My Chapters Are Beautiful

I know I never did.

I can’t count the times I’ve cried out in the anguish and wishing someone would just walk in and make it stop. I waited and it hasn’t happened.

But on the other hand, why did I feel at the same time that if anyone knew, it would just be a burden they didn’t need to bear?

I sat down with my therapist today, talking about my new job and how great it’s going. It’s a line of work that I get to help people in a time of their own anguish.

And God, does it feel good.

Then she asked about my depression and anxiety. Overall, I’ve been feeling better depression-wise but my anxiety is as high as it usually is. Yes, I still go to the store for my groceries and drive to work, but no matter how many times I do it, the regularity doesn’t make it easier. And that’s frustrating.

I don’t remember how we got on the topic, but then we started talking about the crosses that we bear, and no two are the same. Then it was about how Jesus carried His cross. They pulled a man named Simon to help Him carry it. It’s a very brief mention in a couple places, and not much else is said about it, as far as I know.

Christians look at Jesus as the Savior of the world. He came and died for our sins, even when we didn’t deserve it. But no one really talks about Simon of Cyrene, who was basically passing through when some soldiers grabbed him to carry a cross for a “criminal.”

Simon of Cyrene is not the savior of the world. He didn’t die for our sins. Most people probably didn’t know what he did. Because even though he helped carry the cross…

It was not his burden.

When we struggle for any reason, whether it’s finances, physical illness, mental illness, or any kind of situation, most of us would rather suffer silently than ask for help. Why is that?

“I don’t want to make myself a burden.”

Jesus Christ is God. In His humanity, He needed help and He got it. Simon carried His cross but he didn’t take on the sins of the world.

We are struggling, some of us to stay alive. And it’s the last thing we want to do, but there is nothing wrong with asking for help. Not from a loved one or a stranger. There are people in this world who work in the medical profession, specifically for mental illness, who have studied and worked to help people like us. This job I have is a honor to help people who are struggling with something.

You are not a burden.

You are not a burden.

You are not a burden.

I haven’t touched Tumblr in months. I came to a conclusion tonight but I’ll back track.

The beginning of this year brought one of the most devastating storms of my life. I had been riding the high of doing well in my home and work life, and I was on top of the world. But then it all came crashing down.

This event left me breathless, hopeless, and numb. I ended off of work, in IOP, and now seeing a psychiatrist and therapist again. Meds have been changed several times in the past several months, but I still don’t feel like myself.

Then I got on the phone with my mother tonight. I told her about therapy, some new things going on that are finally looking up, and my fears. I said I haven’t been the same since the event in February. All that time I was doing great, however, was a manic episode.

No, she said, it wasn’t. And I got mad.

What do you mean, it wasn’t? My confidence was over inflated, I felt too good, and then I crashed. That’s an manic episode*. (*despite a Bipolar diagnosis, I still don’t know much about it)

She explained it like this: yes, I was riding the high of being praised at work, things going well at home, and feeling like myself. I wasn’t manic… I was happy.

Is that what happiness feels like?

It was a shocking slap to the face. Then, when the event happened, it was more than I could take. My therapist and others who know what happened will testify to that. I had found my threshold and then some.

So now what do I do with this information?

If I could be happy then, I can be happy again. Sure, the aftermath of this event plus other issues have been gnawing at my soul, but that doesn’t mean the happiness I had before was some episode or an illusion. It was me. And it still is me.

I remember my Mom telling me how she was very shy, never spoke up as a kid, but then she became more social and extroverted as an adult. And I remember thinking how that could never be me.

I don’t know how old I was when she said that but now I’m approaching 27 and I see how much has changed since then. My current profession is literally being social with strangers. I hang out with more people socially now than I did as a kid (maybe the same 2-3 people that weren’t family). Nowadays I’m open to doing things that previously/currently made/make me uncomfortable.

Recently my company rolled out a survey for new hires to take for their first day/first week, giving us a gauge on how we can better our training. My manager told me a few weeks ago that one of the higher ups in the region asked about me. I had been called out by name with very positive feedback, which was the first time in our network that had been done. An email had since been sent out with that achievement to all the hire ups because it made our facility look good.

I’ve thought about that in terms how much I’ve changed in the last 10 years or so. I never thought of myself as a people person by any means, or brave enough to do something like put myself out there as a trainer (keep in mind that our onboardings can range anywhere from 2-20 people in a day, 1-2 times a week). I’ve become a little more comfortable with myself by doing things that I know scare the crap out of me.

And when I think about this I look back at the days that I heard my Mom’s words and didn’t believe they could apply to me. Another phrase that was often said was, “This won’t last forever.” It sounds so optimistic and like fake reassurance, like when someone says “Don’t worry,” or “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Winter lasts for different lengths of time in different regions. Where I live, it may be a few months but in other places for 6 months out of the year. Same thing goes for people. Some people experience momentary, situational depression. Sometimes it’s months, years, decades.

That doesn’t mean that I’m an invincible, socially inclined extrovert. I still hate going into stores no matter how crowded they are, still can’t make eye contact for the most part, and my heart still races where there’s more than one person around.

But the moral of the story is maybe it doesn’t last forever. Maybe things can change. Maybe you won’t always be in the same situation.

The change that occurred over the last 10 years was so slow that I never saw the trend.

You won’t see it until it’s been a while. Then you see the little things that indicate change. It’s a sluggish, tedious process, but it happens, like hair or nail growth. In the meantime, it doesn’t necessarily get better or easier, but that’s okay. That’s what we do.

We survive.

We go against the odds.

We fear the unknown but we face it anyway.

Have you ever encountered people or situations that just make you doubt yourself and feel unimportant? Count me in that club.

Work has been a little rough lately, with taking on responsibilities way above my pay grade. I know, there’s a simple solution: stop doing things I don’t get paid enough to do. It’s definitely earned me some votes of confidence in regards to ascending to that role, but it’s also earned me some enemies.

By enemies I mostly mean self doubt and more anxiety. Sure, there are a few people there who I’m pretty sure don’t like me. And I know I shouldn’t let that be the defining “highlights” of my day to day. But when there’s no ladder in sight and the shadows grow bigger, you start to feel so small.

Maybe it would be easier to step down from what I’m doing, but the reasons I’m still going are my team and the opportunity arising. I know I’m good at what I do and people count on me, but maybe none of that is worth it. It’s definitely not worth staking my health on.

As I sit here and stare at the screen, I look at the title of the blog. My Chapters Are Beautiful. This is a pretty difficult chapter that I’m in, and that’s all it is. A chapter. My story doesn’t end here.

Whatever decision I make going forward needs to be for my benefit more than anyone else’s. Maybe I just need to step back and re-evaluate a few things. No one around me needs to understand me or my diagnosis. Doesn’t matter.

And it's been kind of terrifying.

I'm twenty-six years old and I know that's not old, and I'm not sure if I could call this a quarter life crisis. I think that's been the problem with my mind lately; I just don't know the person in the mirror anymore.

I mentioned the other day that I spoke to a counselor after a group session about wanting to get back to basics with my coping skills, and relearn them. She told me that it's probably not relearning them, per se, but finding new ones that work for me and who I am now. I've been thinking about that conversation ever since, because I feel it's shed a light on why I've been feeling the way I've been feeling lately.

It's almost like trying to put on your favorite shirt from when you were very young: it doesn't fit anymore. Right now that causes a panic in me for some reason. What if the reason I've been uninterested in things that used to bring me joy is because I've outgrown them?