The beach too?? Seriously?!?!

So, I’m leaving for the beach in 2 hours. I should be excited, right? Well, I was. I was super excited before I did what I have been trying not to do ever since I found out I was going on vacation.

My niece sprung the news on me a couple of days ago. She and I both have birthdays in September, so to celebrate, my sister is treating us to a beach trip before the cold hits. I’m super greatful and any qualms I have about going are my problem and mine alone, don’t get me wrong.

After the initial excitement wore off, I started worrying, as I am one to do. “Will there be…stink bugs there?” I spent the next day and a half trying to calm myself down and convince myself that there won’t be. I discussed my anxiety with my boyfriend and my mom, I called upon my old memories of the beach to make myself excited, I even made a list as to why there won’t be any there.

1.) there is no food source for them
2.) the weather is not conducive to their behavior
3. I don’t fricking want them to live there

For the most part, all of that worked. I was really excited up until a few minutes ago, and now I’m sitting here, taking deep breaths with tears streaming down my face. All because I did something I told myself I wouldn’t do. All because I broke the golden rule of phobia recovery. I googled “are there stink bugs in Myrtle beach, sc?”

Ready for the big surprise? There are. They live at the beach too! Can I enjoy nothing anymore?!?

Now here I am, racking my brain trying to come up with an excuse not to go. I am a horrible person, or at least I feel like one. My niece and sister are giving me an all expenses paid, birthday celebration at the beach and I’m trying to back out because of a damn phobia.

The truth is, I’m doing a surprisingly great job keeping my composure this stink bug season, and not letting my phobia get in the way of living my life. I’ve made so many strides and I’m super proud of myself.

The thing about going to the beach though, is the lack of outlets I will have at my disposal. No mom to kick my ass and give me her tough love when I’m feeling anxious. No boyfriend to kill the bugs and hold me until I stop crying. No therapist to spill my guts to every time I have a break down. Nope, hundreds of miles are going to separate me from my support system.

Sure, I could call them, but there are some issues with that option. First of all, between the sand and waves, the bar, and the hotel, there isn’t going to be much in the way of privacy. I can’t break down into tears when my mental illness insists.

And as for leaning on the support of my travel companions? I can’t do that either. I love my niece and my sister both dearly. But, they do not know much of what I go through. They don’t, nay, they can’t understand. They haven’t been there with me through this. They are the “got a problem? Fix it. Can’t fix it? Fuck it” type of people (damn, how I envy that). As far as their knowledge, I get freaked out around bugs, and that’s it.

So for eight days, I will be confined within my fears.

Hopefully it won’t be so bad. Maybe I read wrong information during my research. Maybe it is still too warm for them to come inside. Maybe I’ll see some, but not as many as I thought I would.

Or maybe…

Maybe it will be terrible. Maybe they will be everywhere and I won’t find a shred of relief from fear the entire time I’m there.

Who knows? This is where my hope-for-the-best, expect-the-worst practice comes in…the very reason I wrote this entry.

So maybe I DO see them and get scared. I’ll be at the freaking BEACH, saying goodbye to summer with a strong drink in my hand. Will it really be so bad? Or maybe a better question is, will I let it be so bad?

I can deal with it or I can run from it and not go.

I’ve got an arsenal of excuses prepared…being afraid to set foot in people’s houses will do that to you. Will they be mad? Surely. Will they get over it? Probably. I can call it off, sleep in tomorrow, and wallow in self pity, wishing I was in the sand.

I’ve decided I’m choosing the other option. I’m going to go to the beach and deal with it. I’ve set up code phrases with my mother and boyfriend, in case I start to have an anxiety attack and need to talk, but do not have the means to do so privately. I’ve got my mantras prepared, and my meditation tracks loaded on to my phone. I’ve got a new prescription of buspar. I’m ready for this.

I’m going to the beach, damn it.

Wish me luck.
xoxoTMM

I’ll never be the same.

If you have a mental illness- whether it be depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, or borderline personality disorder, you know how disconnected you can sometimes feel to the “normal” world around you. What may seem like an everyday task to most is a mountain climb for us. Our interpersonal experiences are harder to manage, and our internal conflicts are more complex. Its a lifestyle that cannot be understood through explanation alone. You must live it in order to comprehend how it affects a person.

I’ve been dealing with depression and anxiety for literally as long as I can remember. My first experience with mental illness was with separation anxiety that manifested itself as night terrors and bed wetting. Funny. I wish an occasional night terror was all I had to deal with nowadays (although the bed wetting I do not miss).

