New Year, Not So New Me

I know, it's been far too long since my last post to even attempt to give an excuse. So rather than say "I've been too busy enjoying my recovery from emotional sensitivity" which to be honest, I wish were the truth, I'll try to explain whats been going on. I haven't posted because I wanted to leave BPD, EUPD, CBT, DBT and anything to do with my 'old self' as far in the past as I could. I threw the baby out with the bathwater insofar as my life seemed to be going OK, so I foolishly thought: "I don't need to look after my emotional sensitivity anymore". But recovery for an emotional sensitive person is not the same as recovery from a broken bone. You cannot only do the prescribed therapy for a few months after the event. You must learn the treatment, remember it, and continue to practise it as a preventative measure against future injuries. 

Christmas and New year have come and the festivities have died down. I'm left wondering why I feel so emotionally delicate. I mean, I had an uneventful Christmas, almost enjoyable actually. It was quiet and there was little to report. 

Perhaps it's the last 8 months finally weighing down on me. I can't shake the crushing feeling of being a total failure. I'm also currently therapist-less, which I find scary. Really scary. I have completed year one of four of an undergraduate Midwifery degree programme in my dream university. My dream course which will lead to my dream job and to my dream life. Seemingly.

But I'm not living the dream. Im on a year out, working 50+ hours a week for just over minimum wage to pay back crazy university fees that I wasn't expecting. Yet I haven't begun to pay my fees back yet because I'm bang in the middle of a emotional meltdown which sees me self destructing using old coping habits I thought I had left in my past.

So seeing as its a 'New Year, New Me' kinda time of year, Ive come back here to this blog, to where I found peace and recovery before, in hopes I may find it again.

Doing not so 'well'

This my first time posting from my iPhone, so here's hoping it actually works. 

From the outside, I must seem to be doing 'well'. I'm eating 'well', I'm sleeping  'well', I'm behaving 'well', my relationship with my boyfriend is going 'well'. But inside I don't feel quite so 'well' at all.

I've been avoiding things, really important things. I blew off an appointment with my therapist last week and still haven't gotten in touch with her. I know how rude it is, but I don't know how to tell her I have no excuse as to why I didn't turn up. I honestly don't know why I decided not to turn up. I want to make up some big elaborate excuse to hide my shame, but that will only make me feel worse. I will go with my tail between my legs and be honest to her. 

I have been avoiding opening letters too. I have a big phone bill I can't afford to pay and I know it's only going to get worse, logically I understand that avoiding contacting the company will only intensify the problem and heighten my fear. I am a reasonable person. Normally. I have kept all this from my family and boyfriend. They think I am doing really 'well'. 

I even went away to the west of Ireland last week. And put on a brave face and let everyone think I had a great time. 

I DID actually briefly enjoy myself towards the end of the trip though. We took a boat out to see the rugged coastline. The scenery was fantastic, beautifully calming. The majestic cliffs were heart-soothing and the salty fresh air woke my awareness back up. The sunsets reminded me how powerful Mother Nature is to renewing the soul. 

So although things are not so 'well' inside my mind, being MINDFUL to my surroundings helped DISTRACT, renew, SOOTHE, and ACCEPT things as they are. And that's about all I can manage for  now. 

A difficult conversation

There is a difficult conversation I have needed to have with my Step-Mother for the last three and a half years. It relates to her backwards notion of mental illness and childcare.

When my Step-mother was pregnant with my baby brother (who is now 3 and a half years old) she said that I would not be allowed to be left alone with him or look after him. I was inpatient in hospital at the time after two attempted suicides. It upset me that, because of a mental illness, she saw me unfit to take care of my little brother, especially as I love children, have worked in a crèche and have been police vetted on numerous occasions for my Occupational Therapy and Applied Psychology courses. Even though she hurt me with her comments, I tried to understand where she was coming from. She was pregnant and full of hormones, It was a very long pregnancy in the making as my father and her had been trying for over ten years to have a baby. My suicide attempt came seemingly out of nowhere. I became very unwell, very quickly and she had no experience of mental illness before. I believe it was her ignorance that made her say nasty things about my mental health issues.When we don't understand things we make rude and presumptuous comments maybe unwittingly. 

