Childhood Emotional Abuse

            I wasn’t going to write this blog but I need to take some of my power back. I’ve found it hard to create a flow with these words because trauma is messy and unpredictable but it’s time to create some space for my feelings of helplessness to tell their story. 

 

 I don’t often talk about the awful man who made my childhood much harder than it needed to be. I say I hated him and he was awful and leave it at that because I carry so much shame around how his treatment made me feel weak and powerless and never, ever good enough. How could I admit that I let someone, especially a man, make me feel small and insignificant? Even though I was only a child some part of me still believes I could have changed the situation so that he couldn’t hurt me or anyone else I loved.

 

Abuse, especially at a young age, steals your innocence, vulnerability, and trust. I had to grow up much faster than I should have and have trouble being open to affection. I find it hard to make eye contact when I feel positive and powerful emotions, saying l love you can be challenging, and seeing someone’s eyes soften with love makes me anxious and want to shut down. Why would someone love me? What do I need to do to deserve this love? When will they figure out how broken I am and run away?

 

I don’t remember a lot of the details of the abuse because I left my body so much as a child. My brain couldn’t compute why someone would treat their family with such anger and disrespect so it just shut down. I still have moments where I feel scared to take up space in my own home because when you’re convinced that you aren’t good enough at a young age there’s always that nagging voice that says, “Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m just kidding myself.” 

 

Emotional abuse is often hard to recognize because it’s weaved into a life that can look great on the outside. A garden full of flowers, church on Sunday, and trips around the world. The abuser can be well respected by their peers and do many positive things for their community. They can even be seen as a hero to some but this may not be the same person that calls you demeaning names because your shorts are too short.

 

            And where are the people who are supposed to protect you? Well, sometimes they are hiding with you because they don’t want to be shouted at either. It’s a messy situation where there are no easy answers and some days are really good. So good that you think maybe life is going to finally change… but then the next day you’re back hiding and crying in your closet. There is hate but there is also love and loyalty and your own sense of shame and guilt that you can’t somehow change yourself into the person they want you to be. That is, if they want you around at all. And sometimes they really don’t.

 

            But with 30 years of slow healing, I’ve found some of the gifts buried underneath all his hate and desperation. That time in my life helped me realize that I deserve only the most gentle, vulnerable, and sensitive love which I’ve found in my partner. It taught me that I can survive almost anything which gives me lots of space to take risks, fall on my ass, and get back up to chase my next dream. And finally, digging up all that pain gives me a seemingly endless pool of compassion and empathy for others who are suffering. 

 

It's Hard to Become Who You Are

It’s hard to become who you are. To take all the pieces of yourself that feel broken and love them back together. It’s often ugly and messy and forces you to sit down and admit you truly have no idea what you’re doing. You haven’t figured it all out, you could lose everything you hold dear tomorrow, and the only thing left to do is let go. 

 

It’s hard to become who you are. Reading all the inspirational memes that show up on your social media knowing how far away you are from that level of clarity and transformation. You feel overwhelmed by the thought that if you’re not fulfilling your spiritual destiny, you aren’t really living at all.

 

It’s hard to become who I am. To dream big and fall hard because I have no idea how to create a large life and still able to lay on the couch and watch Friends with the person I love most. I silently cry because I feel like I’m failing at sitting in my soul, living from my heart, and using the gifts I have been given. 

 

I am not the person leading the brigade to create a more loving world and inspiring the masses to be more than they think they could be. I am the person walking beside you and gently holding your trembling hand because I know how hard it is to try to become who you are. 

If My Inner Warrior Had a Voice

This is what my inner warrior wants me to hear but I'm often too busy, distracted, or angry at my limitations to really hear it. When I gave it space this is what it told me.

