Still crazy...
CN: discussion of suicidal ideation and self-harm
It's funny, but now that the symptoms of my mental illness aren't destroying my life on a daily basis, I'm beginning to feel rather fond of them. I'm starting to understand that even though my moods, thoughts, and behaviours are recognisable as symptoms, they are still honest and authentic expressions of who I am as a person, and I find comfort in the familiarity of the chaos that constantly follows me around.
Monday was an odd day. It started out fantastic, but went downhill in the evening.
I the morning (well, morning for me) I finally conquered my fears and rode my bike to the gym at the mall down the road. I'd been to the gym within walking distance of my house, but I hated it and couldn't force myself to go back. I blamed myself for it, as is my habit, telling myself I was letting my anxiety hold me back, but after a while I realised there's nothing wrong with not wanting to go back to a gym that made me uncomfortable and had shitty customer service. So I decided to try a new one, even though it's a bit further out it's still within walking distance of my house.
And boy am I glad I did! The staff were friendly and helpful, the gym was well-equipped, and I didn't feel embarrassed to ask for help at all. There were slogans on the walls like "NO JUDGMENTS" and "WE'VE GOT YOUR BACK." I saw women, elderly people, visibly disabled people all working out in the same gym. It made me feel safe. At one point, when I was doing squats with a weight, I had a paranoid thought run through my mind:
"someone could be taking pictures of you right now!"
which was immediately followed by: "no one's taking pictures of you. you're safe here."
It's been a very, very long time since I've felt safe alone in public. I think this can be equally attributed to the helpful and welcoming staff/environment as it can to the work I've been doing with my psychologist lately. Something's shifted in the background of my thinking and even though it's only been a few days I feel different. Slightly less fearful and broken than I was before.
I'm glad to say that the amount of time it takes me to go from thinking about doing something to actually doing it is getting shorter. I only hid from this for 2 days before I actually went through with it. I'd been getting down on myself for ages about not going to the shitty gym, and I really just wanted to feel proud of myself for something, to feel like I wasn't wasting my life hiding. So I went. I was scared of getting yelled at or fined for riding my bike on the footpath because I was too scared to use the bike lane, I was worried about getting laughed at or injuring myself with the bike, or getting hit by a car or getting lost or dissociating and forgetting where I am. I was scared of a lot of things, but I did it anyway, and it turned out to be simple. The gym is on the same road as my house, so it's a 10 minute bike ride in one direction, no corners, and the gym is super visible from the road, with bike racks out the front. I did fiddle with the borrowed bike lock I had, but I felt a lot less self-conscious and panicky than I normally do in those situations.
I signed up with the gym as soon as I was done with my workout. They had a deal on where they had no enrollment fees, which was great for me because I couldn't afford them anyway. I left feeling on top of the world and happily exhausted.
What followed was an odd afternoon of lazing around and giving myself the world's most half-assed dye job. I suspect that my brain fuzz that afternoon was due to not eating enough after the gym, but as it's that dreaded lead up to a festival and Rory and I are both broke, there's not going to be any new groceries in the house for a while so the egg and chicken salad I ate at the mall was gonna have to do.
That evening wasn't so great. I decided last minute to go to a gig with Rory and Andrew. "It's all chill stuff," Rory told me. "You might like it." I figured why not, and went. Unfortunately for me Andrew invited his annoying-as-hell girlfriend Nikaya, who literally does not stop talking even when she just asked you a question. Between the headache I got from listening to everyone try to yell over her and the stomach ache I got from knocking back a sugary cider before we left, I was regretting all my life decisions before we even got to the venue. The foyer was full of people yelling and bumping into me, and I wanted to get out. The tickets were $45! Rory offered to pay for mine since I'm broke, I told him I'd changed my mind but he said not to worry about it and before I knew it he'd dropped the cash and we were on our way in. I made straight for the bar and drank as much water as I could, trying to get rid of the various aches.
Apparently the main promo for the gig were flyers plastered up on the surrounding streets in Northcote, which may explain the gaggle of fucking walnuts that seemed to have infiltrated out regular crowd. At one point Rory and got stuck in a 20 minute conversation with a wet sock who said his name was Malachi; a name that deserves to be attached to a more interesting person, surely.
