30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 4

Do you consider yourself addicted?  Why or why not?

That's a tough question I guess.  I am clean and haven't struggled much or wanted to for a while, but at the same time I haven't really gone through much to make me want to self harm.  If and when something does come up, I will probably struggle, but I know how to get through it and use my resources instead of self harming.  It's a crutch when you have nothing else to turn to.  At the time and in the moment it seems helpful, like a release or a rush, but when it's over it doesn't do too much to help anything.  You kinda cling to that 'in the moment' feeling.

I guess it is like an addiction...

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 3

What is your motivation to recover?

I don't want anymore self inflicted scars on my body.
-I want to become a role model and advocate for those who struggle with self harm.
-family
-friends
-my job; my athletes and my patients
-my boyfriend
-making myself proud
-being healthy

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 2

Question 2: What part of your body is most affected by it?

I always chose places that no one could see.  I used to cut my sides mostly.  My Alice in Wonderland tattoo covers up the marks on my right side, and I have a tattoo of the lyrics 'you will know me by the scars I bare' over the scars on my left side.  I've also used my thighs in the past.

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 1

So the 30 Day Self Harm Challenge is a list of 30 questions about your personal experiences with self harm.  I've decided to follow along with it and answer the questions daily via my blog.  My purpose is to raise awareness and/or help anyone in need.  As I usually note, these are my personal experiences, so if you have any questions or concerns, please come straight to me and not my family. I am not ashamed or scared to answer anything.  Also, let me remind you that I am clean and have been for a short while now.  So here goes!

Question 1: How long have you been self harming?  Discuss why you started.

Okay, this one's a tough one.  I remember the first time I cut myself in high school...maybe sophomore year, which is about 9 years ago.  it was mostly just to feel the experience.  I don't recall being very depressed at the time.  It started to get bad moreso when I was in college.  I was confused, not accepting of myself or the people around me, I had a 2 year failed relationship under my belt.  I can't really say for sure 'this is why I started.'  It just started happening.  

Home Is Where My Crazies Are

I've never actually been nervous to write a blog before, but this one is a little different.  A little more personal; a little more intense.

I'm sure some of you will have some questions for me.  Mostly because only my closest of friends and close family know about this.  I urge you, if you do have any questions or concerns, please bring them straight to me.  Don't go calling my mother and asking her 30 questions about my personal experience.  I'm not reluctant to talk about this with anyone who is curious.

This story is being told in hopes to maybe help others who continue to struggle, and maybe to help myself a little bit, in a way.

As you've seen in my more recent blogs, I had been struggling once again with my mental state.  On August 13th, my friend Kate came over to talk to me about my isuues.  I really hadn't been doing well.  Not eating much, anxious and nervous 24/7, no sleeping for weeks or having to take 2-3 doses of Zzzquil to get some rest, over exerting myself physically and mentally, crying all the time, both at home or at work, etc. In my mind, I was handling my depression and anxiety as well as possible.  I was exercising a ton (lifting and then running 3-4 miles a night to exhaust myself), writing, talking to friends, some family...I was running out of things to do in a healthy manner and none of it was controlling my stress and sadness.  It started to scare me that I couldn't be alone without freaking out.  When Kacey wasn't home, I was scared to be on my own.  I had panic attacks and mental breakdowns when I was by myself.  It had been weeks that I'd been feeling so overwhelmed and upset, I just couldn't take it anymore.

So anyways, like I said, Kate came over to talk to me about this, and possibly give me some advice and choices as to where I go next.  Basically, if I wasn't feeling better by the next day, she offered to take me to Windsor Laurelwood, which is a behavioral health center nearby my apartment.  My first thought was 'yeah right I'm not crazy,' of course.  I told her I'd make my decision in the morning, thinking I wouldn't even go there.  That night, I went for a 4 mile run, and walked 4 miles home.  I cried the whole walk home, knowing that I had to accept that I couldn't try to control this on my own anymore.  I needed help, and fast, or I was going to end up hurting myself or dead.

