Being Grateful...

Lots of change is happening for me lately and most of it is very positive.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult, though!  The biggest change for me has been going back to school.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of being in school again.  I couldn’t read a book for fun, let alone comprehend big picture concepts from a complicated text.  Now I’ve completed the first quarter of my Clinical Mental Health Counseling degree program, and I did very well.  Much better than I had hoped!  I was so worried and didn’t think I could do it, but I did.  It feels really amazing to accomplish what’s important, but even more so when it’s something that I feared was unattainable. I was so worried about what it would mean if I couldn’t do this.  I am very grateful that I didn’t have to confront that.

Sometimes when life goes really well, I worry more about it unraveling than I do when it actually starts to turn bad.  Part of me knows that is a waste of time, and that I’m ruining the good with the “what ifs”, but it’s hard not to do it.  Right now everything seems to be going in the right direction.  I’m excited about my courses that start December 1^st.  I’m looking forward to the holidays, which was not the case last year.  Kyle and I have a vacation planned in January and are excited about getting away together.  My mood disorder seems to be fairly well managed and my medications are being tweaked with only minor adjustments rather than broad changes. 

I recently had a conversation with someone about how measuring my current success is all relative to remembering where I was last year.  I find it hard to describe how difficult 2013 was for Kyle and me, and my mind is not yet where I want it to be.  I would love to see even more improvement in my moods, and I would especially love to see some improvement in my memory and cognitive functioning.  However, relative to where I was in 2013, when I was hospitalized four times, had a delusional episode, had a car accident that totaled my car, lost my driver’s license, could not answer simple questions such as “who is the president?”, and had up to thrice weekly ECT treatments, 2014 has been a lot brighter!  It’s a bit of a cliché, but I’ve come a long way!  I really have.  And to bemoan the fact that I’m not where I would like to be would rob me of the gratitude I have for how far I have come. 

Being back in school and learning, and being able to apply that knowledge, is my greatest achievement.  Knowing who the President is comes close, though.  Getting my driver’s license back was essential in feeling capable and independent again, and it’s been freeing (but a bit nerve-wracking!) to be behind the wheel again.  Being a partner to my husband again, instead of someone who is more of a child who needs to be taken care of, has also been helpful in reviving my sense of purpose and lifting my depression. 

I have more work ahead, especially in the area of reestablishing an identity after the loss of mine last year.  I’m starting to rebuild it, though, and discovering that some of the passions I had before remain important to me.  That comforts me and leads me to believe that I don’t have to completely reinvent myself.  It will just take some work to reestablish who I am and who I have become in light of the events of the last few years.      

Happiness...

I noted in my journal the other day that I was happy to be alive.  I can't tell you the last time I actually felt happiness.  I've spent the better part of more than two years merely existing and wondering what it's all for.  Don't get me wrong.  I have a great deal to be grateful for, and I am aware of it and appreciative of it.  But knowing something in your head and feeling it in one's heart are entirely different matters.

The funny thing about happiness is I always think it's right around the bend.  When I get to high school I'll be happy.  When I graduate high school and get to the freedom of college I'll be happy.  When I can just graduate from college and not have the constant financial concerns and demands on my mind I'll be happy.  When and if... those two words can deceive me and keep me from realizing that happiness occurs in moments, not in wide spans of time.  Just like I'm not always sad, not always mad, I will not always be happy.  And I miss out on happiness by constantly waiting for it to arrive.

It's funny when I look back across my life and realize what were true times of happiness.  The happiest time in my life was when I was an undergraduate and finally found a home in my college's English department studying Literature and Humanities, and moved into my first apartment by myself.  I absolutely loved my studies, interaction with professors and time spent learning with other students.  Having my own place to live was a tremendous boost to this introvert.  But that period of time was also my toughest, because I was having trouble balancing life with anxiety and mood disorders that were untreated and undiagnosed along with working and paying for the expenses of living and being a student.  Isn't it ironic that the best and worst experiences can coincide right there and run parallel to one another giving an impression of that period of time in one's life which might not be accurate.  

