Today I heard a story about a student dealing with anxiety. She doesn't generally have problems at school, but a meeting was called to create a plan in case she does have problems at school. Most of the teachers saw the meeting as pointless because the student hasn't had problems at school. Upon hearing the story, one of my peers immediately blurted that since the student was having problems at home, it was the parents' problem to figure out. The attitudes implicated were that the parents had no right to call such a meeting. It was a waste of the teachers' time. It wasn't their problem to deal with. It makes me both sad and angry to know that this happened and that these attitudes exist. Because treating a mental health issue this way doesn't work. I'm living proof.
I was always academically successful in school. And most any issues I had that could have been early warning signs of depression and social anxiety, I was often able to bottle up until I got home. Because home was my comfort zone. Because I knew whatever I said or did at home, my parents would still love me. I wasn't so sure about the outside world. I'm still not sure about the outside world most days, in fact. But that's my social anxiety talking, and I'm working on it.
Things for me didn't really become an issue until I started high school. My sophomore year of high school was difficult. After years of loving
and trusting almost all of my teachers, one teacher's disrespect for
anyone different from him left me in fear of all my teachers. I entered
my junior year that way and was also met with an intensely difficult
course load. In addition, my greatest rock at school had gone off to
college, and I was facing a dark epiphany about the inner-workings of my
church. Then in the midst of this already difficult year, the only
teacher I wasn't at all leery of at the time, committed suicide. I
wasn't as close with him as other students were, but the event still
hit me hard and sent my year into a deeper spiral.
The school had encouraged students to talk to the counselor to work through the grieving process. Since I wasn't ever in that inner choir circle, I felt like I didn't have the right to get help, or even express my emotions around students who had known our choir director better. Furthermore, I had been convinced for a year that I was never going to have depression. I threw myself into schoolwork, and let everything out when I was at home
I've known for a while that my parents had tried talking to my school counselor about getting help for me, and that my parents had been frustrated at the response of my counselor and later my principal. I didn't learn until a few days ago that my parents went as far as to schedule an appointment for me with my school counselor; she later canceled the appointment for unknown reasons. My parents tried to reschedule said appointment, and she never got back to them. Later, my parents discussed this occurrence with my principal who listened intently and proceeded to do nothing. Suddenly the term "failing school" has new meaning in my mind.
I don't know why what happened to me did, but I've always suspected that since I was doing fine academically and I never disrupted the class, I must be okay. Maybe a little sensitive, but I'd grow out of it eventually. I think, at least to some extent, I believed that for a long time.
But there seems to be this general attitude that if a student is doing fine in school and doesn't get into any trouble, then they must not have any problems. Because students with problems exhibit poor grades. Students with problems get into trouble. But that's not true. I'm living proof.
When I heard the story about a student with anxiety, I saw a piece of myself in her. But she's luckier than I was. Because someone at the school determined that her anxiety was important enough to schedule a meeting to plan how to deal with it if it becomes a problem at school. Because she has a good relationship with her school counselor.
But somewhere along the line, attitudes have to change. Teachers shouldn't be blowing off mental health issues just because the issues don't affect a student's time in the classroom. Problems have a way of eventually spilling over into entire lives if not handled effectively to begin with. Not that it's fully a school problem. Or a teacher problem. That's the world I have been and will be immersed in my whole life, so I notice it more there. It's a societal issue. And it has to change.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
And Then The Fear Kicks In
When I'm having good days, I can feel so gung-ho. When I'm having bad days, I feel afraid. The social anxiety and depression have always been worse when I'm already run down. I haven't slept well since returning to Concordia, and today most anything that could go wrong did go wrong, with the exception of the time I spent at school. And tonight when I took a chance and stated my new passion, even in a vague way, I felt dumb.
There I was in a class about diversity, mostly revealing discrimination based on non-majority status in any aspect of a person's life. We were supposed to find something in ourselves that we had in common with Martin Luther King Jr. And here I was, a white, middle class, academically-gifted young woman attending a prestigious private college saying that I had experienced wrongs and mistreatment, had seen others treated the same way for the same reasons, and wanted to fix it. I felt so dumb afterwards. Everything that comes out of my mouth in that class feels dumb. Because unlike my peers, I've never been one to really explore and defend traditional minority groups. Put rather bluntly: I've never been liberal, and I'm one of the only education majors I know who isn't liberal. After feeling dumb for a while, I hit my breaking point, and, avoiding the panic attack that would disrupt the entire class, I burst into tears. At least this time I had a professor who not only noticed but was understanding.