I try so hard, but you need to be gentler with me. I often feel like I'm drowning and sometimes you don't take care of me. Sometimes you get angry and resentful and can't see all the small steps I'm trying to take to make life easier. I can't explain to you how hard it is when you push me beyond my limits and then are surprised when you crash at the end of the day. I give you lots of hints that I just can't anymore, and you ignore them. I make your breathing shallow, I clench your stomach so tight you can't eat, and I slow down your thinking.

I need you to be patient with me when I'm barely holding on. Sometimes I'm coming undone and can't hold myself together anymore and shut down to survive. It's exhausting to try and keep the voices away while you want to come up with pithy lines to impress a potential editor.

I need you to listen to me. At night when I'm heavy and need to be released please let yourself sob and not distract yourself with Escape Room games on your phone. When I start to clench your fists and tense your shoulders let yourself hit a pillow or scream or dance it out. And when your body feels so heavy it takes effort to even breath let yourself lay down and rest.

I need you to see how far I've come. When you were younger, I could barely stop you from cutting yourself and taking all your pills but look at you now. Even when unwell you can still mostly function and that was damn hard to get to. Years of trying out different pills, therapy, honing coping skills, and learning to lean on others when you need help.

I need you to stop writing this blog. You want to make it longer or more impressive, but I am exhausted, and I need you to put away the computer and just rest.

5 Tips for Finding Motivation When Depressed

I just spent the last three hours playing online cards and watching You Tube dance videos instead of working on a short story due this week. Months ago, I was driven to finish the tasks and deadlines I set for myself and now I'm lucky if I write at all. I used to follow a strict schedule that included yoga, meditation, cleaning, writing, eating, exercising, etc. and now I only do about half the tasks. It's starting to occur to me that depression is moving back in. It can be hard to spot because it brings lots of baggage but only unpacks one shirt at a time. By the time I notice its presence my drawers are overflowing and I'm stuck in the muck and not sure what to do.

Sadly, life doesn't stop because I'm not well. After years and years of this cycle I've created some coping skills to try and keep productive and engaged with life when depressed. It's really difficult when my carpets are screaming for a hoover and my keyboard is covered in dust and all I want to do is lay in bed all day. So, here's a few things I do to motivate myself when unwell:

1)Sit with it. Whenever I want to move through something, I sit in my body and feel it. Right now, the grief and anger that are hiding under my current depression are crushing my chest and making my body feel so heavy it seems impossible to move forward. I'm angry that I'm not working towards my goals and sad because when apathy takes over, I don't care. It sucks to sit in the uncomfortable emotions but sometimes the only way through it, is through it.

2)Talk to someone. Sometimes I don't realize I've become so unmotivated until I start talking to someone about how their life is going and I realize mine has been put on hold again. When I get depressed, I get so distracted by my own inner monsters that I forget there is a whole world out there accomplishing things. I find that if I talk to a loved one about my depression, and how I'm feeling useless and like a failure, I don't have to carry around all that shame and I have more energy to be productive.

3)Create goals. I'm a goal-oriented person. I need to be working towards something or I get bored and lose all my creative juices. The goals don't have to be opening a bakery or becoming a lawyer; it can be having a shower and eating a meal. Right now, my goal is to work on blogs an hour a day and stories for thirty minutes. These are easy goals because if I can't accomplish them I just get angry with myself, become hopeless, and go back to watching Jennifer Lopez convince me she 'Ain't Your Mama'.

4)Just start. Sometimes I have to start doing the tasks no matter how I feel and hope it gets easier. I find the hardest step is the first step. The good thing about starting is that it can give me the motivation to keep going. That one shower makes me feel good enough to add on a meal. This path may be slow, but each step is one step closer towards my goals and farther from hours of online crib. I understand when really unwell this can be horribly difficult so maybe giving yourself compassion and forgiveness can be the goal for that day.

5)Celebrate the good days and forgive yourself for the rest. Some days I can do yoga, exercise, eat three meals, and write for three hours and the next I can barely have a shower and eat a single meal but I keep trying. Honestly, I'm still working on this tool. I'm actually better at forgiveness than celebration but giving myself high fives is starting to get easier.

