August 2005

8-31
I don't know what to say, but I need to type this. Last night I was having a pretty bad dream- I think I was trapped somewhere and I couldn't get out- could not even make a sound.

I think after close to half an hour, I kept trying to scream, and I finally broke myself out of it and woke up because I screamed in real life. I just hope no one heard me. I have not screamed in real life because of a dream in a very long time. Hell, I haven't been that scared in a long time because of a dream. I literally could not wake up and break out of it. So needless to say I'm a little freaked out. Off to class I go to shake this off

8-30
You know I'm healthy when I can accept a less than perfect school schedule. I found alternate times for everything...and I'm willing to move around a kids schedule, so I can be sure I graduate on time.

You also know I'm well when I accept money from my parents. There is this post grad autism class I need to take Thursday nights to be able to sit for my certification in June. However, the price turned out to be twice what was quoted to me.

But I'm allowing my mom and step father to pay most of it, and my Dad to pay the rest. The problem lies with my parents- mom and step father. The guilt trips are already starting.

In the past I would have died before I let them pay- I didn't even let them pay for college. The guilt trips are hard to take at times, but taking this class will make a big difference in my life, including the difference of 10-15 thousand starting pay when I graduate. I'll suck it up.

And finally, I'm writing a letter to my mom. We were talking about myself and my boyfriend Ted and she didn't like the way I treated him when I was at her house. Then I kindly explained I am like that because of that damn couch in the living room- it's the couch I was abused on.

Now, I would think that any mother would want to get rid of that couch, once she learns her daughter was sexually abused on it. But no, my mom says, waht do you expect me to do- we can't afford a new one. OH COME ON.

So I'm writing her a letter. A year ago I wrote her one that said, "where were you when I needed you most." So I'm going to say that again- yet again, where is she when I need her. She'll probably throw that class in my face. But this is the couch that my innceence was taken...that led me down this crazy path. It might not be the whole reason I needed therapy, but it was a big part of it. And why Ted and I have some intimacy problems.

Sigh, okay I'm composed now. So now you know...I'm healthy when I can handle all of this and cope by watching the Simpsons and listening to Folk music.

8-22
A genius is one who shoots at something no one else can see - and hits it. - Unknown
Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one. Unknown

I had a life changing three days. You know how sometimes in your life you find one of those moments when you know the whole course of your life has changed? Up to now, most of those moments had been confined to my mental health self. But this past week, I know everything has changed.

I knew it when I began my talk on self injury (at the American Psychological Association annual conference)...or wait, perhaps before. Fifteen minutes before. When I arrived to the room, many seats were already filled- when I had only been expecting a few- after all, it was an 8am talk on the first day of the conference. However, by 8am, few empty seats remained (and my prof checked another room- relatively empty). Then our power point broke and I had to use transparencies. As I began my talk something changed inside me. My voice was calm (despite the chaos of men fixing the broken powerpoint thing around me), my hands did not shake- I delivered my talk flawlessly. When it was over the chair of my paper session said how delighted he was to see an undergraduate student give such an amazing talk and he sees that the future of psychology is in good hands. I got another round of applause.

Just so you understand...this is THE conferece for the American Psychological Association- where clinicians and researchers (phD level) come to discuss their work. It is extremely hard to get accepted- especially to give a talk (a lot of people, the graduate students that is, are just given time to present their poster)- and here was little 'ole undergraduate Erin.

Afterward, a crowd formed around me asking questions and wanting to know my thoughts. When I remarked to one person that my SI research was only a hobby, that I was actually a behavioral therapist, he just laughed and said, "bright people have no fences around them, they can do so many things." I took down a lot of contact information. Here, in a room full of phD's and/or master level psychologists, they wanted to speak to me.

Thus, this week gave me new perspectives. First and foremost, I think I want to get my phD. This won't be easy and it will probably take me close to ten years, but I believe this is something I want to do now. Second, I am going to try and convince my boss to do more research. We have the subjects available to us, we should be doing more. And third... I will be continuing my Self Injury research, not with Sam (prof), but with the contacts I made this week.