I figured that , if I showed them how much I love my little brother and that I could be responsible in other areas of my life, such as living independently, paying my bills on time and child-minding for others, then I would gain back their trust and eventually be allowed to mind my brother. But, unfortunately that has not been the case. Still to this day I have not spent a moment of time with my brother without the constant presence of another person. I feel this is damaging our relationship. There is so much I wish I could do with him that I can't, because of the restrictions she has put on me.

This issue has been a major source of pain and suffering for me over the past few years. Yet I have never felt strong enough to bring it up with my step-Mother. I realize now, that there may never be a time where I feel comfortable to have that conversation with her, it's never going to easy for me, but it is important to me, so it may be something I am just going to have to do if I want to continue contributing to a life worth living. 

I guess the reason it has upset me so much is because I KNOW how great I am with children. I would never put a child in harms way. If I felt unable to look after a child, I would be the first one to say so.  I have spent more time than most people of the general population learning what triggers a bout of emotional vulnerability for me. I have a great amount of supports and tools available to me to help me cope with stressful situations and I am mindful that I do not become overwhelmed rather than just motoring on through.

Mental illness does not make me unemployable, otherwise, a much larger population of the world would be unemployed. Mental illness does not make me stupid either. Typically, those who are symptomatic or chronic to the point where they are unable to care for children, generally understand the fact and don't tend to enter the field. Mental illness is everywhere, whether you know or see it or not. Its there. People of all responsibilities, jobs, Etc. live with, cope with and manage to live healthy productive lives. 

I wonder if many parents would/wouldn't leave their child in the care of someone with a known psychiatric disability or disorder. There are lots of different types of childcare out there, and obviously stay at home parents, but it's hard to imagine that within the numerous kinds of day care, kindergarten, nursery staff and nannies, there isn't a single one with some form of mental health history or current problem. Should every parent be informed if a crèche worker or support staff member has clinical, medical or just Time of the Month issues?

What are your thoughts on this issue?

Compassion for my Past Self

What if we looked at emotional sensitivity as simply another way to experience life? I would like to live in a world where there is more than one way to be social. 

The expected way to relate to others comes through external channels, such as other people, home, school, work and the general public. These come with a prescribed way of acting and being. 

But what happens if it’s impossible for you to swallow an approved social remedy? We feel like we are missing out on life because there seems to be a piece missing. We compensate for the overtly stimulating world with coping strategies. I turned to food, study and avoidance. They became the rules by which I could function for a time. They were my compensatory methods for living in a world full of difficulties. In a world which is overwhelming, emotionally over-stimulating, and just too demanding, this was a smart strategy; I had to establish a way I could live amidst a world of social encounters I couldn't relate to. 

Food was my numbing essence, it was comparable to a resolved hug from a caring parent, full of comfort and compassion and unconditional love. I ate until my world made sense again, until I felt the familiar pain and stretch in my stomach that reminded me that I was a living, breathing human being. The food passed my lips like smooth caramel that cascades from high up off a wooden spoon as it’s ladled from a hot sauce pan and falls back into the sweet sticky mass.. I ate to fill the missing piece I lacked in life. I ate until I felt like a full person. 

The release after overeating came like the shutter release on an old manual camera. All it took was one finger gently pressing down on the right spot. The picture of the inside of that toilet bowl will be burned into the back of my mind forever. 

I wasn't a natural academic. I worked hard to find the peace and control good grades offered me. It was a steady focus I could control. It also gave me an excuse to practice my third coping method; avoidance. I arrived to school early most days, and rarely went home before 8 pm  The library and study rooms became my best friends. I loved the stillness; I loved the silence they offered. Finally I found a place that didn't overwhelm me. I had my own small place which I inhabited. Yet due to dyslexia, I couldn't always concentrate on school work for long periods of time, so often I would read or day dream about the stories I read. I became aware through literature how the characters in the books dealt with life. I was drawn into the safety of the stories and the friends I gained by scanning each line. I learnt how to be from those books.

