It has been almost two years since I wrote the first (and previously only) post on this blog. Two years is an awfully long time. A lot of things change in two years. And, of course, some things don’t. To begin again, I feel like I have a lot of explaining that must come first. It seems that the act of picking something up again after two years that you barely touched in the first place deserves explanation. But that could just be me.
About two years ago, I was fighting what I thought was the worst my depression could get. (Little did I know.) I thought that if I could break my “writer’s block,” then I could break through the valley of despair and start sprinting back up the hill to peace. This lead me to start thinking about writing a lot. Not writing, mind you, but thinking. I wanted to write a great novel. Something profound and world-shaking and mind-changing. I wanted to create something that could change lives. I wanted to be like my high school mentor. Because of her, I didn’t give up. I felt inspired and empowered and validated. I wanted to be the person who created that feeling in someone else. I just kept thinking about how if I could only just start writing again…
This happen to also be about the same time that my support system started to rebuild itself again. Which is genuinely what I attribute being alive today to, because without these people in my life I would not have made it this far. (I would shout-out to all of you, but I sincerely hope you already know who you are and how grateful I am every single day for your love.) The reason I mention this, other than taking any excuse in my life to thank them, is that this support system is where this blog was born. It’s not uncommon for like-minded people to gravitate towards one another, and my life is no different. A particular friend of mine has always been someone I can trust to guide me back to my writing when I am in great need of it. Many ideas of how I could break through and start actually forming the words in my head into physical form were thrown around over time until one stuck. And, from there, I formed the concept of this blog. If I could just find a way to force myself into the structure I once had, then the inspiration I craved would surely follow suit. If I could just start writing SOMETHING, then the words would start flowing the way they used to. With that reasoning, the idea of a blog where I wrote about my favorite writing topics every single week on a strict schedule seemed perfect. I set up the page and wrote my first post, and I was so incredibly excited.
And then “life” happened. And it happened some more. I struggled and clawed at the heavy blanket of depression over me until the day I finally sat down in my doctor’s office and said, “I need to see a psychologist and a psychiatrist. I need more help than I’m getting.” Being the most empathetic woman I have ever met, she responded with, “You’re right. There is only so much help that I can give you, because I just don’t have the training. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the truth. What I can do, though, is find you someone that can give you more.” And that’s exactly what she did. I started seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist, and things started to really look up. But that pesky “life” thing, you know? I ended up losing my health insurance for a short time, causing me to have to stop seeing those doctors. For the time being, however, my symptoms were greatly alleviated.
Strangely, the most empowering feeling I’ve ever experienced is having an official diagnosis in my hands. Finally, after years of doctors and struggles, I had names I could put to what I felt. I have C-PTSD, and I have IBS. I mention the IBS for one simple reason, and that is the fact that the symptoms and strain of dealing with one of these conditions inevitably triggers a response by the other condition. If I start to get anxious or depressed, the stress and sleep deprivation will trigger an IBS flare-up. If I have an IBS flare-up, the pain will cause me to start feeling more anxious, because I’ll start to worry if it will affect my daily life. Which triggers the insomnia, and so on and so on. Knowing these things about my body is a weapon I can use against this cycle. Knowing what the symptoms are of my conditions and being able to identify them in my behavior has made it easier to stop myself when I notice them happening.
And then “life” happened. And it happened some more.
Jump forward, and here I am. Right. Back. Where. I. Started. Add in a heightened anxiety level, and suddenly I’m nostalgic for the simple depression that I thought was so horrendous. The difference is, this time I know more. This time it didn’t take quite as long for me to finally say, “I need to do something more.”
I am not, however, that great of a soldier in this little war I have with my body. I make mistakes, and I lose focus. Sometimes, negative events in my life fill the entire scope of my vision, and I stop being able to identify when my conditions are winning the daily battles. In these times, it’s that support system that continues to step in and guide me. What I’m describing here is recent. And by that I mean, I lost sight not that long ago. To my surprise, the person I had chosen on some subconscious level to funnel my anger towards was the one to provide the guidance I so desperately needed. I read somewhere a long time ago that we as humans have a tendency during times of great emotional distress to lash out at those closest to us for the simple fact that we know on some level that those are the people who won’t leave us because of it. I have always believed that to be true, but I had never had it proven to me more clearly than in the moment I realized that through all my anger he was still willing to plead for me to be the person I used to be. The person he loved. It woke up a part of me that I had been silencing for a long time, and I will be forever grateful for that.
Without that, without all the ups and downs I’ve had, I wouldn’t have been able to find my voice again. I wouldn’t have been able to make the decision that, “You know what? I will NOT be complacent in the face of ignorance. I will NOT stay silent and hope that others’ voices will be loud enough to defend what I know is right.” And I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I’m going to take what I know now and use it to find who I once was. Not to say that I haven’t been me this entire time, as my best friend would be quick to remind me. But I mean the best parts of me that haven’t been showing their faces so much lately. I know they’re inside me, and the people closest to me know they’re inside me, but I haven’t been outwardly showing them. I owe it to myself and those around me to be the person I dreamed I could be, and this is where it begins.