I am still just in shock with everything- other's perceptions of my performance and abilities, meeting so many incredibly brilliant people and being able to operate in such an environment. It's incredible to me, sometimes, how I got here...when I juxtapose my apparent two selves. We have the one that struggled through a major mental illness, in and out of hospitals, counselors and medications. The one that runs an online support group and owns my own website...and continues to struggle daily with my past. Then there is the other self- regionally renowned behavioral therapist, professional known as and up and coming expert on self injury and bright student of psychology. And I wonder if the two are indeed split from the other, or if they are just different parts to the same me. And I wonder what it all means for me personally and professionally.

I wouldn't say I am lost now, but I'm not so sure about the path I once deemed as mine. Perhaps I'm coming to a fork in the road and it is my choice to decide which path will ultimately be mine.

I will surely look forward to choosing and I will be forever grateful for these past four days.

8-18
I gave my talk and it was awesome. I knew that while I was giving it. You know how you just get a feeling sometimes? I got a feeling. This time while talking, I could actually think separately and I could hear my voice flowing…and my hands weren’t shaking.

Now I had a slight advantage. What is it? Chaos. The power point presentation did not work and we were late starting and I had to use transparencies. But the more chaotic our session got, the more I calmed down- this was familiar, I could deal with this. In my head, I realized my talk was already not perfect, so there was nothing I could do to mess up the perfection. Most people might have been a little more nervous, but in my head, it makes perfect sense that I was not rattled, but instead calmer. Sam remarked that she started getting nervous, but then realized I was calm, so it was all good. She was super proud of me. And all I needed was to see it in her eyes and I knew I did well. That made up for all the days of depression I had been faced with recently. Then afterward many people came up to talk to me, it was incredible. I made several contacts. Sam even remarked one professor was asking me about grad school in a way to court me. If only they knew my GPA.

And that is where I find all the irony. Here is a 2.6 g.p.a. student in front of psychologists giving a presentation they are interested in and find cutting edge. So any student that is questioning their intelligence based on your g.p.a.- stop right now. I was called brilliant today and bright by phD’s at other universities. I think I’ll take their view rather than my own skewed notion of what intelligence is or is not.

The whole time I keep thinking that I made it. Here I was not that long ago, such a broken individual. Lots of potential locked up in a broken and battered body. Then again…I never thought I had this potential or much of anything inside me. Just worthlessness. Sigh, gotta get going, more later.

8-17
I’m at the American Psychological Association…and I’m giving a talk. I don’t think it has sunk in until about now. One year ago and four months…I was sitting in a mental hospital wishing to die. Tonight, I’m preparing my speech on self injury and giving it to professional psychologists. And they will see me as another professional and not a patient.

I had a support group tonight for sexual survivors, and the group leader was emphasizing how strong we are and being a survivor and what not. I agree with that, and when I was going through the healing process, being a survivor gave me so much strength. However, here again, my identity is changing. I gained strength tonight, realizing that for the next three days I would not be a patient, simply an up and coming psychologist and fellow presenter. I gain strength at times not being a patient.

Then again, I almost cried tonight because I wondered if abuse would always cloud what I do. Or maybe more specifically the sexual abuse. But now sitting in my hotel room, getting off the phone with “Jo” and an hour long conversation on research…and I realize how much I love this part of my life. And I realize the odds I have overcome. I was mentally ill and in and out of hospitals. I self destructed more times than I can count.

Yet here I am. Here I am. This is important night in my life- I can tell. It’s one of those moments that is marking a change in me. Maybe maturing is the word? I’m growing up professionally. I can hold my own in this half of the world. Even with my job as a behavioral therapist, I find myself changing, growing. Yes, I’m still the very young and idealistic therapist that wants to cure all the children, but I am being exposed to the business half…and I’m teaching my boss how to combine the two. And I realize the compromises that need to be made, and the fact that I can’t reach all the children that I want. I need to take it one step at a time. Figure out the most effective way to reach my kids.