This phobia…this unshakable fear that persistently looms over me like a lightning storm waiting to strike me down…it’s affected me in ways that I never thought possible, even from mental illness. I’m barely a person anymore. I’ve gotten better, yes, but if this recovery was Mount Everest, I would still be able to see base camp behind me. All of the things I used to love to spend my time on have been replaced with me trying to figure out ways to avoid being triggered. I’ve had the most drastic and irrational ideas run through my mind without me realizing just how outlandish they were until later when I would mentally kick myself for being so crazy. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

And if people didn’t understand my trials before…wow. There aren’t enough words to describe how tired I am of hearing people tell me to just get over it. A fear of bugs is not that bad, right? Everyone’s scared of something, right? Snakes, frogs, bees, what have you. That’s true, only, this isn’t a fear. I wouldn’t even consider a fear and  phobia similar, knowing what I know now. They’re completely different. A phobia engulfs your entire life in worry and vulnerability. Does your fear of snakes do that? Or do you just get a little tense around tall grass? See the difference?

I keep telling myself that it HAS to end sometime. It HAS to get better. There HAS to be a light at the end of the tunnel. there just has to, because honestly? I can’t live this way knowing it will never get better. This is just no life for anyone. I have basically zero independence and my functioning level is nonexistent. I rely on others for everything because I’m too terrified to be by myself, even for a few minutes. Everything is out of control.

Even if it does get better, even if I reach full recovery, I’ll never be the same as I was before I developed this phobia. I’ll never see that girl again. I guess that’s okay, I didn’t like her much anyway. But she definitely beats the girl I am now. Hopefully future me will blow them both out of the water. I want her to be vibrant and bubbly. I want her to go on road trips and jump out of airplanes. I want her to wear cute dresses and make up, instead of baggy tshirts and frumpy jeans. I hope she makes new friends in new places all the time. I hope she chops her hair off and gets tattoos on a whim because life is short. I hope she’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But most importantly, I hope she finds all of the happiness she’s missed out on her entire life.

And as fast as it came, it’s gone.

So, I saw my first in-house stink bug today. Summer is over already, and so is my safe season. The invasion is upon us. For many, this would be a major nuisance at worst and a non-issue at best…but for those of us living with entomophobia, it means the beginning of a long, long, (long)…long, long next few months. I knew this day was coming. I even knew it was coming sooner rather than later. But was I prepared for it? Not in the least.

I was sitting on the couch next to OJ watching netflix when I happened to glance over to the kitchen (as I often do. Another symptom of my phobia- I can’t sit still without darting my eyes around my surroundings every few minutes) and I see it. The tiny manifestation of pure evil is crawling on the bay window, like it freaking pays rent, the bastard. Surprisingly, I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry out. All I could muster was a pathetic little “oh….shit”.

Of course, OJ new exactly what was happening as soon as he heard me say that. Without missing a beat, he goes to the kitchen, takes a paper towel, and ends the creature’s miserable reign.

And again, like clock work, he says to me, “You okay? Wanna talk about it?” I didn’t wanna talk about it, I never do. What do I say? I mean, everything that was previously going on in my mind has evacuated, and all that’s left is intense, skin-crawling anxiety. I don’t really have thoughts after I see a bug, even though one of the best cures for phobias is mindfulness. All I can muster is, “That’s a bummer.” Tears begin streaming down my face.

All of the sudden, OJ turns into Mel Gibson in Braveheart, feeding me a pep-talk filled with the mantras that I’ve heard time and time again. Fear gives small things big shadows, your fear can’t hurt you, your fear is not real, etc. etc. and I’m sitting there, all but comatose. I can’t process what he is saying. Hell, I can barely process how I’m feeling.

By the way, how I’m feeling? I’m feeling like ripping every inch of my skin off. I’m feeling like stuffing myself into a box and sealing it up until next summer when I can feel safe again. I’m feeling like taking a shower that’s so hot it leaves blisters. That’s how I’m feeling.

All because of a stupid little bug.
Remember this the next time you wanna make fun of someone with a phobia, no matter what it is of, no matter how stupid it may seem to you. They’re real and they suck major ass.