M: I'm gonna be doing artist transport for Earth Freq
ME: (Great, a bus driver)
M: Who are your favourite artists? I'm probably gonna be driving them to their stages
ME: Oh, I haven't looked at the line up yet.
M: Oh. Really?
ME: Yes, really.
M: Do you have a smart phone?
ME: *smiling blankly* Yes.
M:...So what's your name?
ME: I'm Quinn
M: Nah, your birth name
ME: *eye twitching* My name is Quinn
You can imagine how thrilled I was with the rest of the crowd. Oh but wait! There was a serial wallet thief in the midst! Rory retrieved his jacket from where he'd stashed it to find his wallet gone, and when we couldn't find it we realised this probably meant our trip to Queensland was cancelled, since there wouldn't be enough time for Rory to get is license replaced before we were due to leave. I have to be honest, I kind of lost my shit. But quietly, as is my habit. It didn't help that it was Nikaya who insisted Rory stash his jacket even though he was fine with carrying it.
There's this particular borderline kind of thing where it doesn't really matter how great your life is overall, or how much you're looking forward to the future; a giant mood swing like that can be enough to make you want to kill yourself, just to escape from the sheer intensity of the emotion. I'm not even sure what it was that made it that bad. Maybe just a steady climb during the evening towards the point of intolerance. I hid in the bathroom for a while, wanting to scream, to cut myself, to feel a pain I could control. I couldn't do any of those things, so I tried to breathe, and thought about how to communicate to Rory how I was feeling. I felt guilty heaping more on him since it was his wallet that was stolen, but I need to remember he doesn't react to things the same way I do. He told me later it was a minor inconvenience at most. I on the other hand, wanted to kill someone. I guess it's a leftover thing from living with my ex's family, always having my stuff stolen and threatened with homelessness if I ever tried to stand up for myself. But that's not what happened that night. I was a random pickpocket.
I told Rory a few times "I'm not coping." And he sat with me and held my hand while he called and cancelled his credit cards, or got me a drink of water. I need to learn how to make it clearer when I'm in such a dangerous headspace because when I told him later what was going on in my head in the bathroom he seemed shocked and hugged me and apologised for not being more supportive.
To be honest, Rory didn't seem that fussed about the wallet. He and Andrew talked with the owner for ages, about the wallet but also about the lighting and sound arrangement and a bunch of other stuff. I've learned not to leave the house wihtout my ournal, so I took it out and started writing about the good things that happened that morning, until Rory came to get me when it was time to leave.
At home I cried and told him about how I was feeling. He made me a hot milo and brought me the three carrots I asked for (a game we play when I'm upset. I'll ask for some absurd or arbritrary request and he'll make a big deal of presenting me with three carrots, or teaspoon, or a pair of socks). I told him how relieved I was to know that I was still crazy. I've been this way for so long that it's familiar, it's comfortable. My wild mood swings ( transient manic depressive episodes are sometimes my favourite thing about being alive. even the bad ones, since they've been there so long they seem like old friends. They were there when no one else was, as well as the mania and the rush and joy and panic. I feel like these are the things that make me, me, and even though I'm glad I'm getting much better at being able to function in everyday life, and being able to have happy relationships, I'm glad that those most intensely personal parts of my self are still there.
I've stopped thinking of myself as a collection of accidents and traumas and symptoms. I used to worry that I was cured and would never be interesting again. There isn't much difference between a BPD symptom and a personality trait, and for a long time I thought that meant I was just unlovable. I'm only now starting to realise how goddamn abelist my environment has been for so long, but now that i have people in my life who genuinely care about me and want me to be happy, I realise that a huge amount of my problem was that i was thought to hate myself for being emotional, for needing help, for asking for things or relying on people. I'm not a jumble of symptoms to be cured, I'm a flawed human being who is learning how to be better. Not less flawed, just better at being flawed.
When I told Rory this I was worried he'd give me some spiel about "glamorizing mental illness" or "see, you don't really want to get better" but he didn't. He told me he loved me, crazy and all. I think he's finally glad to see that I'm hating myself less and learning to accept myself, warts and all.
I went to sleep that night exhausted and anxious, but I felt safe with Rory beside me and a cat on my feet. I'm starting to think that this house, this bed, and this alien might actually be around for a while, and for once I don't feel terrified about getting comfortable.
"I'm safe here," I thought to myself as I drifted off. "This place is safe."