But I still feel dumb. Because I know no one else understands. But how could they? The reason that we have classes about diversity and special education is that there exists an acknowledgement that at some point in time, discrimination has existed against different races, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and disabilities. But no one has figured out the mental illness thing yet, partially because it's never been overt. There aren't signs outside of public places saying that people with mental illnesses can't enter. There aren't job openings that explicitly state "people with mental illnesses need not apply." People with mental illnesses are not segregated from the rest of society in any way shape or form. There are no laws written against people with mental illnesses.
But that doesn't mean that the stigma, prejudice, and alienation aren't there. People start treating me differently when they find out. Some become overly cautious around me, asking me all the time if I'm really doing okay. I can't have a mildly bad day without it being because of my depression or anxiety. Others decide they don't want to be around me. When I start exhibiting any symptoms, they ignore my existence completely. When I've told people I deal with depression they tell me it's my own fault; I've been told I just need to stop being so uptight or that I need to fill my day with more God time. The fact that once I found the right medication after nearly a year of trying tells me that the reason I experience depression is a chemical imbalance in my brain. When I tell people about things that are daily struggles for me, I've been told that I just need to suck it up because they're life skills that I'll have to have by the time I enter the real world next year. I'm well aware that I don't have those skills, and I'm working on it. But, like some recognized disabilities, I have to work a lot harder to gain those skills, both because I first have to unlearn all the damaging coping devices I've taught myself for the last decade and because I need to work through all the physical discomforts I face as well as work through cognitive therapy in order to do the things that most people learn by now. Even worse is when I have a small breakthrough that I'm excited about, and I'm told it's not good enough because it's not the full-fledged life skill that I need to attain.
I've recently gone looking for information about mental health stigma online. I read one blog about the mentally "normal" majority having a problem with those of us who struggle with mental illness because we can seem so normal, and therefore, people who are mentally "normal" could turn out to be just like those of us who have a mental illness. I don't doubt that experience, but I can't say that it's one that I share. To me, the fact that mental illness is invisible is the problem. The judgement that comes about mental illness, then, remains as invisible as the mental illness itself.
And when I have a chance to logic it out, I don't feel so dumb anymore. I still feel the passion for taking a stand so that mental illness is made visible in the world and so that the whole of society becomes more knowledgeable about mental illness. If the class period I sat through tonight were to be repeated, I want a student to say that they tell other people it's wrong to treat someone as less of a person because they deal with mental health issues the same way that my classmates said tonight that they tell others not to treat someone as less of a person because they are of a different race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc. Because even though I'm a white, middle class, academically-gifted young woman attending a prestigious private college, I've been ignored, avoided, and judged based on my mental illnesses and their physical manifestations. And how can that be right?
So the thing that frustrates me most is that it's my mental illness itself that prevents me from pursuing my passion. But I also like to hope that it's my passion that helps me learn how to cope with my mental illness.
There I was in a class about diversity, mostly revealing discrimination based on non-majority status in any aspect of a person's life. We were supposed to find something in ourselves that we had in common with Martin Luther King Jr. And here I was, a white, middle class, academically-gifted young woman attending a prestigious private college saying that I had experienced wrongs and mistreatment, had seen others treated the same way for the same reasons, and wanted to fix it. I felt so dumb afterwards. Everything that comes out of my mouth in that class feels dumb. Because unlike my peers, I've never been one to really explore and defend traditional minority groups. Put rather bluntly: I've never been liberal, and I'm one of the only education majors I know who isn't liberal. After feeling dumb for a while, I hit my breaking point, and, avoiding the panic attack that would disrupt the entire class, I burst into tears. At least this time I had a professor who not only noticed but was understanding.