That means reducing my kid load this semester, so I can attend a class in a city an hour south of me one night a week, to further my ABA training. And training new therapists more, so there isn’t just me and a bunch of mediocre therapists, but perhaps a little less of me, but better trained therapists. I have hated making such decisions in the past- which road do I take? But I trust my instincts. We need better trained therapists and I think that takes precedent. Anyway…I find myself really asserting myself with my boss. She is a hot/cold person and I keep waiting for her to go off the deep end with my passion for these kids and visions of where I want the company to go. But each time, she has listened to what I have to say, and made some sort of compromise. Never once has she talked down to me, but worked together. That has been incredibly eye opening for me.

At times I’m unsure why she is so open with me- normally she is very tip-lipped and even fired a much loved supervisor (and has admitted that it was a mistake to me) for a small infraction (or maybe a few small ones adding up)…yet here I am, shooting off my mouth, telling her what is and is not ethical and her obligation to families or kids. And she listens to it all and we come to some solution. Maybe not the one I envision…but she is giving me a chance to prove my theories, and I thank her for that.

I think at times I feel like I’m living a surreal life. It gets too good to be true. That is when I fuck with my meds. Like recently. I went up…and now it looks like I’m getting myself out of a depression. It’s like I can’t accept the fact that I can be good normal- I don’t need to be manic or depressed. Yes, I lose things in each of those. I lose some of my passion and creative moments when I say no to mania…and I lose some of my writing ability when I say no to depression...but the gains I make normal are so much more. Normal is good…and one day I might actually believe that. But always…my normal is never the norm…it is simply just normal for me…a little high and a little low, with a lot of passion and creativity thrown in there.

One thing that has been hard recently, I actually missed therapy for the first time. When I first felt the rumblings of my mood madness again- I longed to have my guide say a few words. But I knew in my heart, it was only her reassurance that I was making the right decision that I was wanting. I missed her the most I think, after I became scared with Ted one night- the flashbacks and memories pounded me…and Ted even knew because we instantly stopped fooling around and he held me. He said he saw the fear in my eyes. Ever since then…I’ve been lost. I have no idea what to do. I’m trying to figure it out from what I know and I’m trying to learn more. And that is why I miss those times long gone. Where I had that extra helping hand. I know I can do it myself, but yeah, it was so much easier when I wasn’t walking this path so alone.

Ted has been wonderful and I’m actually finally realizing…I am with the man I will spend the rest of my life with. That is a big statement for me, especially after only five months. He soon will be moving down to where I live and I’ll join him upon graduation. I find myself looking for faults sometimes…where there are none- at least none that are make it or break it. He completes me and complements me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

And he loves me…cares for me and stands behind me one hundred percent. He has not left me…even when I’ve made it hard for him to stay. He refuses to leave my side. I sometimes want to question why he loves me, but I never ask. Because somehow in my heart, I just know…that is not a question that needs to be asked. I know the answer in my heart. And that is different from everyone else I have been with.

Okay, back to my speech. I just keep thinking to myself in my head. I made it.

I made it.

8-15
I've crossed the last line from where I can't return:

It doesn't mean much
It doesn't mean anything at all
The life I've left behind me
Is a cold room

I decided last night that depression has come for me. I went manic a few weeks ago, and then without realizing it, I quietly slipped into depression. To dark moods, little energy, exhaustion, procrastination, unfaithful to medication, dark thoughts...and mostly, a feeling of a great burden wearing me down.

I sit in my room doing nothing at...though a mountain of paperwork awaits me. I sit in denial, letting the stress build up...simply because I don't have the strength to do anything about anything. I go to take meds, but the very thought of it makes me want to head to a toilet. So I don't force the issue...all while knowing it is my salvation.

I sit in a state of disarray that is all my own fault. I am responsible. I have a treatment for all of it, and yet I just don't take them. Yes, the stress doesn't help...but then again, I'm not trying to help myself.

Instead, I've decided to let It over-take me. And I have no reason why to tell you. Maybe it is sheer exhaustion. Exhaustion of trying to stay sane. I led a whimsical summer. My work with the children has been unparallel. They soared beyond any imagination. And it was a lot of my own doing and energy. I took a class at the same time, and did research and did the support group here. And I had friends too. I think it all finally collided and left me with nothing. Nothing but tiredness, now that the end of the summer is coming.

