Was It Me?

It's a question that haunts me.  Was I the thing that was bad?  Were they right about me?  Why did he believe them over me?  It haunts me but the answers to all those questions are complicated.  The main answer for why I'm haunted by this is ignorance and stigma.  I have a depression that is caused by Hashimoto's Thyroiditis.  A majority of people with mental illness are not violent.  For people with depression it takes way too much energy to be violent.  So it wasn't me really that was bad it was their stupidity.

One day, I will post the memo they used to have me fired.  When I first saw it, I had read it before and it was in a museum.  It was essentially a witch accusation.  There is no defense once a majority of people belief a lie. That's how Salem happened.  Fear and ignorance take over the hearts of the stout of men.  He thought he was finally one of them, but what he failed to realize was that he would never be in the in crowd.  I never am and that's what makes me better.  He made the decision to leave everyone from deluded thinking brought on by bipolar disorder.

Of course I make mistakes.  He mattered so much to me because he was so supportive right up until he stopped believing me.  I always feel like it's me that messes things up, but it's not.  Yes, I miss him because he understood what it was like to have a never-ending illness.  For some people depression clears up, but not for me.  He understood that.  I wanted someone to go through life that understood.  Getting over him will take years because losing him was linked to the trauma from the bank. 

It's not that I don't appreciate my other friends, but he was there.  He made me realize what I was looking for.  A lot of my friends are finding their partners, getting married and having kids.  That's great for them, but it leaves me feeling more isolated because you're not as free to help when you are needed.  I'm your friend and I will always be sick to some degree.  The best I can hope for is to have things under control, but there is no hope of that without having a social support system.

I don't need judgement because I will heal in my own time.  I try to find other people, but they don't compare.  If you have your first child and aren't planning on having another, I can't relate to you because I will probably never have a kid.  If you're getting married, you're lucky you found someone because I might not.  If you've got all of that, then you are fantastic.  Right now, I'm here trying to move on and keep screwing up relationships because the one I really wanted, the one that made me feel complete, I lost.  I keep asking myself if it was my fault.  I know that it wasn't. 

I keep trying to build relationships, but I keep screwing up because nothing has come close to healing me.  I might as well be a time lord at this point because I think I'm too different from regular humans.  Maybe I'll never be close to anyone again.  Maybe that is the fall out from the trauma that I won't find another companion.

In This Moment

Last Monday was jam packed for me.  I went to work, saw 2 doctors, tutored and had dinner with a friend at a great Neo Asian Bistro.  After that, I was walking around the mall to work off a bit of the meal and some guys asked me a question.  They were probably student from the local state university, however, the question they asked me was simple yet complicated, "Are you happy?"  It's a yes or no question because it's close-ended.  It's complicated because I never have a straight forward answer for that as my mood varies depending on the season, the day, the position of the sun, etc.   After a few minutes discussion was ,"In this moment, yes I am."

Life is a series of moments and sometimes the happiness only lasts for one moment.  Today, for example, I was sad.  That's the problem with trauma recovery, sometimes you realize what you lost and then you get sad.  The situation depends on how long the sadness lasts.  I lost several friends because of evil bank, while I miss all of them, only one of them really hurts.  That's Rose.  There is an argument that I miss the idea of him or the way he made me feel and yes, I do miss the way he made me feel, but I miss him.  I knew him better than I knew anyone else and yet part of him was still hidden.  I miss the connection because we were the same, outsiders, who are in a constant struggle with themselves.  The Doctor always missed Rose because at the end of the day, they were the same yet could challenge each other.

So here I am, sitting in my apartment with it's white walls, thinking about moments of being happy and then all the other moments in between.  My moments of being happy are very rare, which seems unfortunate.  The happiest I felt was when I was on my swing.  I love swings and still love them.  I think I was always trying to chase that feeling my adult life.  It seems to be happy you find someone, get a job, buy a house and then have a family.  I always thought that there was more to life than that and I've seen people who have all that who a terribly miserable.  Perhaps the simple question of, "Are you happy?" really is quite complicated.  Content is probably a better word to use, but even then is anyone really content?  We all want something more.  Perhaps we all only have those moments of happiness.

