Trying to get back to my old ways; trying to get back to all the hobbies of my old days
It’s all I’ve been hearing lately. From friends and family to colleagues, and ya best belief my therapist; they all resonate the same message — don’t play with peace of mind.
Peace of mind is a weird thing. For me, it’s weird for a lot of reasons. First, I didn’t know I had it until it was nearly jeopardized. Then there’s the whole aspect of living life thinking I’d never even touch the outer workings of whatever having ”peace of mind” was.
If you’ve read any of my posts in the past, you know my struggle with mental health and dealing with it in the midst of a 2 year strong fitness journey. It’s weird when those two worlds collide. It probably seems like they should be worked on simultaneously, and hey; maybe they should be. But for me, I got my body right, then flipped my world upside down, moved away from the place I rediscovered my passion and need for writing and, uh . . . mental breakdowns ensued.
I’m not here today to go back into my mental health journey from day 1. I am here to say it’s been 2 1/2 years since I began to seek help for these issues I was running into that were keeping me trapped inside my bedroom and inside my head. It’s been 2 1/2 years since I found a therapist who had an attitude but an even bigger heart; someone who I relate to, someone who never looked at me with judgement. She looked (and still does) at me as a person, who was hurting that needed help. That was having a hard time and needed some sort of direction because all I saw was grey.
I’ve seen two psychiatrists since seeking help, and it took about 6 months to even get to the point of following through with a consultation. I had general and social anxiety with a fresh side of panic disorder. I had a panic attack in the waiting room of my first psychiatrist’s office. That psych; that was not a good fit. That’s the thing with psychiatrists. While I believe that there are some who truly care about helping their patients in all ways possible (meaning: not everything needs a pill); but she wasn’t on of those.
I was taking 7 medications at one point in time. I shouldn’t have to say anything else other than that. I was another $ on the conveyor belt for her, and that didn’t sit right with me. I am happy to say that I now have a psychiatrist whom I love, who has helped me actually make progress with medicines, and has gotten me off all but 1 (and that’s because I wanted to stay on it).
I’m finally starting to feel like the person I was before my life was consumed by anxiety and panic; before I was too scared to leave my house to even hang out with my friends; before I bailed on concerts day-of because of anxiety and panic about not knowing every word to every song they *might* play.
I feel like a person again, and my calling as a writer has never been more clear. I’ve never been so sure about my potential, and have never felt so driven to get to where I want to be; wherever that is. Yeah, I fight back with people; yeah, I won’t walk away or sit down quietly. But that’s me. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve been my whole life. I will always question the messages from anyone in authority, and I will always fight back against things I believe in, no matter what they are
Recently, things have been a little rough in the seas I’ve been sailing in. Myself, personally; I feel strong. I feel solid. I feel like I’m on the right path, even though I can’t see the end of it. That, for once, doesn’t scare me. However, the ground around me has begun to shake; to crack. It has me questioning everything I once thought; everything I once knew to be true; everything I once believed. It has me playing with my peace of mind in order to help carve out a glimmer of someone else’s. It has me putting my growth at risk; and it’s scary.
There is a silver lining to this, though. I recognize these things could damage me. I see how quickly they could knock me on my ass. After all, the sea always has a mind of it’s own, and you never know quite how strong that undertow is until you’re caught within it. Being able to see this, to acknowledge it; that’s huge for me. I’m one to always put my own shit (language, I know) on hold when it comes to the needs of someone I love.
Too little too late is what I’m most afraid of. I’ll never give up hope on someone unless they give up hope on themselves.
To that point, I hope you never give up. I hope you seek someone out. I hope you have community to turn to when you can’t turn to those in your closest circle for fear of judgement, resentment, or misplaced blame. I hope you try.
Pretending we know things; I don’t know what happened, my natural reaction is that we’re scared — so I guess we’re scared.