I don't regret this summer at all...it has served its purpose in teaching me even more about myself. I let everything slip away from me. And now I know what I need to do. I won't sit here with this depression and let it swallow me whole. No, that would be my death sentence. Unlikes previous times...this time I have power. It comes in a few little pills...and a some re-working of my thoughts. Unlike previous times I am not helpless.

I will not let this be the killing of me. I will let this be the saving of me.

I've crossed the last line
From where I can't return
Where every step I took in faith
Betrayed me
And led me from my home

I made a promise to someone that I would live and live healthy. That is the one promise I refuse to break. Because when I made that promise, I was leaving her for a whole new world. A world she helped me create and live in. And she let me leave her knowing I would be okay. I will not let her think otherwise. I will be okay.

Depression kills, but it will no longer kill me. Because I do have power over this. Yes, depression will come and go...that is a fact I calmly accept...but that does not mean I have to stay in it. I have the power to choose to get well. Whatever that may entail- different meds, getting back on meds, regulating my diet, regulating my sleeep...or hell, if it gets too bad there are more doctors and counselors and hospitals available to me. There is always something I can do. I just have to choose to do it.

I make my stand now. And shut the door on more darkness coming in. I will find my way back to myself. I made a promise to her...and even more so- I made a promise to myself. I know I can be happy...I know what joy feels like. I choose again, to stand over the line and back to the land of the living. I won't let myself down.

Step by step, day by day
A piece of me gets rebuilt
Until again I’m made whole
And able to find my own way

Along this way I’ve lost myself again
So try to keep it together
Pull myself back on track
And once again begin to mend.

8-14
I'm depressed. I realized this today. Especially when I went to a Laurie and Peter show...and last year this show with the "Ohio guys" was the highlight of my summer. This year, I was actually going to leave early because I couldn't stay awake, but Laurie convinced me to say.

But I know the signs are there- I know the requirements, I know the feelings, I know the time- I know everything about it. And for this reason...I am pretty sure I am back with my depression.

My Depression
My long forgotten sleep,
My nightmares return-
Time for concern.

Appetite lost in everything;
Fun a forgotten notion-
Numbing all these emotions.

Pain weighing me down;
Darkness now looms-
Returning to my living tomb.

My heart does not lie,
There is no question:
I’m back with my depression.

I will write more on this tomorrow...when I wake up after a long coma and deserved sleep. I know this post is depressing...but I couldn't hide from the revelation for too much longer.

8-11
Sometimes, the thing I wish for the most is understanding. And that is something that also will never happened. Unless the people around me have been afflicted with Bipolar disorder, they will never know how high I can fly or the depths of my sorrow. They will never know my struggle to not miss the mania's, especially when I fall to a depressing mood. They won't know my struggle to stay on meds, especially when my stomach is telling me it's had enough. They won't understand the exhaustion I feel each day trying to stay balanced. I have a physically and emotionally demanding job as a behavioral therapist..and then I have to fight internally to breathe every day.

They don't understand how I can have both good days and bad days more than the average person, even on meds. They won't understand that though meds are a treatment, they are not a cure- I will still fly high and I will still sink low.

They won't understand why an extroverted person needs xanax to be around people. They won't understand the days when I just don't want to be touched or talk to someone. They won't understand why one day I can be on top of the world and the next walking through hell.

They will never get that though I'm out of therapy, I still have a long way to go, only this time I walk it alone because I have the strength and courage to do so. They won't get that I want to be loved and to be in relationships, but sometimes I just can't always handle it. They won't see the tears in my darkest moments because I can't get them to see the love I have to give. They will never understand that I show my love in different ways. They will never understand that I live life differently from everyone else they've encountered.

They will never understand what it is like to be me for even a second. They will never understand my daily struggle that I must live with each day...and that alone makes the tears fall at night.

8-3
I'm back to eating healthy, I'm back to sleeping well every night and I've taken control of my life again. I still remember decending back up into Mania, but I try to blink it away. But lately, I've felt the depression hit a tad. And I realize, this is what happens when you are not consistent with your meds- up, down, then it evens out. And it was fully my responsibility to take the meds and be okay. So, I do what it takes to make all right again.