But I still feel dumb. Because I know no one else understands. But how could they? The reason that we have classes about diversity and special education is that there exists an acknowledgement that at some point in time, discrimination has existed against different races, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and disabilities. But no one has figured out the mental illness thing yet, partially because it's never been overt. There aren't signs outside of public places saying that people with mental illnesses can't enter. There aren't job openings that explicitly state "people with mental illnesses need not apply." People with mental illnesses are not segregated from the rest of society in any way shape or form. There are no laws written against people with mental illnesses.
But that doesn't mean that the stigma, prejudice, and alienation aren't there. People start treating me differently when they find out. Some become overly cautious around me, asking me all the time if I'm really doing okay. I can't have a mildly bad day without it being because of my depression or anxiety. Others decide they don't want to be around me. When I start exhibiting any symptoms, they ignore my existence completely. When I've told people I deal with depression they tell me it's my own fault; I've been told I just need to stop being so uptight or that I need to fill my day with more God time. The fact that once I found the right medication after nearly a year of trying tells me that the reason I experience depression is a chemical imbalance in my brain. When I tell people about things that are daily struggles for me, I've been told that I just need to suck it up because they're life skills that I'll have to have by the time I enter the real world next year. I'm well aware that I don't have those skills, and I'm working on it. But, like some recognized disabilities, I have to work a lot harder to gain those skills, both because I first have to unlearn all the damaging coping devices I've taught myself for the last decade and because I need to work through all the physical discomforts I face as well as work through cognitive therapy in order to do the things that most people learn by now. Even worse is when I have a small breakthrough that I'm excited about, and I'm told it's not good enough because it's not the full-fledged life skill that I need to attain.
I've recently gone looking for information about mental health stigma online. I read one blog about the mentally "normal" majority having a problem with those of us who struggle with mental illness because we can seem so normal, and therefore, people who are mentally "normal" could turn out to be just like those of us who have a mental illness. I don't doubt that experience, but I can't say that it's one that I share. To me, the fact that mental illness is invisible is the problem. The judgement that comes about mental illness, then, remains as invisible as the mental illness itself.
And when I have a chance to logic it out, I don't feel so dumb anymore. I still feel the passion for taking a stand so that mental illness is made visible in the world and so that the whole of society becomes more knowledgeable about mental illness. If the class period I sat through tonight were to be repeated, I want a student to say that they tell other people it's wrong to treat someone as less of a person because they deal with mental health issues the same way that my classmates said tonight that they tell others not to treat someone as less of a person because they are of a different race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc. Because even though I'm a white, middle class, academically-gifted young woman attending a prestigious private college, I've been ignored, avoided, and judged based on my mental illnesses and their physical manifestations. And how can that be right?
So the thing that frustrates me most is that it's my mental illness itself that prevents me from pursuing my passion. But I also like to hope that it's my passion that helps me learn how to cope with my mental illness.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Preventing This From Happening Again
Think of this as an afterthought to my previous post. Because I'm frustrated and flat out angry. Because, looking back, the way my mental health issues were dealt with shouldn't have happened that way. My depression could have been diagnosed by age 16. My social anxiety could have been diagnosed by the time I was in 3rd grade. The general anxiety alone didn't rear its ugly head until I was in college, but at least someone saw all the warning signs more than a year before, but only after she had dealt with the same. My mom was the only one who ever saw the other two. But she shouldn't have been.
I cried through at least one class at least twice a week all the way through my sophomore year. And no one seemed to notice. Only once did I have a teacher talk to me about it and then excuse me to the bathroom. Sure you could try to pinpoint situational reasons behind it, but I think that was the beginning of depression. With as much time as I spent at school each day, you'd think that one of my teachers could have noticed warning signs. But I wasn't suicidal. And my grades remained high. I had friends. In my teacher education courses, I've never been taught to look for anything else. But that doesn't mean that it's right.
