Tag: depression

Bliggety Blogs · Parenting · Primary

Musings and Meanderings: A COVID Diary

Little Journeys EverywhereLeave a comment

It almost doesn’t seem real does it? We’ve been in quarantine for three and a half weeks now but it still just feels like none of it is actual happening. The sun has been bright and beautiful. It’s been warm, the height of spring. Yet, we can’t see our families. We can’t leave the house. Security as we knew it is a thing of the past.

People keep saying, ‘well, when quarantine is over...’ It’s so surreal how time has now been separated into Before COVID, Now (during our present pandemic period of flux) , and After Quarantine. I’m starting to believe that even when quarantines are over, when we can finally stop and take a final count of the COVID dead, life is never going to be the same. It will never ‘go back to normal’. I think there will be things that will be forever altered because of this. Things like hand shaking, sitting closely. Seemingly innocent things that now have the stain of insidiousness to them.

Even more damaging, however, is the isolation.

We as humans are pack creatures, social beings hardwired for community and interaction to such a degree that it is a psychological, nay, a physiological, need. The effects of COVID will not just be found in our numbered losses, or measured in our griefs, it will be a far reaching scar upon the minds and hearts of the world as a whole.

We will be seeing vast upticks in numbers of depression, anxieties, phobias, many more and worse, for a long time to come. Just tonight, after a fight to sleep that lasted until an ungodly one a.m., my three year old daughter told me that she hated quarantine and then the net thing she said, the last thing before she finally drifted off, was if her Nana missed her.

Even the youngest of us aren’t exempt from feeling these stings to the spirit.

Keep that in mind as the distanced days grow longer, as they stretch into what is looking to become a quieter, more somber summer. Be patient when your kids act out right now. They don’t have the emotional ability in many cases to process, recognize, or cope with these feelings of sadness, confusion, fear, and isolation. Acting out, as we know it, is always the flower of something more deeply rooted. It is always communication in oftentimes the only way our littles are capable of right now.

The world has become a frightening and confusing place for us. Can you imagine what it must be like for them too?

With Peace and Patience.

Ta. ❤

Bliggety Blogs · My Medical Journey · Poems, Songs, and Shorts · Primary

Girl Autistic: Acceptance Over Awareness

Little Journeys EverywhereLeave a comment

I had been sinking silently beneath the brilliant blue-green waves of a storybook when I was brought sharply back to reality by a pointed order. Disapproval rained down on me from above and embarrassment swirled inside of me with my speeding pulse.

I felt…hot. Too warm and too enclosed. Like my skin was stretched too thin, too tightly around me. My mind felt like a clogged garbage disposal, everything too bright and too loud all ground up inside of me with nowhere to go. Every fiber and texture scratched and tore at me, driving into my brain with every touch. I couldn’t process it all. Everything was coming in all together leaving me drowning in sensation as my mind and body we’re left incapable of tuning out the slightest thing.

Florescent lights above flickered and hummed. I flickered too, coming in and out of myself in pulsing waves.

Out of myself.

Out of myself.

Out.

I wanted out. Out of it all. Out of this room with too many eyes and too much everything. With the scratchy chairs and the incessant flickering. I wanted to run away, screaming for the outside that was quiet, warmth, and open spaces. Open skies and maybe, just maybe, one day I could fly away from the mess of me that it all had made inside.

All I wanted to do was pretend I was somewhere else. To spend as much time as I could pretending to be in this magical, wonderful place where the world was just…different.

A world that was all my own.

Free of all of the noise, complexities, and the constant crush of people all around. My sister at my side gave me a nudge. A silent frown asked, ‘are you okay?’.

A shake of my head.

No. No, I was not at all okay.

My hands were shaking, eyes burning, stomach churning and mind reeling. But most of all? I was…scared. Scared of fucking everything because everything was too much. Everything was too close, too rough on my skin, too bright, and too painful. People’s brushes against me in a crowd were like electric shocks. Sound poured into my ears with all of the gentleness of a tsunami.

There was a tight, hard knot in the back of my throat that was unmoving and defiant.

On the outside, though… On the outside, I had to be…Absolutely. Fucking. Still.

It was as if no one around me could possibly see the storm on my insides if I stayed as still and silent as a statue.

If I didn’t move, they wouldn’t notice I was here.

During moments like this, you know that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. But its as if your brain only knows fight or flight in that moment. All you can think about is how to escape, whether it’s lashing out at someone to get them to leave you alone or literally bolting from the trigger.

You just want to get out of the public eye as quickly as you can before someone sees the last cognitive functions you possess crumble to nothing. Before they see you break into girl-sized pieces.

You’re a sheer, wet piece of silk wrapped tightly around a mass of brambles and thorns, trying desperately to hold it all in before your skin tears apart.

Meltdowns are terror and confusion and pain and exhaustion all in one. Worst of all, though, is the shame that comes afterward.

The horrified embarrassment.