And then in the last year of my undergraduate studies I met the man that I would marry.  A relationship of that importance was totally unexpected and made me deeply happy.  I sensed that I was accepted for and loved for who I was and that I could be myself - something that I wasn't accustomed to feeling.  The moments of pure elation were also mixed in with the stresses of a last year of school and living four hours apart and planning our relatively simple wedding, then moving me, and then discovering how to live well with this other person.  Again, my months of happiness were actually made up of moments squeezed in between the normal stressors that someone would encounter in that situation.

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.”  This quote is attributed on GoodReads.com to Theodore Roosevelt.  I find much wisdom in these words, but again, knowing something and practicing it are entirely different matters.  The things that have really mattered to me - my education, my marriage, my family - are not always easy to take care of, and are not effortless, but they lead to a life that I am more proud of and value more.

In my work to figure out who I am and what matters to me, I can look back on a variety of happy memories, and some I have had to have Kyle relive for me because I can't remember them.  I no longer remember my wedding day, but I can see in the pictures of that a day that I was genuinely happy.  I wasn't just putting on a mask of being ok.  I completely basked in the joy I felt that day.  Just a month earlier I graduated with my Bachelors degree that I had worked so hard for.  That was a moment of true joy and happiness as well.  Again, a picture tells me that my happiness was felt in my heart.  

Learning to feel has been a challenge to me over the course of my treatment for depression and anxiety.  It's very tempting to want to block out feelings that are unhappy, uncomfortable and that make me uneasy.  But, as I've learned over time and through reading the research of Dr. Brene Brown, we can't block out the bad without blocking out the good, too.  I find this incredibly true of myself.  I get irritated because I get so apathetic about everything from going to see a friend, the holidays or even bigger events.  I'm alive enough to go through the motions, but I'm not really living in these moments.  Without memories, experiences and moments that are felt, life can be quite empty.  

Of course, Mr. Robin Williams is on almost everyone's minds this week as we learn that he hanged himself and had been suffering severe depression.  A common refrain is, "Why would he kill himself?  He had so much to live for!"  I can't pretend to understand the depression that others experience.  I don't even understand my own a great deal of the time.  But I do see how the happiness and joy of life can be buried by the sadness and pain and the way it can become possible to feel that it will never go away again, or to even care if it will.  Williams' death has given me and many others a moment to reflect on our lives and what they mean.  He gives us an opportunity to ask what it's all for.  And if the answer is nothing, then it's an indicator that assistance is needed and a better way of living is necessary to keep from going down that same path.    

I have a necklace that I used to wear quite frequently.  It simply says "Hope".  I wore it as a constant reminder that there is always hope to be had.  But in 2013 I stopped wearing it.  I felt incredibly hopeless, especially once my treatments didn't show the promise they once held.  Everything was bleak, and nothing held meaning.  "I don't care" was a standard answer to most questions about what I wanted to do, eat or see.  Nothing mattered.  Hope had faded along with the silver lining.  I'm beginning to think, after registering for classes last week, that it's time to start wearing the "Hope" necklace again.   

Lately, life looks brighter, and not just metaphorically.  For me, my world literally gets lighter when I am in a better place and dimmer when I'm in a worse place.  Right now it is brighter, and I am taking note of the moments of happiness and realizing that IS happiness.  It's not a precursor to it.  That is it!  I grab onto it.  Maybe I write it down in my journal or snap a shot and share it with friends on Facebook hoping to spread joy to them, as well.  And happiness doesn't have to be anything big.  