The next day rolled around and I really wasn't feeling much better.  I went to work in the morning, prepared for a long day of football two a days and soccer scrimmages.  I felt in a fog, trying to suck my tears back all day.  I called my psychiatrist to see if I could get an appointment ASAP to talk about getting back on medication.  The closest appointment was September 18th...well it was August 15th and I had a feeling I wouldn't even make it that long.  So I freaked out, texted Kate, and said I need to go to the hospital.  I called my soccer coach and broke down in front of him, I broke down in front of the principle, I called a coworker and had him talk to my boss.  I was preparing to take the rest of the week and weekend off to check myself into the hospital.

I drove home and got a call from my mom, asking if I was okay and if I thought that maybe I needed to get back on medication again.  I played it cool and lied.  I never wanted to admit defeat to my parents so I just told her I'm fine and we hung up with each other.  I got home and packed a bunch of clothes and whatnot.  I couldn't believe I was about to check into a mental hospital..

Kate picked me up and took me in.  I had to have an assessment done before they decided to admit me.  Telling someone I don't even know all of my feelings was weird.  I'm not sure she even cared, but Kate was next to me the whole time  while I cried and spilled my thoughts out.

The lady gave me a gown and socks.  I couldn't wear my clothes until they went through all of my personal belongings.  I had to say bye to Kate, knowing as soon as she left, she was going to call my mom and break the news.  When she walked out the door I lost it.  Walking through the cold white brick hallways, looking at the patients that I was going to be spending the next number of days with, just all so overwhelming.

They put me in a small room by myself, where I was talked to for about an hour by an older nurse.  She was very sweet and I could tell she cared, but I kept having to answer the same questions over and over.  'What was your plan to hurt yourself?'  'Are you homicidal?'  'What are you feeling?' 'Do you want to hurt yourself now?' Blah blah blah can I just take a minute to collect my thoughts and be alone???  Then they had to strip search me and mark down all of my tattoos, piercings, and scars.  'What are the scars from?'  Lady you already know the answer to that.  Move on.  After that, they put me in the little sitting area of our block (1500).  I sat down and cried.  I tried not to stare at all the patients and they walked by.  People were talking to themselves and acting weird and saying weird shit.  I was so freaked out I wanted to walk out and never come back.  An older lady started talking to me.  She was a patient, probably in her 60s.  She said she'd been there for a while, and kind of gave me the low down on some of the patients.  She introduced me to my roommate- a lady in her 80s wearing some bad ass sunglasses named Joyce.

Mid conversation- my parents both walked in.  I forgot the night I went in was the 1 night for visiting hours.  I can't even express or explain the way my heart dropped into my stomach when I looked at them.  Their daughter sitting in a hospital gown in a mental hospital...I immediately lost it and bawled my eyes out, grabbing for my mother to hug me.  She started crying, I could barely look at my dad, but I just cried and he held me.  After the awkward crying moments, we had a real conversation.  I explained to them what was going on in my head and heart, and my mom said 'Well I just want to tell you, Kate came over last night and told us what was going on.  You have a really good friend in her.' They said they saw me as strong for checking myself in, that not a lot of people have the strength to admit they need help.  They told me not to worry about anything at home or work, that now I need to concentrate on getting better.

Hugging them goodbye hurt, but it gave me relief that they knew and were supportive and helpful.  I could breathe easy knowing that I had nothing to worry about at home.  I asked a girl working there if I could have my clothes yet.  She asked if I wanted all my strings cut out of my shoes and pants.  Uhhh...leave my shoes alone but do what you must with my pants??? We weren't allowed to have strings or razors or anything like that apparently, woops.  The nurse gave me an Adavan to calm my nerves, and I was told I'd be seeing my doctor the next day to figure out my medications and all that good stuff.

I finally got my clothes and my room, and started writing.  I didn't know anyone so I really didn't want to leave my room, but then I heard the workers yelling 'courtyard,' so I went out to see what that meant.  Everyone was lined up to go outside so I joined and started talking to a few people.  I became close with a few people that night, just getting to know each other because we were all in the same situation.  These people seemed relatively normal compared to some of the other patients...so I decided I'd try to just hang with them for the rest of my stay.

We had to be in bed by 10:30 that night.  They gave me an Ambien to help me sleep, but it didnt help much when people walk into your door every 15 minutes to check on you.  They woke me up at 4am to take blood and my blood pressure. 