Here’s to a short fall.
xoxo TMM

My Grand Canyon

You know, it’s funny. You never actually know something is true, til it is. I mean, you can assume the Grand Canyon is huge, based on pictures and testimonies of friends and acquaintances who have visited the place. You can assume the vast hole is as awe inspiring as it seems to be. However, you can never fully fathom just how big it is until you’re sure that you’re staring down into the canyon itself. You always have the same thought in those situations. “Wow, I knew it was big, but I didn’t know it was THAT big.” You didn’t know, and then all of the sudden, you do know.

Don’t worry, this isn’t just some stoner ramble about the Grand Canyon. I’ve never been myself, in fact. It’s more of a metaphor that helps describe this emotion I’ve been feeling lately. I’ve had boyfriends that have come and gone and I was in love-ish. That is, I thought I was in love. Now that I have OJ in my life, I’m one thousand percent certain of it. And now I find myself thinking, “Wow, I knew love was great, but I didn’t know it was THIS great.” Because before, I only had what I knew of love to go off of.

Of course, I know now that my past relationships can’t qualify as love. As a matter of fact, none of them even came close. (I wouldn’t dream of posting something this mushy about any other boy.) Love, for me, is a force that hits you like the air resistance pressing against you on the biggest drop on a roller coaster. It’s intense and exhilarating, and leaves you excited.

I’m excited because I know exactly who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. I’m excited because I have someone who knows exactly what parts of me need the most attention. When he smiles at me, I see the cosmos in his eyes. I’m not religious at all, but if anything makes me believe, it’s him.

I don’t know what I would be without him, and I don’t care to know. I’m a better person with him, and that’s all that matters. We compliment each other- serving as each other’s cheerleaders when we need a boost, and as each other’s enablers when we know we need to take it easy. We know how to have fun, and we’re damn good at it. A night at home can turn into one of my most precious memories without me even knowing it.

I can cry around him, I can scream around him. I can completely and utterly break down in front of him, and each time he builds me back up.

I’ve never felt anything like this before.

Does it qualify as a ‘hiatus’ if it was an accident?

So…I’ve neglected this blog for months. I wish I could say that I was ‘too busy’ or ‘too interested in something…interesting’ to run the thing but I’d be lying if I did. Truth be told, I just forgot about it. I was having such a …

More summer shenanigans.

Yesterday was lovely. Boyfriend and I planted and spray painted and drank. Add in a little pool time and it would have been the perfect way to spend a hot afternoon. Admittedly I don’t have a lot of people who I hold dear in my life, but the ones I do, like my boyfriend, give me more love than I could ever need.

The Gatlinburg vacation ended up being a surprising success. Of course I saw plenty of bugs to keep my anxiety running a little higher than what I would have liked, but I also made a ton of progress. I even got to the point that on the last day, I was genuinely sad to be leaving the cabin. I’m excited for more vacations in the future. My boyfriend and his entire family are so wonderful. I’m so grateful to have these people in my life. Even more grateful That they think of me as family. My favorite part of the vacation was a tiny place we stopped by, right on the outskirts of Pigeon Forge. It was entirely out of the way from all of the put-put courses, the outlet stores, and all of the other tourist attractions. In fact, we would have missed it if not for our cabin being out that way as well. It was called Goats On A Roof and if you’re ever in the area, I suggest you check it out. It is literally what it’s title represents- a tiny little craft shop with goats…you guessed it…on the roof. Of course they have little ramps to come off the roof as they feel. But the best part was, that for a measly $.50, you could feed these goats. Feeding farm animals from your own hand is an underrated joy of life. I could have stood there for hours feeding those sweet little goats. I’ve already made my boyfriend vow to take me to a petting zoo as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

The sky has been beautiful lately. The clouds have been plentiful and every day this week the weather has seemed like it was right on the brink of storming. I am a sucker for a beautiful sky. Clouds, sunlight, stars, a big bright moon- there truly is so much beauty in the universe.

I’ve had my ups and downs but I like to think that I am keeping true to the promise I made to myself, to enjoy my summer despite it all. Despite my mental illness, despite my financial worries, despite every pound of pressure that I am carrying on my shoulders, I truly am enjoying myself.

And that’s beautiful in and of itself.

Not alone.

A strange thing happened to me today. Strange, but necessary, more necessary than I could have thought.

I’m on vacation right now in Gatlinburg TN with my boyfriend and his family. I’m down here with him, his parents, his brother, and his brother’s girlfriend. We’re renting a cabin and of course my anxiety is running extremely high because where better to see all kinds of bugs than an open air living space in the middle of the woods?