Saturday was a wonderful day for me.  There was nothing special about it.  Kyle and I did a little grocery shopping, which I actually hate to do, but it was nice to spend the time together.  Then Kyle mowed the lawn and I got a few things done in the house.  He decided not to go into the office that day and would instead go Sunday.  And so randomly I suggested we play Trivial Pursuit.  Since we have a smidge of an age difference, (only 19 years), we sparred over whether we would play the 80s version that he would be more familiar with or the 90s version that would be better for me.  We finally decided to play both and have a sort of tournament.  In the end he won the 80s and I won the 90s.  We had a great time laughing about pieces of culture, history and movies we had completely forgotten, and it helped remind me of some of those same things that I had forgotten due to treatments.  We ribbed each other for not knowing answers, too.  We played for hours and it was delightful.  

As we got into bed that night I said to him, "I'm really happy tonight.  That was a lot of fun."  I don't even know the last time I truly felt anything that much.  I took it as a good sign, but a little terrifying, too.  If you feel one feeling, then you have to feel them all when they occur.  But part of this is knowing I have the ability to handle things well and with some skills I've been learning.  I could get anxious and spend hours thinking about what it means and whether a really good day means I'm starting to feel too good and maybe swinging to the high side of the disorder.  But maybe after a really crummy couple of years, a one really good day feels over the top good.  I think I'm just going to take it for what it is - a terrific day of spending time with a husband with whom I share many interests and who loves me as much as I love him.  That is happiness.  And it's enough to get me through the rough spots to the next patch of happiness and joy.  

*I apologize if this has any grammar or spelling issues.  Writing at 4am when I can't sleep can be hard on my writing skills.  :)

Putting "Courage Before Comfort" to the Test...Also Known As, I'm a Student Again!

I haven't been doing a good job of posting very often, but you might remember my post before last that talked about putting courage before comfort.  It's a terrific theory, but putting it into practice is a whole different matter!  I've had a couple of opportunities to try it out this summer, though.  I had a total hysterectomy in July - although that would more aptly be called "courage before discomfort".  But it came with an added benefit:  I couldn't do anything but sit around watching TV and reading for many days, which gave me a tremendous amount of time to think.  About life.  About direction.  About purpose.  You know, the little things.

July 8 made it a year since I decided to stop ECT treatments.  It has been a year of relief, grief, sadness, madness and just about any mixture of feelings you can imagine.  I had given myself a year to work through the many emotions that came after the deep depression that lasted well over a year, the loss of memories and cognitive functioning that resulted from the unsuccessful treatments, and then the aftermath.  Part of that year was waiting to see what and how much would return.  Would the lost memories come back?  Would I regain the level of functioning I had before?  Some did return.  Much did not.  I now think of life "Before ECT" and "After ECT".  Kyle and I agree I am about 75% of who I was before.  Some days I am very grateful I am recovered to that degree.  Other days I am still angry and bitter about not being 100% who I was.  As much as I would love to just box up the past 18 months and put them on a shelf somewhere, it's not possible.  And while I have come a long way, there is still progress to be made.

However.  A point has arrived where I must either stay stuck or make a move.  I could stay stuck indefinitely, because even though it mostly stinks, there is a level of comfort in knowing where I am at and what to expect from each day.  But that's not stimulating to me, and it's not conducive to good health.  So I knew I had to take some action, in some direction.  So I've made the decision to go back to school.  Again.

I received my Masters in Education a few years ago, but I quickly saw that working in the school system was not a good fit for me.  I love teaching and interacting with students.  I dislike the paperwork, meetings, and the mounds of senseless time-wasting that goes along with the teaching profession and takes me away from students.  I also lost a lot of my knowledge gained from my Masters program.  Terminology and other important education are gone.  Maybe they will return.  I don't know.  But I feel I am at a disadvantage to work in education with the missing puzzle pieces, and I certainly don't want to deprive students of the teacher they deserve.

I've had an interest in psychology and mental health counseling long before I became a mental health consumer.  I ignored it for some reason, but it's been nudging me more and more lately.  I have found an online program I have a great deal of confidence in, and now I just need confidence in myself and my abilities.  School has always been a strength of mine, and now I am fearful that I won't be able to perform at my previous level.  But I have to try.  I have been accepted for admission and I am registered to start classes on September 2nd.  I will be working on a Masters in Mental Health Counseling.  I'm very excited and terrified at the same time.  I look forward to building a new foundation, a new career path, and an opportunity to prove to myself that I can do whatever I set my mind to.  I'm definitely putting "courage before comfort", and while it's daunting it's also really amazing how wonderful challenging myself can be.