It's funny, but now that the symptoms of my mental illness aren't destroying my life on a daily basis, I'm beginning to feel rather fond of them. I'm starting to understand that even though my moods, thoughts, and behaviours are recognisable as symptoms, they are still honest and authentic expressions of who I am as a person, and I find comfort in the familiarity of the chaos that constantly follows me around.
Monday was an odd day. It started out fantastic, but went downhill in the evening.
I the morning (well, morning for me) I finally conquered my fears and rode my bike to the gym at the mall down the road. I'd been to the gym within walking distance of my house, but I hated it and couldn't force myself to go back. I blamed myself for it, as is my habit, telling myself I was letting my anxiety hold me back, but after a while I realised there's nothing wrong with not wanting to go back to a gym that made me uncomfortable and had shitty customer service. So I decided to try a new one, even though it's a bit further out it's still within walking distance of my house.
And boy am I glad I did! The staff were friendly and helpful, the gym was well-equipped, and I didn't feel embarrassed to ask for help at all. There were slogans on the walls like "NO JUDGMENTS" and "WE'VE GOT YOUR BACK." I saw women, elderly people, visibly disabled people all working out in the same gym. It made me feel safe. At one point, when I was doing squats with a weight, I had a paranoid thought run through my mind:
"someone could be taking pictures of you right now!"
which was immediately followed by: "no one's taking pictures of you. you're safe here."
It's been a very, very long time since I've felt safe alone in public. I think this can be equally attributed to the helpful and welcoming staff/environment as it can to the work I've been doing with my psychologist lately. Something's shifted in the background of my thinking and even though it's only been a few days I feel different. Slightly less fearful and broken than I was before.
I'm glad to say that the amount of time it takes me to go from thinking about doing something to actually doing it is getting shorter. I only hid from this for 2 days before I actually went through with it. I'd been getting down on myself for ages about not going to the shitty gym, and I really just wanted to feel proud of myself for something, to feel like I wasn't wasting my life hiding. So I went. I was scared of getting yelled at or fined for riding my bike on the footpath because I was too scared to use the bike lane, I was worried about getting laughed at or injuring myself with the bike, or getting hit by a car or getting lost or dissociating and forgetting where I am. I was scared of a lot of things, but I did it anyway, and it turned out to be simple. The gym is on the same road as my house, so it's a 10 minute bike ride in one direction, no corners, and the gym is super visible from the road, with bike racks out the front. I did fiddle with the borrowed bike lock I had, but I felt a lot less self-conscious and panicky than I normally do in those situations.
I signed up with the gym as soon as I was done with my workout. They had a deal on where they had no enrollment fees, which was great for me because I couldn't afford them anyway. I left feeling on top of the world and happily exhausted.
What followed was an odd afternoon of lazing around and giving myself the world's most half-assed dye job. I suspect that my brain fuzz that afternoon was due to not eating enough after the gym, but as it's that dreaded lead up to a festival and Rory and I are both broke, there's not going to be any new groceries in the house for a while so the egg and chicken salad I ate at the mall was gonna have to do.
That evening wasn't so great. I decided last minute to go to a gig with Rory and Andrew. "It's all chill stuff," Rory told me. "You might like it." I figured why not, and went. Unfortunately for me Andrew invited his annoying-as-hell girlfriend Nikaya, who literally does not stop talking even when she just asked you a question. Between the headache I got from listening to everyone try to yell over her and the stomach ache I got from knocking back a sugary cider before we left, I was regretting all my life decisions before we even got to the venue. The foyer was full of people yelling and bumping into me, and I wanted to get out. The tickets were $45! Rory offered to pay for mine since I'm broke, I told him I'd changed my mind but he said not to worry about it and before I knew it he'd dropped the cash and we were on our way in. I made straight for the bar and drank as much water as I could, trying to get rid of the various aches.
Apparently the main promo for the gig were flyers plastered up on the surrounding streets in Northcote, which may explain the gaggle of fucking walnuts that seemed to have infiltrated out regular crowd. At one point Rory and got stuck in a 20 minute conversation with a wet sock who said his name was Malachi; a name that deserves to be attached to a more interesting person, surely.