Even when it came to sport, I avoided team games and opted for swimming. It was a solitary exercise. When I put my head under the water, the world became still and quite. The gentle echoes were comforting and safe for me. And this way less people asked questions as to why I came into school so early. I could cry easy in the pool and nobody knew. 

As I look back at my teenage years I can see clearly that I have always been a very sensitive person, easily overwhelmed and highly emotional. I didn't know that then though. I just thought that my general ‘being’ was wrong and non-functional. 

Okay, these coping methods were never going to useful forever, but in a way I am sort of proud of my little adolescent self. She found a way to survive, to live and to get by in a scary lonely world. So now I don’t look back with scorn at my past behaviors  I look back with compassion for a girl who didn't know any other way to stay alive. And in twenty years I will look back on what I will have learnt and see that right now I am doing the best I can do right at this moment. I will always face difficulties, I don't like to think I will be this way for ever, but the harsh reality is that

Christmas Flashbacks

What does December/Winter mean to you? 

This is a really hard post for me to write. December means painful memories and flashbacks full of grief for me. When I was 4 years old my little world came crashing down around me. My sense of safety, of consistency, of stability was all destroyed when my father fought his last physical fight with my mother, packed up his possessions and left us. He walked away from my mother and abandoned me and my sister. 

I didn’t understand what had I done? Was it something I said? How could I make him come back? It must have been because I wasn’t well behaved, because I talked too much, because I annoyed him, because I wasn’t the perfect child. 

My memories of the separation are patchy, but the emotions attached to them are real, and are important; really important. I was scared that my mother would leave me next or my sister. I turned from an out-going child to a needy and serious little girl within days. I carried a furrow on my brow and a lump in my throat, and somehow, Christmas just didn’t seem all that exciting anymore. 

As the years went by my father compensated for his lack of emotional attachment to me and the non-existent yet much needed expressions of love with sensational, expensive gifts. It was as if he was showing up my mother who just about managed to put food on the Christmas dinner table, and keep us excited about getting a token from Santa. He picked us up on Christmas morning and showered us with gifts our mother dreamed of giving us, but couldn’t because my father lied and cheated his way out of paying child support. 

I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t articulate my emotions the way I can now. I should never have been used as the pawn in my parent’s war. It was not the way a child should have been treated. It affected me deeply and Christmas was always a constant yearly reminder of how other happy families and tight nuclear formulation contrasted sharply with my broken home where sadness reigned and fear propagated like rabbits. 

So December means difficult emotions for me. Sorry no Christmas cheer is this post, but I thought that writing a bit about my story might give you some insight into what went on for me so you can see that these things can be processed and that there are ways to overcome painful memories. 

Yes I am Still Alive.

Oh how neglectful I have been to my dear readers. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. So far on here I have been as brutally honest as I can be without intentionally hurting anyone, and I guess I want to tell y’all that the number one reason for my absence has been due to fear. Some people that I know in my day-to-day life (including some of my treatment team!!) are now reading my blog and I just needed sometime to process it all, to reflect on how it could potentially affect me and those close to me. 

The conclusion I have come to is that I am not going to stop writing, and using this space as my outlet. I will not be censoring my topics, but I will be much more mindful about maintaining confidentiality and ensuring that nobody gets hurt by what I write. 

From the comments and emails I get from you guys, I gather that having such open access to my therapy journey is helpful. I know I would have given anything for this information before I started DBT. 

Anyway to keep this short, I’m back. I’m sorry I was missing for so long and I really hope to hear from you all. Ask me anything by the way, I have 10 months of DBT under my belt now!!! I do like pop quizzes!