What I Want To Say To My Psychiatrist But Am Scared To

Dr Psychiatrist:

 

I’ve been waiting an hour for a 7-minute appointment. 3 minutes to chat and 4 minutes for you to look at my chart and write my prescription. I comment that your office is too hot, and you squint at the thermostat and say something about how you’re waiting for the maintenance man. This is the first step in our prescription dance.

 

“How are you doing, Brandi?” He asks as he crosses his legs and slowly pulls at the seam of his dress pants. He removes a piece of lint that isn’t there.

 

This is what I say: “I’m ok.” 

 

This is what I want to say: I can’t make it through one day without crying hysterically and sometimes it looks like the ceiling is stretching like taffy. But I want you to be proud, so I lie. I want you to look at me with a smile that reaches your eyes like you did before I became a complicated patient. Are you still proud of how hard I work to stay stable? Were you proud because you had done a good job or because I had? Please don’t put me in the psyche ward again.

 

“How’s work?” He asks while distracted by an email that’s popped up on his computer.

 

This is what I say: “Um. It’s going ok.” 

 

This is what I want to say: I’m barely hanging on at work. When I get really overwhelmed, I have to close my office door and hide under my desk. I cover my ears and repeat to myself that I’m safe until I can breathe again. Sometimes I go home and just sit in my closet and cry. Luckily me and my husband own the business or else I would be fired.

 

“How’s your sleep?” He asks.

 

This is what I say: “It’s not great but I’ll be ok.”

 

This is what I want to say: Each night I struggle to sleep. I’ve tried to plan out the exact time to take my pills so I can fall asleep at 9pm, but not wake up at 3am. Still, I wake up at 12am, then 4am, and it takes me 30-60 minutes to fall back asleep. I get up and move to the couch so that I can listen to a show on YouTube about serial killers or plane crashes because that seems to lull me into sleep.

 

“How’s your weight?” He asks.

 

This is what I say: “I’ve lost some weight.”

 

What I want to say: I wear hoodies to these appointments to hide my bulges because you’ve hurt me in the past with comments about my weight. Of course, I need to lose weight, but first I need you to hear and validate how much I’m struggling. I know your job isn’t to validate, but do you know how much your patients want to hear it? Just a quick, ‘That sounds hard, but I can see you’re really trying.’ Because trust me when I say, most of us are trying our asses off.

 

“How are you doing overall?” He asks.

 

What I usually say: “It’s manageable.” Because this is what you want me to say. If I don’t say this, we have a conversation about how I feel my anxiety is unmanageable and you, in a dismissive and frustrated tone, say, “Brandi, you know there will always be symptoms and we’ve tried so many meds with you.”

 

But, after taking a deep breathe, this is what I said this last appointment: “So, here’s the thing. I’ve tried everything I can think of. Yoga, meditation, decreasing caffeine, eating healthier, more exercise and I can’t make these symptoms leave. I know you say that there will always be some symptoms and I try really hard but at some point, I just can’t do it on my own.”

 

I don’t think you mean to, but the frustration you have with my complicated case comes across as if I’m failing. As if I’m sitting at home trying to figure out ways to stop the pills from working and excited to try a new cocktail. A new colorful collection of pills that will give me a tremor and nausea but help enough to overlook the side effects. This new cocktail will work for a few months, if I’m lucky, and then we have to adjust them again. The truth is that I’m far more disappointed and frustrated than you are. I’m sure I’m not on your mind when you go home for dinner, but your disappointed voice swims through my head for weeks.

 

I know the older I get the harder it is to treat me. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe we take a picture of my brain and see what lights up? Maybe I take one of those GeneSight tests to see what meds would probably work best? Maybe we try decreasing Seroquel, stopping Lamictal, or increasing Wellbutrin? What if I take my meds standing on my head at 4am in a clown costume? I’m willing to try anything at this point. Are you?  

