A Ramble

One of the difficult things about recovery is quite hard to explain. You see, when you've been in pitch black darkness for a long time, even the smallest glimpses of light hurt your eyes and feel blinding. That's essentially how it is in recovery. It may seem strange, but being completely caught up in your struggles and illnesses has a certain comfort to it after a while. Don't get me wrong, being consumed in mental illness is nothing less than hell, but humans are creatures of habit, and we can essentially adapt to any sort of situation or lifestyle, no matter how uncomfortable and miserable it is. My "normal" day in 2014 (although each day was such a battle I can't really determine a true normal) was full of so much pain and suffering that was so difficult to cope with. Some days I would spend having panic attack after panic attack around the clock, meaning that I was so worn out and petrified that I couldn't leave my room. Then there were days where depression completely consumed me, and I retreated to my safe place, which is my room. I would lie in bed sobbing for hours on end, pausing only to resort to problem behaviors, such as self harm, overeating, or restricting. Unless you've had the extreme misfortune of experiencing it yourself, I can't even begin to explain what life with debilitating mental illness is like. I would wake up every single day and cry because I didn't die in my sleep. I would write essays in which I prayed to God for him to just take me away from this earth. I would sit on my bed by my window, staring down at the ground below my window, forever contemplating whether or not to jump. I don't remember a good portion of 2014 because I was so deep in my illnesses that I wasn't even completely conscious. My bedroom became my prison cell--it was one of the only places I felt safe, and at some points the mere idea of going downstairs or to other places in my house caused me extreme anxiety. Don't even get me started on what going out was like. When my mom dragged me out of the house to go grocery shopping with her, I would literally collapse, my limbs like noodles, because I was so overcome by anxiety that my body just shut down.

But I'm not here to reminisce on the hell that was my life this past year. My point is that every day was a living hell, and eventually the extreme pain I felt became commonplace. I went to bed knowing that the cycle of misery would repeat. I would collect sharp objects knowing that I would self harm again. So when you start to have successes in recovery, it feels really really strange. Often times when I feel happy it makes me very wary and suspicious, because it's such a foreign feeling. When I had those little moments of happiness, I would often end up being swallowed in anxiety because that emotion was so uncomfortable and unknown. I didn't trust the "happiness" I felt, because in my eyes it didn't matter, because I just expected my life to go back to darkness the next day. Soon it became sort of a twisted pattern. I would have a couple good days, maybe even an okay week, and then a horrible string of days would follow, as if to counter the good feelings with the bad ones I was so accustomed to. Even now, when the good days (well, "okay" days is probably more accurate) sometimes outnumber the bad ones, I still feel a little uncomfortable by the good emotions I feel.

Sometimes I also get the notion in my head that, because I have good days now, all of the misery and bad days I had in the past are suddenly invalid. When I feel fine, it's hard to imagine how low I felt, just as when you feel so down you can't possibly imagine being happy. I find that this concept applies to my trichotillomania as well. When I'm doing well and I have a dormant period, I get so upset with my past self for all the damage I did. I think to myself "if I can do it now, why couldn't I have done it then? I could have prevented all the hair loss and the mental repercussions that came along with it." I almost feel like I'm a fake, like I invented all of the bad days in my head and they never really happened. Now of course this is false, no one in their right mind would choose to be plagued with mental illness, but my mind plays all sorts of tricks on me, and this is one of them. When I have a string of good days, I sometimes feel guilty because it feels like I'm discrediting the bad days. In my wise mind I know that this is silly, and doesn't really make too much sense, but my mind is often so muddled that I usually can't see this.

I'm not entirely sure what point I'm trying to make here, or if I'm even making any sense. It's just that the good days in recovery can sometimes be very challenging as well, because it's such an unknown feeling. Just like I got used to the misery, I have to get used to the good days. The good that's in my life right now can sometimes make the bad days feel even worse. My mom made a good analogy about this the other day that's pretty spot on. She said that when you're driving on a bumpy road, each bump isn't out of the ordinary, and therefore each of the potholes and cracks don't stand out. But when you're driving on a smooth, freshly paved road and you hit a bad pothole, it feels like it's damaging your car because it's so out of place. I feel like that concept definitely applies to recovery.

Now, when I say I'm having good days, I'm in no way saying that things are all better. I still have depressive episodes, I still have strong urges to self harm, restrict, and purge, I still have bad panic attacks, I still get bald patches and thin spots in my hair--I'm still struggling. But the struggles I'm dealing with today are not to the severity that they were a few months ago. I'm not suicidal anymore, and I can't even begin to tell you how amazing that feels. To be okay with living, to wake up in the morning a little sad, but being able to cope with the fact that I'm on this earth and I'm not going anywhere is beautiful. I'm focusing more on the beauty and joy in life and the things I love, and it's truly helping. Things are still hard, but I'm functioning so much better than I used to. I'm able to get out of bed, get ready, and go to school, things that were completely impossible for a long time. I can resist the urges to self harm, I'm eating well and exercising, I'm focusing on self care and being kind to myself. One of my biggest struggles right now is body image, and the bad thoughts sometimes overwhelm me and stop me from functioning. But I'm able to bounce back so much quicker from the tough times, and I am so thankful that I didn't succeed in taking my life in 2014. I'm so happy that I have been resisting the self harm urges (I'm 2 whole months clean!), I'm not starving myself, I'm letting myself live, which is so amazing,

Life is hard, and I'm not happy, but I'm on my way. And for that I am so proud.