Upon arrival, we decided to check out the deck of the cabin, since it included a hot tub and we’re all pretty pumped about that. All of the sudden, boyfriend yells that he just saw a snake slither under the boards of the deck. I was unphased. To be such a chicken about everything, snakes are not such a big deal to me. I’ve seen them before and I’ll see them again. Its inevitable where I live- on the northern end of Appalachia. Leave them alone, know which ones are poisonous, and watch your footing and seating in nature and you’ll be fine, they won’t bother you. (If only I could apply this logic to bugs, right? Anyway…) However for a lot of people, snakes spark a powerful fear inside of them…and rightly so. They’re ugly and slithery hell creatures. (I said I wasn’t scared, not that I’m a snake enthusiast :p) My boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend is one of those people. She had a reaction that is similar to mine when I encounter bugs, very similar. She cried and relied on someone else to take care of the problem…her boyfriend.

I truly feel for her. Being that afraid of something is a heavily disheartening feeling. I do not wish that fear upon her, or anyone really. But seeing her react that way really made me feel better. At first I felt guilty for finding comfort in her panic, but then I realized that fear is normal. As much as I want her to not be afraid, she will be. As much as I want myself to not be afraid, I will be. Acceptance is important.

What was even more relieving is seeing the way boyfriend’s family reacted to her fear. They did not judge her, as I have been afraid that they would do of me. They did not make fun of her. They did not ask “why are you scared!?” in that familiar demanding and condescending tone.  They simply accepted the fact that she was scared, and helped her make arrangements to ease her anxiety.

I’m so used to thinking I’m a freak for being so damn irrationally afraid of something. Maybe her phobia isn’t as bad as mine, or maybe it is. I don’t know the girl that well, truth be told. But seeing people respond to someone else’s similar fear was so comforting. More importantly, I can sincerely say that I did not cast judgement on her, not even unintentionally.

So how is my situation any different?

Sure, there are people who raise brows and hold back laughter…and my favorite, people who INSIST on telling me stories in which they encountered a bug. People who just do not understand that my life is hell over this. But I need to get it out of my head that every single person is looking at me like I am some sort of sideshow attraction over my disorder. I love my boyfriend and I love his family. They’re wonderful.

Some people genuinely do just…get it. 

xoxo TMM

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I never thought weather would be such a big deal.

It’s June. To be honest, I thought this time of the year would be easier for me. I didn’t see any of my triggers around this time last year, and I hoped beyond hopes that this year would be the same. However, here it is, June 8th, and I’m still seeing them. Granted, they aren’t everywhere like they are early Fall and late Winter…but even just one is enough to send me over the edge sometimes. The worst time for me to see one is when I haven’t for a while. That’s because I convince myself that they’re all gone- living in the trees or wherever they go when they aren’t making a name for themselves as household pests, and more importantly, leaving me the hell alone. I’ll even go as far as to convince myself that I’m better, and I can start the process of living normally again. I can start working on running errands by myself and maybe even find a real job. Then, I’ll see one or two in a day, and my whole illusion of recovery collapses.

I always convince myself that there are patterns that they follow, which in turn causes me to follow patterns of alertness, if you will. It’s 7am and I haven’t been to bed yet, so I know that probably made next to no sense. I’ll explain.

In the Winter, my happiness depends on the temperature completely. If it’s 40f or below, I’m calm (or the closest semblance to calm that I can possibly be). Anything warmer and I’m a wreck. Why? Because for some reason I’ve decided 40f and below is too cold to see bugs. It’s not really. I know that, but for some reason my brain tells me I’m safe if it’s colder. This past Winter there were instances when it would be 20f or colder and I’d see them.

Now that it’s Summer, the hotter it is, the more comfortable I feel. Weird, right? Such is life when you live with a phobia. I feel more comfortable in hotter summer temperatures because I feel like they’re all gone, outside. Then days like yesterday happen. I’ll see one. Only one. But one is enough to destroy the happy little ignorance that I’ve created.

The moral of the story is that these ugly little fear creators don’t care what the weather is like. They aren’t polite enough to leave when I want them to and to stay out of site when they DO take up residence in buildings. It’s vital to my recovery that I wash my hands of this attachment to the weather. I need to follow the advice of my boyfriend, possibly the best advice I’ve ever heard.