In the moment I answered the question I was happy, but sometimes in the next I'm not.  I think we're all chasing happiness, but it doesn't always stay around.  I think happiness is the one thing that people don't give up on. 

Frustrated

I'm really frustrated with the fact that I'm not losing weight.  I probably should exercise more, but I think it's my thyroid that's holding me back.  I really hate the way my body is.  It does nothing that I want it to.  My hormones are off because of my thyroid.  The other downside is the exhaustion.  I have a bit more energy, but it's not the easiest thing in the world to fight it.  There has to be something better than just managing the symptoms.

I am following the diet of having more fruits and vegetables with lean meats.  I am more active than I have been yet the weight is still clinging.  I'm also eating a lot less than I have been in the past.  My mother said that potatoes are the reason why I'm not losing weight, but I don't eat those often either.

I know that my exercise is lacking.  However, every time I try to do intense exercise programs, my thyroid acts up and I end up having a thyroid episode where I gain a ton of weight.  The only exercise I can really do is yoga and walking.  I have a rotating schedule and an active job, so sometimes exercise is just not on the agenda. 

I don't know what else to do aside from divide up the exercise.  The nurse who is helping me with the program says that's she's not concerned with the number on the scale, but with my blood pressure, cholesterol level and energy level.  The problem is that I care about the number on the scale.

The Irony

Sometimes there is too much to write.  That is one of the problems with depression, the rumination.  When news comes, whether good or bad, we over think it.  Right now, my heart and brain are too full because this was the day he left.  I have never cried so hard before or since.  I was so devastated that I was sobbing on my kitchen floor.  He left me because he had to protect himself and his job.  The irony of this entire piece of shit story is that the evil bank laid him off last week.  Abandoning his friends, his freedom and his principles for a paycheck didn't even buy him 2 years. My question is, was it worth it?

I believe that a job/career should add to someone's pile of good things, which is what I decided to call my non profit. If your job makes you change for the worse or compromise yourself, it's not worth having that job. This bank has been and looks like will always be a cesspool of misery for its employees.  He alienated himself from all the tellers in order to be above reproach.  He got a poor first year review mostly because he was too friendly.  There is a corporate culture of heirarchy, which is slowly fading away in most work places unless someone is the CEO or on the board. Maybe it's my Millenial point of view, but I will follow directions and respect you, if you give me the same courtesy, not because of your title.  They also complained about his hair being long.  In my opinion is wasn't long at all, but the CEO who is a micromanaging dictator kept complaining about it, so he cut his hair short.  The thing is that he needs someone.  He's not shallow, but he made himself distant because of money.  He was looking for a new job, but they couldn't match his salary.  I think he was in the financial industry too long because it came down to money.

He was laid off last week after the bank hired an outside company to do an efficiency review.  They found that he didn't do enough for the company to keep him around.  They laid off 6 other people as well.  This is how a company gain rapid assets in a short period of time: increase profits and reduce overhead.  No one listened to me about my criticisms because I was the opposition and therefore had to be discredited and silenced.  I'm still not silent.  The greatest irony was that he did everything to follow their rules and they still got rid of him in the end. 

So that's the end of the story with the bank.  He's finally free of that place, but not on the terms he would have wanted.  I'm glad that he is gone from that place.  That bank does not deserve to have employees.  I hope now that he will find something that he enjoys and doesn't compromise his beliefs or himself.  I wish him the best.  Maybe that makes me the better person.

The Scale and the Mirror

The battle that I'm currently fighting is between the scale and the mirror. I don't like what I see in either of them.   I'm fighting my weight and it's always a constant battle. It's so easy to eat junk food and soda (my biggest temptation).  My diet calls for a lot of whole grains, fruits and vegetables.  I am also not in the habit of exercising.  I'm working on all these things, however, it's a major difficulty.