M: I'm gonna be doing artist transport for Earth Freq
ME: (Great, a bus driver)
M: Who are your favourite artists? I'm probably gonna be driving them to their stages
ME: Oh, I haven't looked at the line up yet.
M: Oh. Really?
ME: Yes, really.
M: Do you have a smart phone?
ME: *smiling blankly* Yes.
M:...So what's your name?
ME: I'm Quinn
M: Nah, your birth name
ME: *eye twitching* My name is Quinn
You can imagine how thrilled I was with the rest of the crowd. Oh but wait! There was a serial wallet thief in the midst! Rory retrieved his jacket from where he'd stashed it to find his wallet gone, and when we couldn't find it we realised this probably meant our trip to Queensland was cancelled, since there wouldn't be enough time for Rory to get is license replaced before we were due to leave. I have to be honest, I kind of lost my shit. But quietly, as is my habit. It didn't help that it was Nikaya who insisted Rory stash his jacket even though he was fine with carrying it.
There's this particular borderline kind of thing where it doesn't really matter how great your life is overall, or how much you're looking forward to the future; a giant mood swing like that can be enough to make you want to kill yourself, just to escape from the sheer intensity of the emotion. I'm not even sure what it was that made it that bad. Maybe just a steady climb during the evening towards the point of intolerance. I hid in the bathroom for a while, wanting to scream, to cut myself, to feel a pain I could control. I couldn't do any of those things, so I tried to breathe, and thought about how to communicate to Rory how I was feeling. I felt guilty heaping more on him since it was his wallet that was stolen, but I need to remember he doesn't react to things the same way I do. He told me later it was a minor inconvenience at most. I on the other hand, wanted to kill someone. I guess it's a leftover thing from living with my ex's family, always having my stuff stolen and threatened with homelessness if I ever tried to stand up for myself. But that's not what happened that night. I was a random pickpocket.
I told Rory a few times "I'm not coping." And he sat with me and held my hand while he called and cancelled his credit cards, or got me a drink of water. I need to learn how to make it clearer when I'm in such a dangerous headspace because when I told him later what was going on in my head in the bathroom he seemed shocked and hugged me and apologised for not being more supportive.
To be honest, Rory didn't seem that fussed about the wallet. He and Andrew talked with the owner for ages, about the wallet but also about the lighting and sound arrangement and a bunch of other stuff. I've learned not to leave the house wihtout my ournal, so I took it out and started writing about the good things that happened that morning, until Rory came to get me when it was time to leave.
At home I cried and told him about how I was feeling. He made me a hot milo and brought me the three carrots I asked for (a game we play when I'm upset. I'll ask for some absurd or arbritrary request and he'll make a big deal of presenting me with three carrots, or teaspoon, or a pair of socks). I told him how relieved I was to know that I was still crazy. I've been this way for so long that it's familiar, it's comfortable. My wild mood swings ( transient manic depressive episodes are sometimes my favourite thing about being alive. even the bad ones, since they've been there so long they seem like old friends. They were there when no one else was, as well as the mania and the rush and joy and panic. I feel like these are the things that make me, me, and even though I'm glad I'm getting much better at being able to function in everyday life, and being able to have happy relationships, I'm glad that those most intensely personal parts of my self are still there.
I've stopped thinking of myself as a collection of accidents and traumas and symptoms. I used to worry that I was cured and would never be interesting again. There isn't much difference between a BPD symptom and a personality trait, and for a long time I thought that meant I was just unlovable. I'm only now starting to realise how goddamn abelist my environment has been for so long, but now that i have people in my life who genuinely care about me and want me to be happy, I realise that a huge amount of my problem was that i was thought to hate myself for being emotional, for needing help, for asking for things or relying on people. I'm not a jumble of symptoms to be cured, I'm a flawed human being who is learning how to be better. Not less flawed, just better at being flawed.
When I told Rory this I was worried he'd give me some spiel about "glamorizing mental illness" or "see, you don't really want to get better" but he didn't. He told me he loved me, crazy and all. I think he's finally glad to see that I'm hating myself less and learning to accept myself, warts and all.
I went to sleep that night exhausted and anxious, but I felt safe with Rory beside me and a cat on my feet. I'm starting to think that this house, this bed, and this alien might actually be around for a while, and for once I don't feel terrified about getting comfortable.
"I'm safe here," I thought to myself as I drifted off. "This place is safe."