Impermanence - Finding the Dialectic of Emotion

Nothing is permanent. The goodness in life passes in the same way the bad periods slithers by or sticks to our awareness. Positive emotions and experiences leaves a good taste long lingering in my mouth, but it can be rudely interrupted and all too quickly be contaminated by the next onslaught of pessimism. 

I swing widely between the poles of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ judgement, rarely receiving the respite which a balanced, middle ground provides. Take for example the last 24 hours. This time yesterday I was curled up in bed, steeped in self pity. I felt so ashamed and selfish wasting a whole day doing nothing to help make me feel better. I knew I needed to do the housework, go food shopping, have a shower, go for a walk, meet some friends, go to mass, send emails ….. the list went on and on. I was feeding my negative emotion and allowing it to gain nourishment from each moment spent lying in that bed. I was down in the depths of my emotional rating, and I honestly thought that I was the biggest failure on the planet that I should just give up on life and that nobody would care if I was gone. 

Then I wake up today, still feeling the hangover of negativity surround my aura. I dragged myself to an interview for some potential writing experience with a local newsletter. It took every morsel of energy to find the motivation. It was raining, ‘typical’ I thought. I missed the Bus; I was convinced it was a sign. I didn’t have the full address; I should just give up, it’s not going to work out anyway. It really was a miracle I got there in the end. I hadn’t even researched the organisation, certain that it would be a waste of time as I would never get the job. 

If I look back and evaluate the emotion I was experiencing, I was really nervous. Fear wanted me to run home and hide away, to avoid, sabotaging any chance at a life worth living. But being the suborn mule that I can be sometimes, and because I had told some people about the interview, I felt I must go, even if to say I went. 

I actually found the place with relative ease, and was greeted by two lovely ladies who seemed interested in me and appreciative of what I could potentially bring to the organisation. We brainstormed ideas and I felt excitement build up in my tummy. The more I talked to the two lovely ladies there, the more confident I felt in my abilities. I could really do this. They really do like my ideas. To my delight, they asked me to contribute to the June issue and gave me a deadline for submission next week. 

Walking towards the bus stop I felt elated with happiness. I felt like I had overcome the fear which stops me from doing so much in my life, like I had climbed a personal mountain. I was propelled into a heightened state of positive emotion, a world away from the foul mood I had been in only hours before. I grinned childless to the bus driver and sent a barrage of texts and emails to friends and family bombarding them with my good news. 

Now that the initial exhilaration of this morning’s achievement had subsided slightly, and I am not so ruled by my emotional instability, I can see how exhausting this yo-yoing of emotion is to my emotional stamina. If I try hard to be dialectical in my thinking about today’s events, taking into account the importance of living in the moment, I guess the middle ground might be as follows; 

I spent the day resting in bed yesterday, even though I had a lot to do. By doing this I was reminded that staying in bed all day negatively affects my mood. I do need to lie in sometimes, but next time I might only rest for the morning, and get some tasks done in the afternoon. I allowed my bad mood to continue into today. Each day is a new page in my life. I can start afresh if I do not hold onto the past. It was a great achievement to obtain the job this morning. Congratulate yourself. Now move on to concentrating on the rest of today’s tasks. 

I aim for this balanced way of thinking in all my endeavours. When I read it back I don’t feel any overwhelming emotion either positive or negative. I just want to move onto this afternoon. I have a focus group to attend which has nothing to do with the newsletter. 

Have you ever had a similar experience? How do you stay centred?

Upgraded Armour. Reflection on The Center for Living

I abilities feel stronger, robust even. My suit of armour has been fixed and polished. Inside the suit I am vulnerable, full of emotions and open to triggers, but now that all the chinks and dents have been smoothed out, I am prepared for the onslaught of emotion, armed and ready with more skills. I feel humbled and so glad that the Centre for Living proved me wrong. It’s not easy for me to say that. I like to be right, but I was really mistaken about the programmes ability to help me evolve in my understanding of DBT.