“You need to stop living and dying by the weather. There are no safe times and there are no safe places. You’re gonna see them when you least expect it, so you really have to find another way to approach recovery. ”

He’s right. I’m only enabling myself. Phobias develop in a Pavlovian fashion. When one has a fear, the more avoidance she/he allows her/himself, the greater the gratification, the better the relief. It becomes a pattern, which becomes an obsessive lifestyle of avoidance behaviors. It destroys you. You must reinvent yourself completely- molding your life around trying NOT to be exposed.

That’s why exposure works, it always works. It causes you to break your avoidance compulsions and deal with the issue, and realize there’s nothing to fear. I heard a joke about phobias once that held so much truth that it almost hurt. The difference between a phobia and common sense is that phobias are irrational. There’s nothing to fear, I know that. If there were, it would be common sense.

But try telling that to my psyche.

The difference between a fear and a phobia-

Everyone knows that a fear is not the same thing as a phobia. That feeling you get when the evil spirit in the horror movie jumps out on screen is not the same thing as the sweating, heart palpitations, and gut-wrenching feeling one gets when trying to cross a bridge by way of car. However, it goes a lot deeper than that.

A fear is a sensation, a feeling or an emotion. It is temporary. However, a phobia, that’s when fear effects every aspect of your life- everyday, from the time you wake up to the moment you finally drift off to sleep after hours of restlessness.

I feel like this differentiation is not as apparent to those who don’t suffer from this horrible illness. I also feel like this differentiation is why there is not much support out there for specific phobias. Sure, there’s plenty of resources out there for those with anxiety, social phobias, and agoraphobia, and that’s great! But you’ll be hard pressed to find online support, let alone anything in the little one-horse town I live in for people like me.

I think the reason, simply put, is that people assume that phobias are easy to conquor, and that’s not always the case. If it were, phobias would not even be recognized as disorders, but more as nuisances that need to be dealt with like a leaky ceiling or a tooth cavity.

Why don’t you just face your fear?

It isn’t that simple, and believe me, I have tried. I’ve been through the first few steps of an exposure hierarchy numerous times, only to find that I come out worse than I was before- checking over my shoulder for signs of crawling insects, mistaking every little noise for the sound of the buzzing of tiny wings, feeling my heart race each time I get a random itch or when my hair lightly brushes my shoulder. Phobia recovery is just recovery from any other mental illness. It is a long journey- an ascend up a mountain if you will, with many steps involved, some that are harder than others. Unfortunately, I have barely left the base camp of my mountain. I have subscribed to the belief that exposure always works. However, I am just not ready for that kind of incline.

You can’t let your fear control your life!

Well, I’m not. Let me reiterate, recovery from a phobia is just like recovery from any mental illness. I control my behavior just as much as someone suffering from social anxiety controls their stutter when public speaking, or as much as a person living with depression controls their inability to shower daily. That’s exactly why mental illnesses are so exasperating. You can’t cure yourself because you choose to. Sure, choosing recovery is the first step, and arguably the most important one. But its also the easiest step. All it takes is a decision that you’re sick and tired of your life being in the hands of a demented puppet master and you’re ready to cut the strings. I have made that decision already, but my scissors are quite dull. I take showers without the accompaniment of someone else, I can drive alone now. But these small steps are still very difficult for me. I never just chose to do them. I worked very, very hard to get where I am.

Why don’t you just ignore it?

I love getting this (sarcasm), because it’s not only ignorant, but it’s delightfully offensive. You wouldn’t tell someone with diabetes to ignore high blood sugar and have the cupcake anyway. You wouldn’t tell the drug addict to ignore the cravings and go to work. You cannot ignore something that is so ingrained in your behavior and overall health that you literally don’t remember what life was like before it. This is me. This is my life. I can’t act like it just doesn’t affect me and go about my life as if I’m not a sufferer. Because this IS me. This is who I am.

This is who I am.

More about me (mental illness edition)

TRIGGER WARNING- RAPE, BULLYING, SUICIDE

So okay. Since this will be a blog about my mental illness, I guess I should give a little background. I’ve been living with mental illness since before I was even old enough to know what it meant.I was raped at a local carnival when I was in first grade by a man who worked there. Immediately afterwards, I told my mom and she did what any good mother would do. She FLIPPED out, of course, found some police officers working the carnival, and told them. She and the police officers went to the man and he was arrested. A few of the policemen actually had to restrain her because she was threatening to kill him. My mom is my hero, she always has been, but that night was the first of many that she saved me.