I remember the first time my classmates teased me for being less than perfect, and I get sick to my stomach. I remember teachers reprimanding me for little things, an I get sick to my stomach. I remember confrontations with people, and I get sick to my stomach. I learned avoidance at a young age. I rarely raise my hand in class for fear of being wrong, though I commonly had the right answer. It took taking a public speaking class to diminish my fear of public speaking, though the fear comes back when someone whose opinion I deem important is in the room. I fear conflict to the point of feeling physically sick when I even think it might be coming. I rarely participate in discussions, formally or informally, because when people disagree with me, I fear I may lose their approval. I've spent the last 7 years in courses that grade partially based on participation, and my desire to achieve is overcome by fear of how people will see me if I don't answer the way they think I should. It's not that I'm just shy, and it's not that I lack a desire to participate. It's that I'm afraid. I'm anxious. I learned avoidance as a coping mechanism for such things by the time I was 10. I wasn't diagnosed with social anxiety until I was 21 and a half. It's hard to unlearn habits that I've had for over half my lifetime. Not to mention the lack of time my responsibilities in college allow for such things. Given, I think that the concept of social anxiety is still new in and of itself. But didn't anyone ever wonder why such a high achiever was willing to put forward 110% for every part of a class except participation? I just feel like someone should have been able to see it. Someone should have wondered if there was something more going on there. But nothing.
Part of the problem is: I have functioned very well for a person with mental health issues. The lowest report card marking I've ever gotten was a B+. I've rarely missed school/class because of my mental health issues. I've been involved in numerous extracurricular activities. I have friends. So most of the warning signs that people are taught to watch for simply aren't there. But that doesn't mean that I live my days without struggling. Most every day I struggle with something related to my mental health. So who would ever notice?
My experience can't be unwritten. What's done is done, and I'm working through my own struggles the best that I can right now. But that doesn't mean that it should happen to someone else. The problem is: little has changed since my time growing up. People are still uninformed. People are still unwilling to talk about the uncomfortable. Teacher education programs still cover little more about mental health than a high school health class. Nothing has changed. But it needs to.
Mental health issues, even among the most functional people, reduce quality of life. Because of social anxiety, I've dropped out of and/or avoided activities I was interested in, sat alone at meals because I didn't know if people I was kind of friends with actually wanted me to join them, procrastinated making contact with schools and teachers for every clinical experience I've had in my teacher education program, rarely stated my true opinion when talking even with my friends, rarely asked for help when I needed it, received lower grades than my potential allows for for avoidance of participating, etc. These are all normal parts of life that most people have little problem with. But I do. It's something that I have to work through now, but I wish I had worked through when it first became a problem over a decade ago. That doesn't mean someone else ever needs to face the same thing.
So maybe I'll start by posting a link to this on Facebook. Or posting links about mental health issues on Facebook. Someday when I'm working in a school, I hope to bring in a mental health in-service program for school professionals put on by the National Alliance for Mental Illness. Maybe if I decide to get my doctorate and become an education professor at a college, I can work to bring mental health awareness into the teacher education system. But mostly, I'm going to watch for students like me because more than I don't want to see people have to walk the same road that I have, I don't ever want it to happen on my watch.
I cried through at least one class at least twice a week all the way through my sophomore year. And no one seemed to notice. Only once did I have a teacher talk to me about it and then excuse me to the bathroom. Sure you could try to pinpoint situational reasons behind it, but I think that was the beginning of depression. With as much time as I spent at school each day, you'd think that one of my teachers could have noticed warning signs. But I wasn't suicidal. And my grades remained high. I had friends. In my teacher education courses, I've never been taught to look for anything else. But that doesn't mean that it's right.
I remember the first time my classmates teased me for being less than perfect, and I get sick to my stomach. I remember teachers reprimanding me for little things, an I get sick to my stomach. I remember confrontations with people, and I get sick to my stomach. I learned avoidance at a young age. I rarely raise my hand in class for fear of being wrong, though I commonly had the right answer. It took taking a public speaking class to diminish my fear of public speaking, though the fear comes back when someone whose opinion I deem important is in the room. I fear conflict to the point of feeling physically sick when I even think it might be coming. I rarely participate in discussions, formally or informally, because when people disagree with me, I fear I may lose their approval. I've spent the last 7 years in courses that grade partially based on participation, and my desire to achieve is overcome by fear of how people will see me if I don't answer the way they think I should. It's not that I'm just shy, and it's not that I lack a desire to participate. It's that I'm afraid. I'm anxious. I learned avoidance as a coping mechanism for such things by the time I was 10. I wasn't diagnosed with social anxiety until I was 21 and a half. It's hard to unlearn habits that I've had for over half my lifetime. Not to mention the lack of time my responsibilities in college allow for such things. Given, I think that the concept of social anxiety is still new in and of itself. But didn't anyone ever wonder why such a high achiever was willing to put forward 110% for every part of a class except participation? I just feel like someone should have been able to see it. Someone should have wondered if there was something more going on there. But nothing.