My major obstacle is time.  I'm supposed to be exercising a minimum of 30 minutes a day.  With my rotating schedule and long days, sometimes that is a challenge.  I am on my feet at work quite a lot, but I also eat chips or chocolate for quick bursts of energy.  Maybe I should bring carrots instead.

The reason why I started the weight loss program at work is because I was sitting in my allergist's office waiting to talk to him, he is adorable by the way, and I saw myself in the mirror and I hated what I saw.  I am at my heaviest ever (236 lbs.) and I just don't feel great about myself.  Part of it is poor diet and lack of exercise, but part of it is overcoming the stress from evil bank.  I am high obese on the body max index scale.  My ideal weight is 175, but I doubt that I will get there anytime soon.  I did weight that once.  The closest I've come to it was when I lived in England as I was 184lbs.  I was still heavy, but I felt so great.  It was easier over there because I walked everywhere and went to the gym 2-3 times a week.  Now, it takes work to exercise.  The bottom line is that I don't like myself when I look in the mirror.

Then there is the scale.  I know that it's just numbers, but it's hard seeing those numbers when someone who was thin would complain about 5 pounds.  5 pounds is equivalent to one of my breasts.  I would literally kill to be 125 pounds. The other problem is the Hashimoto's.  Yes, I can lose the weight, but it's a lot harder for me.  I also don't know what my thyroid levels are at the moment.

The only good thing is that I feel more energetic for the most part.  I just don't like the scale or the mirror at all.  I can't believe I let myself get this way.

The Hospital

 Last week, I went to the hospital for a crisis evaluation.  It's not my proudest moment, but it is not my weakest either.  I just got overwhelmed with life, my job, my finances and was starting to feel the way I felt when I was working at the bank.  I'm haunted by the feelings of inadequacy and the fear that maybe they were right about me.  The fear that I'm dangerous and insane.  The truth is that I'm charming, friendly and bright.  It's just my insecurity and over-thinking that led me to the ER.

I think I had gotten over the worst of the despair by the time I got to the ER.  I told the receptionist that my therapist told me to go.  She had a straight face as if she had seen it all.  I guess working the front desk at the Emergency Room does that to people.  I wasn't waiting for long when I was called into the triage area.  The nurse was nice enough.   Then I was taken to the crisis wing.  Crisis is a locked ward that has security guards because I'm sure they get some psychotic patients.  So when I got to the ward I was taken to a room.  I was only allowed to keep my book and jewelry.  They took my phone, my bad, my shoes and my clothes because I had to wear a hospital gown and scrub pants.  The scrub pants were not designed for anyone about a size 6.  They were a bit tight.

Then it was a parade of people.  First a Physician's assistant came in to take my vitals and check my breathing.  Then an administrator came in to make sure that they had the right insurance information and emergency contacts.  Somehow they had my mother listed as my daughter...now that's just silly.  I had a lovely lab technician come in and take my blood.  We talked and joked and I felt charming, which is something that I hadn't felt in a while.  Between all these people I was reading a book waiting for the clinical social worker to arrive to do the psych evaluation.

The social worker was very kind and understanding.  Also joining us was a medical student on his crisis rotation.  I remember I kept swaying my feet while I was talking so that I could keep moving.  I was after all hanging out on a gurney with a pillow where nothing else but a chair and a tray table were in the room.  The psychiatric evaluation includes a lot of questions like health history, substance abuse, and why I came in today.  I told them about what happened at the bank and how the flashbacks and fear triggered the way I was feeling.  They also asked about things I do to cope with my illnesses, which led to the point that most of the things I do, I do alone.  Basically, I need more social interaction.  The medical student only asked me if I had the basics of delusions or hallucinations.  I do not, which means I am basically just run of the mill depressed. We also talked about my education and what I was thinking about for my PhD thesis( cultural history of mental illness in 16th and 17th century England).  Then they both left to make some evaluations and to call my best friend and my therapist about the option of discharging me.