Finally, the next day, I got to talk to my doctor about everything.  He was very cool and helpful.  He got me started on Cymbalta during the day and Seroquil for night time.  I never wanted to be on medication again, but sometimes people just need it.  I had to accept it at that time.  I just wanted to feel better.

The rest of my stay there was kind of a blur.  It was kind of the same schedule for every day- breakfast lunch and dinner at the same time every day, group meetings 3 times a day, down time, outside time like 6 times a day, medicine at the same time every day, bed at the same time...

But like I said, I kind of made a crew during my stay.  There was this little group of people who hung out all the time- me, Tamara, Brandi, Brian, Bear, Jay, Mikey, Fay...we all kinda just kinda sat around and talked to each other about our past lives, our lives now, what we're in for, other random BS...we played spades and jenga every night.  Life didnt seem so bad surrounded by people with the same issues as yourself, or even worse issues.

Sometimes it got scary...Sometimes people had episodes, there was a few fights that got nerve wracking.  Some people got moved to higher security blocks. 

When Bear was asked why he was there, he told us he's on vacation.  I guess it was almost like a mini vacation with shitty food and a bunch of crazy strangers. 

My favorite memory of all time was when the nurse told me my parents were there to pick me up Sunday morning.  Everyone in the 1500 block slow clapped me out the door.  I'll never forget it. 

All I had to do was get better, and I did.  By the last day I was ready to go.  I was nervous to be home again, but ready to take all the stuff I learned and utilize it.   I will never forget the experience I had at Laurelwood.  I dont regret going, I dont feel weird talking about it anymore.  I needed help and I got it.  Not only from the doctor, the meds, or the group meetings, but from the friends I made there, and the friends and family on the outside world doing whatever it took to take care of my stuff while I was gone.

I am normal.  I'm not crazy. I am strong. 

I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes from a patient there.  He was a bit off, but arent we all?? "Guess what I got up my sleeve.  I gots myself up my sleeve."

Love you guys.

Open Ears and Open Eyes...

...Wake up to your starboard bride

Who goes in and then stays inside

Oh the demons come, they can subside.

On December 6, 2011, I wrote a blog about my best friend who had just been diagnosed with brain cancer.

I can't say how long it was that we had stopped talking.  We had a significant falling out with each other over some dumb stuff before she had a craniotomy, where they removed 80% of her tumor.  I had intentions of keeping in contact with her, even after the falling out, but our friendship slowly faded into the mist of time.

Earlier in the year, probably around March, she attempted to contact me via text, saying she would like to be friends, but with a hardened heart, I turned that idea away and wished her well after all that had happened between us.

That was probably the most selfish thing I've ever done. I just turned someone away who was my best friend and sister for years.  I couldn't leave the past in the past, forgive and forget, or move on.  Honestly, I had thought about what I said pretty much every day thereafter.

Tonight, I went out to dinner with my mom and two of my aunts that I don't see very often.  They usually get together for dinner only a few times a year to catch up.  Most of the time I have something else going on, but felt that I really needed this tonight because of shit that's been going on recently.

They asked if I was okay and said they were worried about me.  We talked about the usual family gossip, talked about jobs and friends and whatnot.  Then we came to talking about my cousin's suicide, which i also blogged about on March 28, 2012.  Talking about it is painful still, especially the fact that I have felt that low many times in my life, that I probably know how my cousin felt before she passed away.  The pain in my aunt's eyes as she stated that she can never get over this and how much she still thinks about it really got to me.  I held back tears as we talked about it, and again I was reminded how precious life is and how little time we have on this earth.  I was reminded never to take people for granted that love you, and never leave them behind, because you really just don't know when it's their time or your time.

During the conversation, I decided that it was time to text my old friend in attempt to apologize and try to maybe fix things if possible.  Somehow I remembered her number off the top of my head.  She immediately offered to have me over her apartment to talk tonight.  I was pretty taken aback by her open arms and willingness to get together.  I drove to her place and was pretty nervous.  I hadnt really spoken to her or seen her in probably close to a year, maybe more.  I wasnt sure if things would be awkward and silent, or if we'd just fall back into being like old times. 

She opened the door and I pretty much just wanted to cry, but our usual sarcastic and hilarious banter prevented any tears at the beginning.  We're still hilarious after all this time, just saying.  We talked about old funny and ridiculous memories.  She whipped out the Kwanza book I bought her for Christmas one year.  Yep that happened. 