 

From you’re complicated patient, 

Brandi

 

5 Hacks for Eating When Depressed or Anxious

You wake up feeling like you’re covered in cement and even breathing takes a lot of effort. After snoozing the alarm five times you get up in a fog. You swallow your meds medley, glare at your toothbrush, and go into the kitchen because you’re supposed to have something to eat but find it’s too overwhelming.

Or,

You wake up two hours early and start googling all the diseases you could have or all the ways the world is falling apart. There is no cement, but a boa constrictor is slithering into your bed and squeezing the air out of you. Your mouth is a desert, the drummer for Slayer is beating on your heart, and your clothes are soaked. You swallow your meds medley, glare at your toothbrush, and go into the kitchen because you’re supposed to have something to eat but you’re nauseous.

Eating can seem impossible when unwell and that sucks. It really, really sucks. You may be nauseous, overwhelmed by the choices, or too exhausted to pour cereal and milk into a bowl. (Let alone use a spoon!) I understand the struggle so deeply and I’m right there with you. You are definitely not alone in eating challenges.

So, here are some eating hacks I’ve learned to keep from perishing.

1)Small and simple. If I have to use a knife and fork to cut it or find a pot to cook it, it’s too complicated. I look at eating as an all-day snack. Anything I can get into my body with any sort of nutritional value is a win. If it means nuts and milk for breakfast, cheese for a morning snack, Boost for lunch, grapes for an afternoon snack, and chicken nuggets for dinner then I’ve been successful. If I try and get too complicated with what foods I think I should eat, then I just get overwhelmed and can’t eat anyway. Be gentle with yourself. It can be so overwhelming to prepare and eat food when all you want to do is crawl back into bed or throw up. Do what you can and then celebrate the hell out of it.

2)Protein. Protein. Protein. Now, I’m no nutritionist or dietician but protein seems important. When we have no energy, it can give us enough fuel to take a shower or brush our teeth. I tend to gag a lot when my anxiety is at an all-time high, so I find it hard to swallow whole foods. For this reason, liquid nutrients are my go-to and I always have Boost in my fridge. If you can get your hands on a protein shake or smoothie (preferably made by someone else) that’s great. Other foods with high protein that are easy to eat are cheese, yogurt, nuts, oats, milk, broccoli, tuna, beans, hemp seeds, sun-dried tomatoes, and pumpkin seeds.

3)Be prepared. Almost all my coping skills have some version of being prepared. It’s easier to come up with solutions when your brain isn’t fuzzy and tummy cranky. For me, it’s all about having food that’s easy to find, make, and eat. Microwave meals are a good example. They aren’t cordon bleu prepared BUT it’s better than stale crackers under the couch. You can also fill your freezer with leftovers, get pre-cut fruits and veggies, and stock up on protein bars, cereals, mixed nuts, crackers and cheese, yogurt, and have Domino’s on speed dial. It also helps me to have some favorite foods in the cupboard because I’m more willing to eat them. On really bad days if all I can eat is Cheetos and chocolate then that’s what I do. I show up the best I can every day and hope that’s enough.

4)Ask for help. I know this can be really hard, especially when we already feel ashamed because we’re unable to take care of ourselves. But, often loved ones want to help and don’t know how. They see how much we’re suffering and can’t hug or talk or love us out of it, so this gives them something concrete to do. It also creates a chance for reciprocal vulnerability. When we start to feel better and they need help, they may be more likely to come to us because they know we won’t judge them. As someone who sees the ceiling stretch like taffy and hangs in the psyche ward, there is no room for judgement on my part.

In the vein of asking for help, I asked my husband for some ideas for how loved one’s can help.

5)Guidance for loved one’s. He says aim for finger foods and smaller portions because lots of food on a plate can be overwhelming. Cook simple meals that are easy to digest and if they need someone to cut up their meat then do it with patience and compassion. Most important, don’t guilt or shame the person into eating. Be there to provide the food when needed but don’t be pushy about it.