An interesting thing that has been happening lately is some flashbacks- of everything. Not just the sexual abuse, but the times I went crazy as well. Before, whatever had happened I would just blink it away and it just became a story I would write about. But now, lately, it has become more real. I'll wake up in the middle of the night, and see myself on the old wards. Or I'm driving down the road and I'll remember what I did in my darker moments. I'm just remembering more.

But it's okay- I feel safe. I am a strong person these days and have a good support network. It's just interesting to me to feel so much more, to see so much more. And the support has been awesome.

It's been interesting to me that the families I work for with the kiddo's...they really don't hold me to a stigma. They do all know I have bipolar disorder and yet they always seem okay with that. Even when I recently told a few of them I was coming back down from being manic. Maybe it's because they have a chlid with autism and I do such wonderful work with the kids.

I think my boy friend is getting more used to the idea that I am so open. I'm hoping soon he tells his parents- I'd rather them know before something happens to me. I just hate the stigma and want to be open. It's ridiculous the stigma some people carry around. I guess that is why I always seem to stand up and say, here I am, I've got manic depression. I also want to be a model for others diagnosed- that we can bring that suicide rate down. Yeah, I am an unsuccessful suicide and proud of it- there are so many things we can do to help ourselves...even if I don't always do it- like take my meds. But just changing my diet has helped and lord knows the sleep has been important.

Though lately I've not had a restful sleep, I always hope for one. Hope...such a wonderful thing. I know I wouldn't be here without it. After several med cocktails failed, sometimes I wonder why I stuck it out. Today I no longer wonder why- because I just knew I could make it, that one day we would get it right. So I did all my own research, and listened to my body- asked the doctor for Lithium and it changed my life. I've already written below extensively about how counseling helped me, but I must say...meds enabled the counseling to help.

So yeah...you've got bipolar disorder, or adhd or abused background..there is so much hope. There are so many different ways to try things, so many meds, so many counselors out there- trust me, you will find the right meds or a good counselor well before you would run out of options.

For my true thoughts on being Bipolar check out: Mood Madness from the Snapshot section.

And for those of you following Bailey's progress...we do have our first official word- "baba." And he's been experiementing with other sounds etc...it's awesome to see. Reminds me why I lived and why I continue to fight my own disorder every day.

Life is sweet...and so much more.

8-1
I changed an entry in Snapshot, called Identity to this:

Identity
I was such a broken little girl with false bravado. I had a false sense of self, haunted eyes and an empty heart- too bruised or broken to feel anything. I was firmly enmeshed in self sabotage and didn’t see any reason to let go of that, no proof that anything else worked. I was a ghost in a brittle body that survived the ravages of war. There, I was a victim.

Yet one woman offered perhaps another path on my journey. The one that would not be easy and the one that would require more strength and courage than I knew was in me. All the while she didn’t give up on me…and so how could I have given up on myself when someone believed so firmly in me. I became a survivor.

And so now here I am. Everything is different, my identity has changed yet again. I’m a strong woman who never gave up.

I think so many of us struggle with the question of identity- who we are inside. People tell us to just be ourselves- but which self do they want? Do they want the college student, the therapist, the patient, the depressed girl, the daughter…or the victim. I think before I began the healing process I fell into the category of victim. Once therapy began, I clung to the identity of survivor. The word survivor emitted a sense of strength to me and hope that I could rise above my past.

And so I went from victim to survivor and was all the more strong for it. Then came the time when I ended therapy, when I finally healed and suddenly I became at a loss for an identity again. I was a victim, I was a survivor, but I was so much more than that now. So I settled for woman- strong woman. As much as I am a survivor, the term itself is confining, because it would be a constant reminder of my past and in a sense meant that I would always be searching for a way to rise above it all. But in reality- I had gotten to the point where my past was just that- my past. My life was now centered on the present and future and I no longer suffer through the negative consequences of where I came from. So when someone asks me who I am…I just want to say I’m a woman, a strong woman. Victim, survivor, strong woman. Now that is the transformation of identity that I like to see.