But we got down to the actual deep conversation.  She told me things that she has been through and endured since her craniotomy.  All I could think was what a terrible person I was for not being there through everything and I cried and apologized a few times I believe.

We talked for over an hour and caught up on as much as possible.  She lent me some good advice about some of the stuff I am going through presently.  We always understood each other's stupid bullshit and that didnt seem to change much.  We promised to keep in touch and hang out and catch up.

I texted her when I got home to apologize again.  She said no need anymore, that all we can do from here on out is make up for lost time.

I feel relieved, thankful, and happy tonight, like another weight has lifted off my shoulders.  Stupid shit isn't worth losing a friend over, especially not a best friend.  Nothing's worth it.  Friendship is everything.  Losing a friend is just stupid.  It's stupid and should never happen, you know, unless they murder your family or whatever.

I want to continue to mend broken relationships that I once had, fix stupid shit in my life, and I want to continue to progress forward.

I have a lot of work to do in the near future, but I vow to do things to make life more enjoyable and happy. 

I want you all to read all this and think about your lives as well.  Call it a personal favor.

Goodnight <3

Can't

The word "can't" is such a subjective thing. 

How many times has someone told you that you can't?  Better question- how many times have you told yourself you can't?

We're all guilty of it, obviously myself included numerous times.

I had a pretty extensive shoulder surgery in May of 2012 after completing an 8 week cycle of training my ass off.  My labrum was torn from 12-6 oclock posteriorly, and on top of that, he tightened my shoulder capsule.  He told me I would never be able to bench or overhead press again.  I took that to heart, really, but assured myself I would again regardless.

After months and months of grueling and painful rehab, I lost a majority of the range of motion in my shoulder.  I was diagnosed with adhesive capsulitis, something people my age don't usually get.  I was supposed to have another surgery last November to scope out scar tissue and manipulate my shoulder to regain the range of motion I no longer had.  I, instead, chickened out, and had a less invasive (but probably more painful) procedure, where they injected my shoulder capsule with fluid until it burst open like a water balloon.  Well that failed as well, and I'm sitting here still stuck with less than satisfactory range of motion.

After over a year of not lifting a weight, and after all this bullshit I've been handed recently, a good friend and awesome trainer got me off my ass to start training with him at Titan's Gym.  I was reluctant at first because, a) I was extremely depressed and didnt want to do shit, b) was embarrassed at how undertrained I am, and c) didnt think I could lift heavy ever again because my doc told me I CANT.

I've only been back training for 5 days, and I can tell you that I squatted ass to grass with 95 lbs, benched 65, and deadlifted 155.  Not to mention, today I was able to overhead press with 2 20 pound dumbells.  None of these are even close to my old personal records, but they are all a great start, and a small amount of weight compared to where Jay and I will get myself. 

I was told I cant, and I fucking did, and I will continue to.


A few years back, my psychiatrist put me on 3 different medications- 2 for depression and 1 for anxiety.  My first question to her was "when will i be able to get off these medications?"  Her answer- "You will be on these for the long run." In other terms- you CANT get off them.

When I decided I wanted to get off of them, I emailed my psychiatrist to tell her I am taking myself off the medications.  All of them.  For good.  No more.  She told me I CANT without consulting with her first- which means another few doctor's visits, another stack of medical bills.  I never went back, and successfully took myself off the medications.  It took a long ass time, and I swear to science I thought I was going to die from the withdrawals, but I made it.  I've been off all medications since I think March of this year or around then. 

I was told I cant, and I fucking did. 

Yeah I may be struggling at this point.  I'm having bad and good days- right now, mostly bad, but that'll change one day. 

The gym has become my safe haven again.  Training again is making me both physically and mentally stronger every day.  When I walk into the gym, the anxiety and depression go away, and I walk out feeling confident and happy again.  Even if it's for a little while, having those few hours to be mentally and physically awesome helps.  And I swear to the almighty flying spaghetti monster- I WILL NOT GO BACK TO BEING ON MEDICATION.  EVER AGAIN.

So fuck the word can't.

Have a lovely evening and weekend.


Love you guys.  All of you.