The most valuable morsel of information I am leaving with today is that my life is never all-or-nothing. Just because I had a bad morning, say I eat more than I planned, it does not mean that I need to discredit all the other good things I achieved that day.

One particular therapist was really wonderful. It’s not that she thought me anything new; in fact at first I found it hard to participate in her sessions as I thought I had heard it all before! But the longer I sat there, the more everything just ‘fell’ into place. It’s about using the DBT skills together, in tangent with each other, it’s about weaving the mindfulness skills into everything I do, not just sitting quietly observing my thoughts for 10 minutes a day. It’s about noticing the grumbles of anxiety before the fear takes over and I loss control. It’s about catching the little niggles of frustration and quenching it with self soothing skills, so that intense anger stays at bay. It’s not about the food, or the behaviours. I need to be mindful long before I get to that stage. It’s always about the emotions. This therapist clawed me back to WISE MIND and is a perfect example of the therapy really working, of it making sense.

I found such great validation in the other service users I met over the last 2 weeks. We were all at different stages of our recovery journey. Most were at the beginning of treatment, just becoming accustomed to the structure of DBT, and still exploring the diagnosis. Some had accepted it, others were still fighting it. Some simply didn’t understand it and hence couldn’t make an informed decision either way! We were all sitting in that room because of a common link. We all in some shape or form lacked the ability and skills to deal with our emotions. I found comfort in being reminded that I was not alone, that there are other people out there going through this hell. 

WILLINGNESS to get over this bump and OPPOSITE ACTION TO ENVY

Although I would like to think I am calm, rational and a judicious person when it comes to taking an objective standpoint about transgressions in my own life, simply put, these skills is severely lacking from my toolbox. I find it very hard to push aside the judgements which paralyse me and turn my thoughts into narrow, dichotomous lines which only have two end points.

As I mentioned in the last few posts, my emotions have been amplified to way out of manageable levels this past week.  All this lead to me equating many of these emotions as facts; hence I felt had to act on the emotion. The feelings almost felt like they have a mind of their own, and that I was a vessel for them to carry out their action urges. At the time I felt I had no control, but I am not trying to evade responsibility for how I treated my therapist, as I know I could have been more skilful. I could have used OPPOSITE action to my anger, or even HALF SMILE. In reflection, I see that it could have been a perfect week to also practise DISSTRESS TOLERANCE and RADICAL ACCEPTANCE.

Yesterday morning I received a letter stating that a course I had been waiting to get onto for many months had been cancelled due to lack of funding. When I first saw the letter I was super excited, as I thought it was a start date. I had been advised to hold off going to university by my team for another year until I finished DBT and instead attend this collage as it operates under recovery ethics. It seemed a perfect transitory step for me. I decided to do something creative and less academic, so picked a photography course. I really was looking forward to it. 

Now I am so disappointed that my heart literally hurts. I am so afraid; I feel I have nothing really left to look forward to now.

I went to check in with the community nurse a few hours after getting this terrible news. And I am really so very grateful and abashed to admit that he was not the invalidating type I was expecting. In truth, he sat with me for about 45 mins and listened intently to what I had to say. We came up with a plan in order to help problem solve the solution, and jointly agreed that the best outcome would be for me to attend a crisis resolution based therapy group for 8 – 10 days. It came with a warning that I would have to be willing to work at finding solutions to my problems and not to abandon self responsibility. It seems fair, if like a lot of hard work, but I am up for the challenge. I really am so appreciative for how great that nurse was. I really needed his objectivity in that moment. 