Part of the problem is: I have functioned very well for a person with mental health issues. The lowest report card marking I've ever gotten was a B+. I've rarely missed school/class because of my mental health issues. I've been involved in numerous extracurricular activities. I have friends. So most of the warning signs that people are taught to watch for simply aren't there. But that doesn't mean that I live my days without struggling. Most every day I struggle with something related to my mental health. So who would ever notice?
My experience can't be unwritten. What's done is done, and I'm working through my own struggles the best that I can right now. But that doesn't mean that it should happen to someone else. The problem is: little has changed since my time growing up. People are still uninformed. People are still unwilling to talk about the uncomfortable. Teacher education programs still cover little more about mental health than a high school health class. Nothing has changed. But it needs to.
Mental health issues, even among the most functional people, reduce quality of life. Because of social anxiety, I've dropped out of and/or avoided activities I was interested in, sat alone at meals because I didn't know if people I was kind of friends with actually wanted me to join them, procrastinated making contact with schools and teachers for every clinical experience I've had in my teacher education program, rarely stated my true opinion when talking even with my friends, rarely asked for help when I needed it, received lower grades than my potential allows for for avoidance of participating, etc. These are all normal parts of life that most people have little problem with. But I do. It's something that I have to work through now, but I wish I had worked through when it first became a problem over a decade ago. That doesn't mean someone else ever needs to face the same thing.
So maybe I'll start by posting a link to this on Facebook. Or posting links about mental health issues on Facebook. Someday when I'm working in a school, I hope to bring in a mental health in-service program for school professionals put on by the National Alliance for Mental Illness. Maybe if I decide to get my doctorate and become an education professor at a college, I can work to bring mental health awareness into the teacher education system. But mostly, I'm going to watch for students like me because more than I don't want to see people have to walk the same road that I have, I don't ever want it to happen on my watch.
What I'm Starting to Realize
Most of the people around me don't understand mental health. I mean, people understand the concept of getting help for someone they think is suicidal, but that's about it. All too often, when I'm having a bad depression day, most people either put on the kid gloves or ignore me completely. For the record, both of those reactions tend to be more harmful than helpful, at least for me. Putting on the kid gloves makes me feel suffocated; just because I'm having a bad day, doesn't mean that my world is going to collapse. Not to say that I couldn't use a little support, or at least something less than avoidance, which is what I get more often than anything else. Junior year was the worst for me depression-wise. My depressive mood was at its height and it took nearly a year to find the right medications. I cried at the drop of a hat, which often led to crying through classes because, quite frankly, if I hadn't gone to class every time I cried, I probably would have missed half my classes that year. And everyone around me avoided me in every way possible. And the preexisting feelings of not fitting in were only reinforced. Over a year later, I had a day where, completely exhausted and stressed, I knew I had reached that point where I was going to burst into tears. I escaped to the nearest bathroom as quickly as possible, had my breakdown, and couldn't stop. That's when the anxiety started to get really bad. More recently, when I hit those breaking points, it comes down to two options: I relax and succumb to endless tears or I tense up and have a panic attack. Neither is fun; both are exhausting. But I generally choose the panic attack, the lesser of two evils because the exhausting effects don't last as long and because, when I'm around people, I don't feel so alienated. I'm still working through things, especially with my social anxiety. I'm hoping to see a counselor again at come point once I'm done with school. And even though I'm continuing to discover things about myself and my own struggles, life just doesn't allow me the time to work through stuff right now.