All of the ‘you’re a grown ass woman, you should be able to handle this!’ or ‘you’re not a child anymore! Act like a fucking adult and calm down!‘. Sometimes even, ‘Why is she even here if she can’t handle a simple interaction?’ or ‘And she wants to be around kids? Should she even be allowed?’

That one always gets me. As if, just because I have different sensitivities or wiring, that I’m somehow incapable of caring for a child. That I have no right to possibly pass on my Autism. That I need someone there to oversee me so I don’t accidentally put the kid in the oven instead of the bassinet or something. Ridiculous.

Children are simple. Understanding. Accepting.

It’s the adults that are the problem.

God forbid we have to leave a place or stop an activity because of a meltdown. The shame is nigh unbearable then. All I want to do after is hide under my blankets alone and cry. Sometimes I would.

The older I get, the easier it is to manage. I suppose that is, in large part, due to the three years of Occupational Therapy, two different anti-depressants (even though they are actually prescribed for nerve pain and gastroparesis), and two different rounds in therapy to help me learn the coping skills I have today.

I don’t work anymore, which I’ve found to be an indescribable blessing that many women aren’t able to claim. I can stay home and sink into my special interests, spend time with my favorite small person, and hide away from the worst of my triggers. Working directly with the public had destroyed my ability to “pass” or to pretend to be neurotypical. It took me the entirety of my pregnancy and then some to get to a point where I was going more than a week without meltdowns or panic attacks.

If you are neurodiverse, retail is not for you. Stay very, very far away.

But, despite it all, I got there. I got there thanks to my amazing medical team. I got there thanks to my phenomenal family and support system.

Now, I’ve finished all of those years in OT, with my wonderful therapist, as well as three stints in physical therapy. I’m as healthy as I can be given my rather poor health and I like to think that I’m thriving.

Yes. I’m thriving.

However, not everyone is. There are so many of us out there.

Women with Autism like me.

Most don’t have the blessings of a partner who’s income allows them to stay home. Many don’t even understand why they’re so different, why doing and being is sometimes so, so hard. It’s getting better, slowly year by year, but it isn’t enough.

For every girl who goes through their lives unaware and so hurt and confused by her own self, that’s a failure. It’s a wrong committed that yearns to be righted. Obviously, we can’t identify and diagnose people. That’s for the doctors. What we can do is to be understanding. If you see someone struggling in a situation, even if you can’t understand why their upset or reacting the way they are, be a friend. Step in if you can.

Choose kindness over reproach.

Helping over commenting.

Affirmation over annoyance.

Acceptance over Awareness.

When you live that way, all the time trying to pass as “normal”. You get so very good at mirroring. Mimicking and blending in, always being on guard to adjut your behavior and mannerisms so that you seem just like everyone else. You create a mask, you change your colors to the same shade as the crowd. Eventually, you realize that you’ve passed so well and for so long that you don’t remember who you are underneath it all. When you try to stop, you realize that you can’t

It can take years and years to dismantle the mask, to find your own brilliant hues and shades again.

Let’s work towards a world where girls and boys, men and women, anyone and everyone, where no one ever has to feel the need to pass again.

Choose patience and compassion. Help us bring the girls lost beneath the masks back into the light. Help bring the lost girls home.

With Peace and Passion.

Ta!

Bliggety Blogs · Poems, Songs, and Shorts

A Heart Contested

Little Journeys EverywhereLeave a comment

So as many of you who follow my blog here may know, I am a journeyer within the dark unknown wilds of several lifelong, chronic, and debilitating illnesses. I take more medication than I can even stomach on some days. Most of the time, I’m able to accept it and keep going, just keep on keeping on. Admittedly, I’m a bit too much to handle sometimes with how cheery and active I can be! But I like it that way. It makes up for the days when I’m very much…not.

The last two weeks (as of writing this at least), have been rough for me.

There has been sickness. There have been tears. There has been despair and heartache. This poem started to come to me as a form of self-expressive free writing during this period. Just like that famous quote says, I sat down at my keyboard and opened a vein. Figuratively.

What came forth bled out here on the screen in words and fragments, life and breath, thoughts and prayers. It was originally to be called Digging Your Heels In Deep at its start, but by the beginning, it just didn’t seem to fit right anymore.

A Heart Contested

I know why you’re here.
In this somber silence.

I can see you. Here.
Here in this quiet place.

You don’t belong here though.
You think you do
But you’re wrong.

You feel empty.
But I can see you
Here.

Your nails bite into palms
As you claw for breath.
You pull your pieces up around you like a cloak
Against the world.
An armor against it all.

Barbs.
They are simple to swat away.
Worse than those all,
Cutting deeper than despair,
Is the lack.
The silence.

They…ignore you.
You feel like nothing.
Just a breath in the maelstrom.
A wisp of extinguished self.
The ghost seen through the smoke
Of a snuffed out candle flame.

You are wrong, you know.

These dark days will soon pass into the West.
They wash away.
Like you wish you could.
Wash it all down the drain
Until there’s nothing left but gleaming bone.
Nothing left to care.

To care so, so fucking much.