I felt calmer and more in control after the meeting, and was much more willing to stay with my family for the night, I tried not to see it as a suicide watch, but as an opportunity to spend quality time with them. I went to see my sister and her husband who are expecting a baby and are in full blown 'nesting' mode. They are buying my family home off my mother, and have done a beautiful job of renovating it and putting their own stamp on the house. I noticed that I had been avoiding seeing the house as I felt great envy towards my elder sister, who has such a perfect life and gets to have everything I want and more, and on top of that gets to have the house I grew up in, the only place I called home. I am afraid I might never fall pregnant again, so am also reluctant to talk to her about the baby and envious of her ability to carry a child. I (quite skilfully in my opinion) figured out that I was experiencing ENVY which really did not fit the facts of the situation

I put on my DBT SKILLS hat and tried to use OPPOSITE ACTION. I knew that the prompting event to the ENVY was that I was being reminded about all the things I really want but can't have. A stable home, a family, nice things.....

My HOT thoughts where:

• 'I will never have what my sister has'
• 'I am such a failure'
• My sister is more successful than I will ever be'
• 'I am inferior to my sister'
• 'My parents think she is the better sibling'
• 'life has treated my so unfairly

The biological changes and bodily experiences I felt with the envy was a slight pain in the pit of my stomach and I was extremely anxious and noticed I was feeling resentment towards my sister and her husband   I began to ruminate about how unfair I felt the situation was and how much of a failure I felt I was. My attention was very narrow and I could barely even talk to them. I OBSERVED how much I had avoided seeing my sister and the house, which had undergone so much renovation that I nearly didn't recognize it! I hadn't even offered to help with painting or decorating because I had been festering in my envy.

Although it is ok to feel envy when others have what you want, the problem here lies with the intensity of which I felt the emotion. I had checked the facts and become conscious that I had not been there to help my sister due to an out of control emotion.

I mindfully asked myself what my assumptions, belies and thoughts were about my sister buying the house and having a baby. I then tried to challenge the hot thoughts which popped up. Here is how I tried to turn the judgments into facts;

• ‘My sister is 7 years older than me, is married and in a good position to raise a child’
•   My sister and her husband have worked very hard to get everything they have and deserve it all
•    I also have many very wonderfully things. I live in a fantastic location and have so many beautiful things. Someday, with hard work, I will also have a house to live in, but for now, recover and health are my greatest assets.
• It is a very good solution to the present economic recession as my sister would not have been able to buy a house like this without help from the family
•   My sister’s children will get to grow up in the same wonderful house and we did
• I am not a failure because I am not the same as my sister, I have other attributes which make me a successful and competent person

My goal is to have a positive and functioning relationship with my sister and brother-in-law, I love them and love the bump too! So my anger and resentment to them was making me avoid them and not nurture and develop a healthy bond with them. That is the main reason that the envy needed to be challenged.

In the moment I made sure to count all my blessings and avoided exaggerating my deprivations, Marsha states that to go ALL THE WAY I must imagine that it makes sense for my sister to have all this, as she has worked hard and deserved it all.

Finally I changed my emotions by changing by behaviors and posture. I unclenched my hands and relaxed my stomach and used HALF SMILE.

I now feel my envy is more in proportion to the situation. I’m not going to lie, it’s still there, but now I feel motivated to work as hard as my sister so I can have what she has. That means I can’t just throw my hands up in the air and moan about how unfair life is, I have to get off my ass and go get it for myself!

I’m really sorry this is so long and thank you so much for taking the time to read this. 

 

Dance of Life... ZUMBA vs BALLET

Yes you read that right... I went Zumba dancing this morning! Finally a form of exercise where curves actually HELP you get fit! Apart from the fact I am far too 'white' for this class, I found I wore a gentle smile for most of the class. I struggle to recall the last time I smiled so unenforceable and with such genuine enthusiasm. It reminded me of happier times.

Dancing has been part of life for as long as I can remember. These memories are both sweet and sour as any classical dancer will dearly  understand. Being tall and awkward did me no favors in Ballet, and compounded my body hatred, yet the freedom that comes from dancing is hard to express in words. It was an emotional release for me.