I've been thinking a lot lately about what the lowest points have been like. Experiencing all these things through college hasn't been easy. Most of my peers haven't been helpful in that process. I'm not sure the reason why. For a long time I blamed it on the music major, but that can't be the whole problem seeing as one of the people I struggled most interacting with is a psychology major. And even the music majors who were difficult to deal with are music education majors; someday they're going to have students with a mental health issue step into their classrooms, and I can only hope that the student is better dealt with than I've been. And then I realize that it's not necessarily entirely the fault of the people who I've had bad experiences with. Because something else I've learned over the past couple of years is the few people I can really go to when I'm struggling with my own mental health are the people who are already well-informed about mental health in general, most of whom have dealt with their own mental health struggles.
Our society is seriously uninformed about mental health issues. As I mentioned previously, most people recognize the concept that suicidal=bad, but most people don't understand how mental health really works an what it's like to live with mental health issues.
Living with mental health issues isn't an easy road. It can take years for symptoms to get bad enough for anyone to realize that there's a problem. And once something is diagnosed, it can take months to find the right medication. Not to mention the long counseling process, both in discovering the core issues and figuring out how to work through and past those. It's not an easy fix, no matter the problem. It's long and difficult and sometimes painful work that's not easy to do and that takes time.
Furthermore, most people in the world don't want to be around people who can't pretend that life is perfect all the time. Which, in my case at least, meant that when I needed support the most was when most of my "friends" on campus started avoiding me, only making problems worse.
And the problem is, no one really understand mental health. We're taught about the big issues: eating disordered, cutting, suicidal depression, but not about the things that seem milder. What about anxiety? Social anxiety? Milder forms of depression? A whole other list of mental health issues? We don't learn much or anything about those. I mean, I thought I was going to at some point in my education classes at least. But I'm finding that even as I look at the syllabi of my final education classes, there's nothing. I'm sitting classes about special education and diversity and how things that we do as teachers may affect students in ways we aren't aware of, and areas such as mental health are being left out entirely. It became most aware to me in my diversity class tonight when we did an activity about different social statuses in which some groups were supposed to try to be very interactive while one group stayed to themselves most of the time. I was in a more interactive group, and, what honestly made me most uncomfortable about the activity, was being forced to be outgoing. I would have killed to be part of the shunned group in order to be allowed to just keep to myself. Does that mean that I should be allowed to hide behind my anxiety and never have to take the outgoing role? Certainly not. But should teachers be aware of the thoughts going through minds of students like me? Most certainly. The difference between mental health and the topics I'm learning about is that mental health issues can be overcome. But they can't be overcome if they're never identified. And how can they be identified when the general population is unaware of them? My quality of life would probably be better today if I had had a teacher who recognized that the reason I never answer questions or participate in discussions in class unless absolutely necessary is more than being shy or being apathetic but because I feel an intense fear and physical sickness in those situations, and even greater embarrassment if I'm ever wrong. And I can't help feeling that I'm not the only one.
Not that just teachers or school-workers should be aware of mental health issues. The general lack of information in society has caused a stigma against people with mental health issues. I never used that word to describe it until recently, but it's true. Because there's a reason that I to this day am very careful who I trust telling about my depression and social anxiety. There's a reason that I'm always afraid someone will see me when I step into the counseling center on campus. There's a reason that conversations grow awkward when I discuss mental health with most people.
But that doesn't mean it always has to be that way. It's time to make a change.
I've been thinking a lot lately about what the lowest points have been like. Experiencing all these things through college hasn't been easy. Most of my peers haven't been helpful in that process. I'm not sure the reason why. For a long time I blamed it on the music major, but that can't be the whole problem seeing as one of the people I struggled most interacting with is a psychology major. And even the music majors who were difficult to deal with are music education majors; someday they're going to have students with a mental health issue step into their classrooms, and I can only hope that the student is better dealt with than I've been. And then I realize that it's not necessarily entirely the fault of the people who I've had bad experiences with. Because something else I've learned over the past couple of years is the few people I can really go to when I'm struggling with my own mental health are the people who are already well-informed about mental health in general, most of whom have dealt with their own mental health struggles.
Our society is seriously uninformed about mental health issues. As I mentioned previously, most people recognize the concept that suicidal=bad, but most people don't understand how mental health really works an what it's like to live with mental health issues.