It's all I can do not to race out and buy new notebooks, pens and post-it notes.  I am anxious because this program uses APA and I'm used to MLA.  I've logged into my new student email account half a million times since I got it last week.  I'm making notes everywhere to remind myself of what I need to do before Sept. 2nd.  It's all good, though.  I have focus, I have direction, and I have an end goal in sight.  And that feels really amazing.  

What I Didn't Know About Losing Your Memory...

When I signed on for ECT last year, I knew I would risk losing memory, but I didn't really think through what that might mean.  I assumed it meant I would lose bits and pieces, here and there, good and bad remembrances of the past.  And it did mean that.  It also meant I wouldn't be able to remember simple processes, procedure and aspects of life that previously I took for granted.

Today I went grocery shopping by myself.  While this seems a very mundane and routine task, a year ago I wasn't able to do this.  I wasn't permitted to drive, and I wouldn't have been able to negotiate the store even if I could have made it there.  Who knew grocery shopping could be so darn overwhelming?  I never stopped to think about how many times I rely on memory when in the grocery store.  The layout of the store is the biggest obstacle.  If you have no memory of how the store is laid out, and what is paired with what, it gets really confusing and daunting, not to mention time consuming as you are constantly retracing your steps.  It is so strange to stand in a place that is familiar yet foreign, but I've experienced this many times since my memory became so deeply affected last year.

We've all been in a grocery store countless times, and shopping becomes almost automatic when we've done it so routinely.  But last year stores became bewildering.  I would stand there trying to decide where to start and not knowing where anything was located.  I couldn't remember the pin for my debit cards.  This is still a challenge.  Cashiers would have to prompt me every step of the way through the checkout process.  The automatic knowing of what comes next during checkout disappeared.  Suddenly I was a blank slate and had to be walked through anything with more than one step the way you would guide a small child.

I didn't know how to use things. I didn't know how to follow directions.  I forgot the names of people in my real life and celebrities I've admired for years.  I forgot major events.  I couldn't remember where I was when 9/11 happened.  I didn't remember movies I'd seen, or books I'd read.  I jokingly said I was glad my degrees couldn't be taken like my license had been, but it really wasn't a humorous subject for me.  My education was my prized possession, and it was infuriating and frustrating to remember so little of what I had studied.

My connection and sense of belonging suffered because I didn't have the memories to make associations anymore.  I didn't remember most of my wedding day or any of our honeymoon trip.  I don't remember my graduation day from college.  And while it's sad not to remember specific events, I've found it far more difficult to deal with the day to day functions that are impacted when one can't rely on memory.

My understanding of the world at large changed.  I don't easily remember where other countries are, or how they relate to one another.  I probably couldn't correctly identify all 50 states on the US map.  I sometimes am unsure why we're on unfriendly terms with some countries and allies with others.

It was embarrassing, and still can be, to be unable to answer simple questions.  "What medications are you on?"  Uh...I'm not sure.  "What brand of dog food do you use?"  No idea.  "Have you ever been to...?"  Can't say for sure.  I can't tell you how many times I've heard "Don't you remember?"  No.  I do not.

I lost the continuity of life and the pattern of day to day.  I had no routines, because I didn't remember what they were.  I stopped doing many basic activities, such as cleaning, because it seemed complicated.  I didn't know how to do those things anymore.  What was once a natural process of grabbing the cleaning products, scrubbing, brushing, sweeping and mopping now seemed complex and unfamiliar.  I didn't know what step came first and what came last and because it was all so overwhelming I just withdrew completely.  