In terms of size and shape, my dance class was like a school classroom; there were girls of all different weights and sizes, gifts and talents. There were the tall girls like me,  shorter ones,  skinny girls and larger ones, and then the spot in the middle average girls... the list goes on. When we were younger, we were the size we were  due to hereditary inheritances and the lifestyle we have grown up with. But as we got older, we  became more aware of size and shape, and then constantly worried more and more about it. 

It wasn't easy developing before my classmates, and having to strip off to tights and a leotard certainly made me feel worse. I was put at the back of the class because of my height, and I remember staring at the small frames in front of me, still petite and childlike, and compared my budding breasts and forming hips to theirs. I thought I was fat. No-one told me it was normal, if just a bit early for a girl's body to change that way. I still felt like a child, but looked like a woman and it affected my self esteem drastically.  Did it give me my disorder? the long and short of it is no, but it didn't help me to feel good about my body.

For all the negative aspects to ballet, I still loved it. I was good at it too, passed all my exams and preformed in shows. Not only did it keep me fit, but it stimulated my creative nature and mind. At one stage I was dancing 4 days a week. I would dream of it at night, and made good friends from it. Dancing is a unique form of exercise because it provides the heart-healthy benefits of an aerobic exercise while also allowing you to engage in a social activity. It is also especially stimulating to the mind, and one 21-year study published in the New England Journal of Medicine (Click here for the full link) even found dancing can reduce the risk of Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia in the elderly!

This morning brought back the positive internal feeling I loved as a child when I danced, and along with all the benefits listed below, I had fun! 

Why dance? Here's why!

 1. It gives strength to the lungs and the heart.

2. It strengthens the body's muscles.

3. It minimizes the chances of the disease osteoporoses as it makes the bones stronger.

4. It increases the flexibility, agility and the coordination in the body.

5. It increases the spatial awareness. 

6. It enhances physical confidence.

7. It enhances the functionality of mind and the nervous system.

8. It enhances the expenditure of energy and its flow in the body.

9. It can help you loose/maintain weight.

10. It enhances overall well being.

11. It increases levels of self-esteem and confidence.

12. It improves your social-life

So go dance. Go BUILD A LIFE WORTH LIVING!.

Who am I?

I have no stock answer to offer about a life-changing experience or a moment of enlightenment, and it is hard for me to give a comprehensive proclamation of who I am, for my identity unfolds more every day as my experiences grow.

I dislike saying "I am trying to find myself" because my identity is not lost, it just needs more uncovering. Luckily for me, what I love to do and want to be helps me uncover more about myself. I want to be a writer. I may not end up a professional writer but I will always write, even if I am the only one interested in my work, because writing is my self-reflection.

When writing, I sometimes get worked up into such a fervor that I barely know what I am saying. I just let my fingers fly over the keyboard and the ideas pour from my head. When I go back through the jumble of unpunctuated ideas, I notice a theme running through the writing. I don't try to put a moral in the theme, but invariably it happens. Evaluating the theme and the rest of the writing helps me interpret my own character and decipher my at times bottled-up feelings.

Beautiful Suicide **Trigger**

I want a beautiful suicide
Where the night skies are dark
And the stars shine brightly
Yes tonight I’ll make my mark

I want a beautiful suicide
With a knife next to me
Alone in a room
How good will this be

I want I beautiful suicide
I’d already planned
Alone in silence
Nothing could be more grand

I want a beautiful suicide
I’ll have to no longer life this life
No hurt or pain
All it takes is a knife

Do I want a beautiful suicide?
I don’t think I could die
Come to think of it
It’ll make others cry

I don't want a beautiful suicide
I’ll no longer commit
I’ll just mend what’s wrong
That was stupid I admit

Mental Illness: My Gift

Today I attended a 'Wellness Workshop'. It was a day-long seminar run by a fantastic organisation here in Ireland called S.O.S. (Suicide or Survive). I really connected to the speakers and feel that it came at just the right time for me as I haven't been coping that well lately and needed a boost. 