Extreme Health Anxiety

1 Day

5am: I’m frantically googling the percentage of people diagnosed with lymphoma at stage 4, the life expectancy of lymphoma under 40, and rare side effects of chemotherapy.

1pm: I’m giving myself a Romberg Test I saw on You Tube to see if I have sensory ataxia.

7pm: I’m measuring my blood pressure in 8-minute intervals to see if I have orthostatic hypotension. I take it 5 minutes after laying down, 30 seconds after standing up, and 2 minutes after I sit. I lay, I sit, I stand, lay, sit, stand, lay, sit, stand. My left arm is covered in red scratches from scraping the machine cuff on and off.


7 Days

Monday: I’m bent over the toilet with my iPhone flashlight examining my poo to see if it’s black, pencil thin, smeared with blood, yellow, floating, fatty, or covered in mucus.

Tuesday: I’m taking many, many pictures of my poo. I do it with the lights on and off and then the flash on and off to get the most detailed pictures. I rush to the computer to compare it to the images of colon cancer found on medicinenet.com, webmd.com, and cancer.org.

Wednesday: I’m hiding in my closet and meticulously searching my breasts for lumps, swelling, thickening, dimpling, red nipples, nipple discharge, and pulling near the nipples.

Thursday: I’m taking pictures of my breasts from all angles and swiping back and forth between them to find the most detailed. I want to make sure I have the clearest one to compare to the breast cancer images found on healthline.com, mayoclinic.org, and cdc.gov.

Friday: In secret, I’m downloading a microscope app to examine my skin for moles that are asymmetrical, have irregular borders, are bleeding, waxy, scabbing, scaly, or red.

Saturday: I download an app that diagnoses moles, and it finds something suspicious. I anxiously wait until Monday to call my dermatologist in case I have squamous cell carcinoma, basil cell carcinoma, or melanoma.

Sunday: The day of rest.

12 Months

January: I’m waiting an hour in my doctor’s waiting room for him to fill out a requisition form for a complete blood count, basic metabolic panel, and lipid panel. He says, “40 is when things start to go wrong.”

February: I’m playing phone games for two hours as I wait in line to have a diagnostic mammogram and breast ultrasound. My doctor is concerned and says, “Your sister died young from breast cancer. We just need to be careful.”

March: I’m at my optometrist’s office for a full exam and she tells me to come back immediately if I start to see lots of floaters or flashing lights. “That means your retina is detaching,” she explains.

April: A month off from diagnostic tests.

May: I’m sitting frozen on an exam table in a blue gown, naked from the waist up. My doctor hands me an ultrasound requisition form because, although he can’t feel a lump, “It’s hard to feel breast cancer in young women. Always come in as soon as you think you feel something!”

June: I’m starving for 12 hours because my bowels have to be spotless for my flexible sigmoidoscopy. My internist has me in the fetal position, in agony, searching my rectum and lower colon for inflammation, ulcers, abnormal tissue, polyps, and cancer. My mom warns me, “Brandi, colon cancer runs in our family.”

July: I’m once again naked and freezing, waiting for the dermatologist to inspect my body for suspicious lesions because my mom said, “Me and all four of your siblings had skin cancer.”

August: My doctor is on holiday’s.

September: I’m pinched by an IV for 3 hours to prepare for a polypectomy and a Dilation and Curettage. My gynaecologist is searching for uterine polyps because, “I see something suspicious on your ultrasound.”

October: My neurologist is sending me for a CT scan because she says, “Your numbness, tremor, and tingling are probably just anxiety but let’s rule out any sort of brain lesion.” 

November: I’m naked again, freezing again, waiting for my gynecologist to scrape my cervix because he says, “Cervical cancer is rare, but you never know.”

December: Everyone’s on Christmas vacation.

I don’t want to know all these terms and symptoms and yet here I am. I’ve never been diagnosed with any of these diseases, but sometimes I live like I’m preparing to die.