Anyway, I started therapy and medication in 2nd grade when I was having nightmares about my mom dying. I guess having her there during the most traumatic time of my life, and seeing her takee away the problem immediately caused some sort of separation anxiety in me. More often than not, I would stay home from school because the mere thought of leaving my mom for that long made me throw up. I was taken to a child psychiatrist and prescribed a small dose of prozac…yes that’s right. I’m a victim of the prozac nation, literally prescribed the stuff before I could write cursive.

I went through most of my elementary school years in a zoned-out state, all the while I was being bullied for a whole number of things- my weight, the amount of money my parents made, my clothes. The bullying became physical a few times. It continued into high school and worsened when I was a sophomore. My entire school experience was a pattern of sleeping, crying, and trying to stay as quiet as possible around my abusers. It was not a healthy environment, but I would not find out until later the horrible long-term scars it would leave. To this day I am adamantly against the American public school system. When, and if, I have children, they will be homeschooled- and there is nothing anyone can say to change my mind on this. I lived it. I endured it, and miraculously, I survived it. However, as messed up as my worldview is to this day, I consider myself lucky. A high number (I use the word “high” modestly) of children who had to endure the things I did do not make it out alive.

Eventually, therapy and medication weren’t enough, and I tried to end my life. I was hospitalized for a few days, and was deemed well enough to return to school. However, I was going through hell. I missed so many classes that I became truant. My junior year, a group of girls who bullied me decided to make me their main target. I would go to my locker an find threatening notes slipped in, I was shoved into lockers countless times, I even had a facebook group stared about me. I tried to get the bullying to stop- I messaged one of the girls on facebook, I went to the principal, I even went as far as talking to one of the girl’s mother. Nothing helped, so one day, one of the girls was literally walking around to different people telling them that I had an STD. When I found out, I snapped. I blacked out and when I came to, I was punching her. Not my proudest moment I admit, but honestly I tried everything I could think of before that point. I had just…had it. I couldn’t deal with it anymore so I resorted to primal instinct. Also in my defense, the girl never said anything about me again…at least not to my face or to anyone else that I knew of. A few weeks after the fight, and some sleepless nights and a lot of tears and yelling, my mother and I decided that it was best that I dropped out. I got my GED immediately after. Although I still consider it the best decision I’ve ever made, I was miserable at the time.

I was terrified to leave my house. I started online classes at a local community college. I started drinking and smoking weed. I made a lot of horrible decisions around that time. Since then, I’ve been reeling with the consequences of my actions. I don’t like to talk a lot about that period of my life for two reasons. Number 1, I don’t remember much of it, to be honest. My clearest memories from that time are the tastes of various alcohols mixed with various beverages (I still get queasy at the smell of red bull.) and number 2, I am not proud of many of the decisions I made. I treated people horribly, people who didn’t deserve it, people I have apologized to, and whether or not they forgive me (spoiler- they haven’t yet) I will never forgive myself.

About 2 years ago, my anxiety got so bad that it manifested into a phobia of bugs (entomophobia)- a certain kind of bug that I don’t want to mention because the very presence of the name makes me reel. Believe it or not, my phobia is the most debilitating of all of my issues. I had a pretty horrible panic attack in December of 2014 caused by lack of sleep and being exposed to the type of bug I am most afraid of. I had hallucinations and convinced myself that I was having a heart attack. Again, I tried to end my life. Luckily, I was unsuccessful. After that, I had a complete meltdown and my life was halted. I quit my job, moved back in with my parents, and stopped going to school. I couldn’t drive by myself, I couldn’t go to the bathroom by myself, I couldn’t go outside by myself. My level of functioning was basically at a flat zero.

Since then, I have made little improvement, but I am proud of the improvements that I have made. I am trying to find a job where I can work from home, I have enrolled in online classes again, and I can drive and make bathroom trips by myself most of the time, not always. I’ve also quit drinking soda and cut back heavily on cigarettes (a repercussion from my partying days, or what I like to call “The Dark Ages”)- two things I never thought I’d be able to do. But when you’re driven by a desire to live a normal life, you’d be surprise at what lengths you can reach.

I am trying my hardest to keep my life moving in a forward direction while basically being homebound by my mental illness. Most public places terrify me, as does driving and basically just…being alone. But thank the good stars that I live in a time where work and education can be found at the end of your fingertips and in front of a computer monitor. Online classes, online jobs, online shopping. One day I’ll be able to live again-in the real world. But not now.

This is where I am now. I am slowly building my life back up and dealing with all of the issues that I have suppressed for so long.