I took so much out of the day, but what I found myself being drawn back to all day was quite a controversial topic. And that is; that my mental illness has been the greatest gift I have. I came to this conclusion because, I feel that BPD has gifted me the power of understanding, of empathy and hope, of motivation and passion for change and most importantly; a desire and a drive to help others, to care and to reach-out.

I really want to explain what I mean without sounding patronizing or Pollyanna-ish. I haven't gone into much detail about my personal story on this blog yet, and I am still working up the courage to post about it. But I will share with you a wee bit now for the purpose of explaining myself properly.

Two years ago, almost to the day, I suffered the loss of my twin babies during pregnancy. This loss was far from an easy blow to absorb. If you have not experienced grief or shock to that degree, let me tell you, it hurts. Emotionally obviously, but also physically. It's a pain deep in the pit of your stomach, in your core. Its a suffocating agony in your lungs and a sharp stab to your heart. It is not a feeling I would wish on anybody, not even my enemies. 

Here is where I could dwell on that awful chapter of my life, I could describe that horrible day to you, but I don't feel it would help you if I did, so I choose not to. Rather, I want to focus on how I feel this period has shaped me into who I am now, how I live and how I view the world I live in.

Without that perpetrating event two years ago, I would not have faced up to my problems. Some people call it their 'Rock-Bottom', or a breakdown, or their breaking point. It changed me from the person I was then to the person I was after. Without it, I would never have sought help and would still be using the extremely destructive coping mechanisms I had so successfully developed. I would go as far to say I mightn't be alive today, if I am being totally honest. 

The accessories to grief; shock, confusion, despair, anger, sadness, etc. are what saved me from myself. I FELT something finally. I was smacked in the face with emotion for the first time really, and I couldn't deal with it. I needed help. Since getting that help, I have questioned everything, I have left no rock in my life un-turned.  I have searched for answers and explanations and most importantly, I have never accepted 'no'.

You see, that blow of grief provided the foundations for my survival.  I learn't my hardest lessons from that period of my life.  I am now more mindful of my emotions and my triggers. I can recognize when I need help, and can actually ask for it. I am grateful for my blessings and have learnt who and what are the most important to me. I am not too sure I could have done all those things without the bitter foreknowledge of my grief.

I actively use RADICAL ACCEPTANCE here. Yes it was such a horrible thing to have happened to me. Nobody should experience the loss of their own children's lives. But oftentimes, we learn the most valuable lessons from our hardest and most devastating experiences. I still have not fully accepted the loss just yet, only yesterday I was sitting in Mass screaming at God 'WHY ME!!!!', I so often baulk in the injustice of it all. But I let myself feel that way sometimes, because that's OK too.

Back to the workshop, one of the facilitators coined a phrase 'Think in Ink'. I loved it. He made us put our biggest hopes and dreams and goals down on paper. In ink. Mine is to go back to University and get my degree in occupational therapy. When I wrote it down, I thought to myself; 'I am going to a damn good occupational therapist'. I haven't been that positive about myself in a very long time. And most importantly, I BELIEVE it. I am not just affirming to myself. I know I will be a great O.T. some day. My personal experience is going to help me to help others.

It excited me and motivated me to kick my disorder up the bum, to rid it from my life, to accept that these thing happened but to wave goodbye to them and look forward to what is around the next corner.

Title explanation!

After looking up an urban dictionary definition of the first word to my title, I am now more certain that I really am happy with my choice. It reflects what I plan to base my ramblings on quite nicely;

1.An unforeseen event which is often unfortunate in nature.

2.An event that has the appearance of falling completely apart at any moment, yet somehow manages to work out. Characterized by increased levels of both stress and enjoyment. Provides excellent story-telling material.

As for the the misadventure bit, well... life would be boring without the mundane shades of grey which bulk out the flashes of brilliant white and boring black. So hence my newest blog is born, with all the typing fury and ideas surges which come with such tomfoolery. I never promise to be interesting, alluring or indeed fiasc-isious in my blogging, and now I've mentioned it, at least we don't have expectations now do we!