This shadow too will light,
Even though this gloom obscures
Oppresses from every side
And every angle.

You can make it through.
You are stronger than you know,
Than anyone can realize.
The secret power you hold inside
Of your tiny, helplessly beating heart,
Will outstrip all of the night that
Smothers in from all around.

You are the light that carries through the pitch.
Tenebrae crushes in on you
But it will not overcome.

Your hands may be shaking but
Your foundation is strong.
Neither will you crumble
Beneath all of the worlds
Cold
Crumbling
Decaying
Wrongs.

I hope all of you were able to take something from this though I don’t pretend to know what it is or should be. I think that’s how art is suppose to be though. It’s a lot like watching your baby grow into a child. One day they are being nestled snuggly into your arms and you’re silently promising them you’ll never let them go. Then the next, you’re watching them climb a tree, jump from the third porch step so proudly, or take off on their bike all alone. You watch them dare to dream and become day by day someone so wonderful, so utterly and completely more than you could ever imagine.

I guess, in that line, if they say that children are an imitation of their parents and that art is the imitation of life, being a mother is the best way that art has imitated in my life. After all, my daughter, my treasure, my gift, is my greatest masterpiece of all.

With Peace and Passion.

Ta!

Bliggety Blogs · My Medical Journey · Primary

This Is Me: Real Talk, Triggers & Starving In A World Of Plenty.

Little Journeys EverywhereLeave a comment

I’ve struggled with how to start this post but I know that it’s something that has to be done. All of those little “I am” statements and thought stops my therapist taught me can’t stop this train from a-rolling, so here we go. For those with sensitive natures or struggles of your own: DISORDERED EATING TRIGGER WARNING.

I struggle.

I struggle with my self image and I struggle with how I view my body. I struggle with the shame of it, the failure. I have for more years than I care to tally up. I’m far more accustomed and comfortable either loathing my body or simply ignoring it out of sheer necessity. Like many of you ladies and gents out there, I have been down that long dark path that marks itself only by calorie counts and numbers on a scale.

I am.

Am I? When a trigger hits you, it makes you feel like half of a person. As if half of you is suddenly locked away in some other weightless world.

For six years, I struggled with two different eating disorders.

I survived. I got through it.

But illness like that leaves a residue behind. Like some slimy, oily, trailing thing on the inside of your head, in your ribcage. In your stomach.

I tell people that surviving an eating disorder is like being an alcoholic. Even though you go into recovery, slide into an unexpected and delirious remission, it’s always there. It’s always a danger and it marks the entirety of your life. How do you balance hating/craving/fearing the very thing you need to live?

You may be recovered, but you will always be an addict.

Addicted to the sensation, the swooping joy of another pound post and another meal evaded. To the sweetly intoxicating ability to dig out the very root of yourself beneath your skin. The tightness of skin over bone and the pounding of blood in your ears, heart hammering away weakly, just by going up the stairs. The danger of a relapse will always be there, lurking in the dark beneath your eyelids.

Even years later, it’s not…like a little thing. It isn’t something that is easily and simply dismissed. Easily put away. You try to stay as distracted and busy as possible so you don’t have the time or energy to think about it. You try to stay one thousand feet away from any trigger at all times and eventually, it almost starts to feel like you were never sick to begin with. Like you’re really the princess in glass slippers instead of the downtrodden girl in the cellar with the cinders. Always, that demon is there on your back.

Standing on that scale is just for the doctors, right?

Just one more. One more. Maybe two?

Maybe I’ll stop tomorrow.

If I do those crunches, what if I don’t want to stop?

I can always work off that cake, right?

My hands are shaking… That’s good. Eating? Eating is bad.

We’re all so use to hiding it. Hiding the embarrassment, the shame, the sick parts of ourselves. We tuck in the edges of ourselves and hope no one notices so we can (not) handle it on our own. We don’t have to do it alone, though. There are people who love you. There are people who love me too. Even if they don’t exactly know what it all means in your own head, they can still be a supportive presence when the world gets too dark to take anymore.

When those triggers start to feel too big, reach out. Find a friend, a sibling, a stranger even, that can distract you or maybe that could just sit and listen.

I like to engross myself in a good book or an activity that engages my brain so thoroughly that those triggers are shoved right the hell out of the way. Sometimes, I step outside and take a deep breath. I breathe in the scents, the sounds, the softness of the wind, deep into my lungs. Slowly, I sigh out all of the shit and shame, the self hatred and the pain. Breathe it out. Take in the natural world around you and feel it settle deep within your body. Being out in nature is soothing and centering.

Don’t close yourself off from those you care about when those little thoughts start to weigh too much. When my own head starts to get in my way, I reach out to my best friend or my sister. Oftentimes, even my therapist. Sometimes I tell her my struggles, sometimes I don’t. But always, the presence of another makes that heaviness in my chest feel not quite so cumbersome.

If you are struggling with ED, depression, or sadness in your life, please reach out. You don’t have to hide anymore. One person can carry a heavy stone but together, we can move mountains.

With Peace and Passion.

Ta! ❤