Fortunately, my memory is improving, be it a little too slow for my liking.  I am on a medication that is generally used for Alzheimer's patients, and it does seem to be helping.  Memories of events haven't returned much, but my ability to figure out "how-to" is.  Most of the tasks I am relearning tend to stick, or at least become more familiar and I am becoming more at ease with doing activities and tasks on my own.  Getting my driver's license back was a huge aid to my sense of independence and has allowed me to become more confident in going to appointments and running errands on my own.  I am reestablishing patterns and routines that give me much peace and reduce my anxiety by creating a sense of stability and familiarity.

I never thought about how much our sense of who we are in the world is connected to memory.  I never thought about how our memory contributes to how well we navigate life.  I have much more compassion and understanding of what loss of memory really entails than I did before last year.  I hope strides in medicine and science can make progress in understanding memory loss and how to help those who struggle with it.  

Courage Before Comfort...

What is courageous is a matter of perception that is based on any number of varying aspects including culture, age and life events.  Perception is a funny concept.  And by funny I mean odd, not humorous.  Have you ever listened to someone talk about how messed up they are or how they screwed something up and how down on themselves they are for it, and all the while you are thinking about how cool it is that they even put forth the effort in the first place?  Our varying perceptions make life interesting, and it's one of the many reasons I have long loved literature.  Every reader perceives differently, as does every listener.  Perception gives us variety.  It exposes us to new ideas and allows us to see what we were blind to otherwise.  But our own perceptions can really become far from the truth.  That's when it gets tricky.  

I've been taking an e-course about finding the gifts of our imperfections, based on Brene Brown's book "The Gifts of Imperfection".  This book speaks to me through and through because I am a major perfectionist and I am always criticizing myself for falling short.  I usually fail to give much credit to having tried in the first place.  If I was made Vice President of the US, I wouldn't celebrate my success, but rather criticize myself for not having done enough to become President.  One person might see the VP position as an awesome accomplishment.  Others would see it as second-best and clearly not as good enough.  Perception.

I have fallen into a bad habit of being so concerned with falling short that I don't even make the attempt in the first place.  Instead of celebrating baby steps and benchmarks I am often looking to what could be done better.  It becomes so uncomfortable for me to try experiences for fear of failing that I withdraw from life altogether.  And then disconnection rears its ugly head and causes a whole new set of problems.  

One assignment for this class I am taking was to come up with our personal mantra - something to guide us in our quest to become less perfectionistic.  I blatantly stole the author's mantra because it spoke so wholly to me.  "I will choose courage before comfort".

Comfort is also a tricky concept.  For me, "false comfort" is a true beast.  Sometimes it feels like comfort, because whatever it is allows us to feel less anxiety, be it through drugs, alcohol, food or any other number of numbing agents.  But the "comfort" becomes a problem in and of itself.  Drug abuse and addiction.  Alcohol abuse and addiction.  Food addiction and weight management problems.  Avoidance.  The list goes on and on.  None of those are comforting for long.

I've really tried to focus on allowing myself to be uncomfortable for a short term in order to gain longer term contentment.  It's so hard!  And harder in some areas than others.  I am able to apply this concept in some areas of my life and not in others.  Some days I do well at it and others I do not.  And instead of berating myself on the "do not" days, I am trying so to congratulate myself on the "did" days.

In making my way back from the difficulty of the past year, I am finding myself in need of a lot of support.  It's hard for me to admit that, because it seems like failure and lack of strength on my part.  Others tell me it is a strength to ask for help.  So I have been trying to practice courage in this aspect of my life and ask for support when I need it instead of taking pride in doing all on my own.  I'm still not very good at it, and it's really easy to fall back into comfortable routines, but I do see the benefits when I talk to someone and get my thoughts out of my head and feel that connection that comes from that vulnerability of opening up.  It's a bit ironic that I see vulnerability in myself as a weakness, but in others I admire it as a virtue.  

For me, it's teeny tiny steps at this point, but I think I will be more successful in the long run making small strides.  I hope I can get better at asking for what is needed.  I hope I can get better at leaning in to discomfort.  All I know is, this courage stuff is hard work!