In the middle of the evaluation, an orderly brought me dinner.  Now this particular hospital has decent food, which I know because my mother stayed there for knee surgery twice and I got to eat some of it.  My dinner consisted of grilled chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, apple juice and pudding.  I ate all of it because I was starving.  I had only had water and a granola bar all day.  As I was eating the chicken I was looking around for a knife to cut it with, then I remembered that I was in a locked ward where they put the mental patients before they get admitted.  That made me chuckle due to my dark sense of humor.

The social worker came in and out a few times to check on me and let me know the progress of getting in touch with people.  I read an entire book while waiting.  Yet, I had nothing else to do because they took my phone, which is probably due to the fact that there have been many cases of social media contacts encouraging suicide.  So, I took a nap.  Now, if you can sleep in a crisis ward, you can basically sleep anywhere because there was one girl in another room crying and one man was walking the halls saying it was time for him to go.  Yet, I still managed to sleep as I was overcome by exhaustion.

They did decide to discharge me after they got in touch with my friend and my therapist.  I felt OK by then.  I left the hospital with my papers and thanked them for their services.  I texted my roommate to see if he wanted to get some food, so we ended up at Denny's, where I was still famished and at the lumberjack slam. 

It was definitely and interesting experience.  I don't think I ever want to get to the place where I have to go back there, but it was still interesting.  I know that I need more people to hang out with.  It sucks that a lot of my friends are so far away.  We need to make time for people in general, but for someone with a mental illness it is crucial to their recovery.  Illnesses are socially isolating.  So, I guess I get to badger my friends into hanging out with me.  A lot of them did, so maybe that will help.  Basically people need people.  It's not just those who are sick, it's everyone.  We all need someone to rely on and I lost mine.  It's time to start again.

Year 3

I'm on year 3 of trauma recovery.  The first year was about getting to a functional place, which was difficult.  The second year was about getting over the anger about what had happened to me.  I think year 3 is about dealing with the loss and the loneliness that it brings.  The hope in year 3 is to connect or reconnect with other people because the most difficult thing to admit after such a betrayal that I went through is, in fact, that I need other people.

I know year 2 is over because I'm not angry about what happened to me anymore.  I don't hate the people that caused it because they are ignorant and narrow minded.  Instead, I pity them.  Pity is the worst human emotion.  I pity them because most of them will never evolve beyond what they are and never see the world through a different lens.  They are stagnant and live in the dark.  They are part of the problem and for that I will never forgive them.  I also pity Rose because he is still there.  He deserves so much better, but he doesn't think he does.  Bottom line though is that I am over them.

Now, I know that I miss him.  He was such a huge part of my life and I put up a good fight because I lost him.  Now I'm working on trying to connect to people.  I'm friendly with people at work, but haven't really made any friends.  I know that pharmacy is a small world and I get  along with my coworkers and believe that I am admired by them.  I gained a lot of knowledge in a short amount of time.  I mean we did go on a social outing to Chipotle.  At least it was fun.

I think I forgot how to connect with people.  I think I am so bent on recovery that that has become my life.  I want to talk to this guy and be cool, but I keep messing it up.  I'm either quiet or am down when I see him.  I must admit that February is never a good month for me and it takes time for me to adjust to new things.  I know we like the same type of music and like to sing, but I am just awkward.  I also rarely see my friends because we're all so busy.  It's also difficult to do something in this place without money.  I have found free things to do, which helps.  I just want it to be warm again so maybe we can all get together and stay outside.

I think year 4 is about getting healthy, which means undoing all the physical harm and getting my weight back in check.  Right now though, I need to make connections again, but I know that it's going to be slow.  I know that nothing can replace what I had, but it's just a hole in me now.  I guess it's going to be a long year.