exactly when as I haven’t seen my therapist in a few weeks but I will find out when we have our next appointment.

What I wasn’t expecting was all the emotions that came along with actually hearing this. Sure I know she’s pregnant. It’s not as though it’s a secret. However, I stood there at the appointment window and was face to face with this fact and all of a sudden the wind was gone from my sails. Immediately I had these thoughts of things like, “See, I told you she would just bounce as soon as she got the chance” and “I guess no one really wants to help me.” I felt suddenly suicidal. Like I haven’t felt in awhile. “If she’s gonna do this then what’s the point in any of it?” Therapy. Living. Everything just went sideways in my mind. Why am I gonna put in all this hard work and make efforts to better my life if the people who are supposed to help me are just gonna take off? All the rest of the day and night it was foremost in my mind. “Give up.” “No one wants to help you.” “Everyone else has left, it makes sense she would too.” I couldn’t stop the thoughts. I want to say I tried using some emotion regulation skills I’ve learned in DBT but that wouldn’t be true. In the moment, and for many hours after, all I could think was how pointless therapy is now; that this was just one more person making a quiet exit from my life. Quiet, but an exit nonetheless. Add another to the ever growing list of people who have found some reason, some excuse, to not be around anymore.

I was angry with her. Angry for working so honestly and openly. Angry with her for getting pregnant. “Who does she think she is? I can’t see another therapist.” Not when I actually feel like some progress is being made. Not right now.

I was sad. Sad that my abandonment issues were not only real but hitting me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been fearful forever about people leaving me but not like this. This is uncertainty. This is not knowing. “Will she come back?” “What if she decides being a mom is more important than working?”  I felt like throwing my hands up and just going home, skipping my weekly DBT group therapy so I could crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.

I’m not one to think of my therapist like I hear and read about how other people think and feel about theirs. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t see her as someone who loves me or cares for me in any other way except a therapeutic one. I don’t believe I have attachment issues. I don’t yearn for my therapist like so many others do. It doesn’t light up my week to see her. What we do, what we work on, that’s what lights me up. Maybe I’m more attached to that than to her. I’ve gone a month without seeing her and other than feeling like my individual therapy is kinda stalled it doesn’t cause me any of this when I know there may be some time between appointments.

What I didn’t take into account at the time, and it did take some thinking and sorting through my own mind, was that just like everyone else my therapist is a person. A real life human being with wants, hopes, dreams and desires just like the rest of us. She has a life outside our small room. How could I have been so selfish? What kind of person only thinks about themselves when in fact it is someone or something else that should be congratulated? Again the thoughts turned towards myself. “What a horrible, selfish person you are.” “Why can’t you be happy for someone else’s happiness?” I hate the way my brain works sometimes.

I’m still wrestling with the idea that for an unknown period of time not only will my access to my therapist be gone but someone else who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t have the same passion and drive in them that I see in my therapist, will be “taking over”. I know I won’t be left out in the cold completely; that my therapists patients will most likely be shuffled around to other providers in the office. I still feel uncertainty as I don’t have an appointment for almost another two weeks.

I do feel a little more calm about the whole situation after writing and reading this. It helps. If nothing else it gives me something to talk about with my therapist next session, which I’m pretty sure is unavoidable at this point.

Maybe I have more attachment issues than I realize. Maybe I’m just over dramatizing the entire situation. Who knows.



Make This Last Forever.

I don’t always like writing when I’m sad. It tends to make me feel like I’m whining but then again I guess that’s just me judging me, which we know is bad so enough of that. I had a good today so I’m gonna write about it gosh darn it.

Today started out remarkably anxiety free given I had called out yesterday for some silly reason and I was afraid my boss would be mad at me (great now no one I work with can read this. Yay!). Which I noticed because it felt strange. Odd. Unfamiliar. But I went about my day anyway, maybe with an extra pep in my step.

I didn’t eat once I got to work like I normally do (I had eaten before work, somewhere else) to keep up the sham and I miserably grimaced “Hello” as I passed by people. I thought if I kept up the act of not feeling well people would believe my ruse. I got to the back and was getting ready and my boss said hello and I said my hello and we exchanged pleasantries and that was all. No firing as I had obviously catastrophized about (but was strangely having zero anxiety over).

My work day began and it was lighter. It just sorta felt a little less gloom and doom. Work did get pretty stressful but I managed and even was able to work with some DBT skills when things got rough. Some I had to try and use. Some I did automatically. At the end of the night when I sat down to fill out my diary card I reflected back on my day and was happy with myself. Sure, I still had a crummy dead end job going absolutely nowhere but at least today it felt good to have it.

Afterwards I socialized more and later than I normally would have done. For the first time in awhile I felt like I was sorta connected to these other people; that we had gone through the same thing and survived. I was also maybe a little in the Christmas (because that’s the side of the argument that I stand on) spirit and felt a little jolly. It was nice. The whole night was like a nice date that was near perfect. Weird way to think of it. I left work feeling like I had when I woke up only better. Sometimes I think I need a reminder that no matter what I’m doing work is important and gives me some purpose even when I fell I have none of my own.

Too often times when the dark days outnumber the good we forget happier moments. This is my way to have a reminder that when things get crappy there is still hope because even if for just a day or two you can be happier, less anxiety ridden, it worth it.

It was a good day today and I am happy about that right now.

A little bit lonely…

How can one person be so lonely. So solitary that it hurts. Even for just someone to text with whenever would bring a so much needed connection to another person. It’s strange. It wasn’t always like this. I used to be part of the in crowd in my twenties. Friends with everyone. All types of people to do all different sorts of things with. But somehow over the years I’ve alienated them, they’ve moved away and even a few have died. I don’t have people in my life. I have pretty much no one. And that makes me sad tonight. I’m fighting back the urge to curl up in bed and cry myself to sleep so that’s probably the  reason I’m even writing this. This life thing is hard.