Living with mental health issues isn't an easy road. It can take years for symptoms to get bad enough for anyone to realize that there's a problem. And once something is diagnosed, it can take months to find the right medication. Not to mention the long counseling process, both in discovering the core issues and figuring out how to work through and past those. It's not an easy fix, no matter the problem. It's long and difficult and sometimes painful work that's not easy to do and that takes time.
Furthermore, most people in the world don't want to be around people who can't pretend that life is perfect all the time. Which, in my case at least, meant that when I needed support the most was when most of my "friends" on campus started avoiding me, only making problems worse.
And the problem is, no one really understand mental health. We're taught about the big issues: eating disordered, cutting, suicidal depression, but not about the things that seem milder. What about anxiety? Social anxiety? Milder forms of depression? A whole other list of mental health issues? We don't learn much or anything about those. I mean, I thought I was going to at some point in my education classes at least. But I'm finding that even as I look at the syllabi of my final education classes, there's nothing. I'm sitting classes about special education and diversity and how things that we do as teachers may affect students in ways we aren't aware of, and areas such as mental health are being left out entirely. It became most aware to me in my diversity class tonight when we did an activity about different social statuses in which some groups were supposed to try to be very interactive while one group stayed to themselves most of the time. I was in a more interactive group, and, what honestly made me most uncomfortable about the activity, was being forced to be outgoing. I would have killed to be part of the shunned group in order to be allowed to just keep to myself. Does that mean that I should be allowed to hide behind my anxiety and never have to take the outgoing role? Certainly not. But should teachers be aware of the thoughts going through minds of students like me? Most certainly. The difference between mental health and the topics I'm learning about is that mental health issues can be overcome. But they can't be overcome if they're never identified. And how can they be identified when the general population is unaware of them? My quality of life would probably be better today if I had had a teacher who recognized that the reason I never answer questions or participate in discussions in class unless absolutely necessary is more than being shy or being apathetic but because I feel an intense fear and physical sickness in those situations, and even greater embarrassment if I'm ever wrong. And I can't help feeling that I'm not the only one.
Not that just teachers or school-workers should be aware of mental health issues. The general lack of information in society has caused a stigma against people with mental health issues. I never used that word to describe it until recently, but it's true. Because there's a reason that I to this day am very careful who I trust telling about my depression and social anxiety. There's a reason that I'm always afraid someone will see me when I step into the counseling center on campus. There's a reason that conversations grow awkward when I discuss mental health with most people.
But that doesn't mean it always has to be that way. It's time to make a change.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Nights Like This
Nights like this I remember why "Dawn's Lament" is the song from the Buffy musical episode that I most relate to. Short thought it may be, it's been my anthem for nearly two years.
Nights like this I try to run away from the world, just to see if anyone chases after me to bring me back. Or even to see if they notice. Then, I suddenly realize that if I counted my friends based on that, I wouldn't have any.
Nights like this I seem to have myself convinced that if I curl myself into a tight enough ball, I'll physically implode and cease to exist. Because I already feel like I don't in the eyes of others.
Nights like this I can't manage to find a good reason to get up in the morning other than sheer obligation.
Nights like this I want to quit life. Not quit living. Just quit life. I'll hole up in my room and cease to be a functioning member of society. I'll be depressed and anxious in my solitude. Maybe after a while of that I'd want to quit living. I suppose it would depend on whether anyone tries to break down the barrier I've built up around myself.
Nights like this I don't even care that I'm depressed and anxious. No one else seems to.
Nights like this all I feel is alone. And I've been hurt by so many of the people around me that I'm no longer brave enough to attempt reaching out to anyone.
Nights like this a small part of me wants to explode at everyone who's hurt me the last two years. But I'm not brave enough. So I'm overcome with pain and implode instead.
Nights like this I wish I could just quit. Because then I wouldn't have to deal with the new pain that arises each day. I could just be overwhelmed by everything that's already happened.
Nights like this I try to figure out why it is that the only people whose attentions and opinions matter to me are the people who've treated me the worst.
Nights like this I remember that most stereotypes originate in truth, and some stereotypes are almost entirely true.
Nights like this I don't want to talk about what's bothering me. Or try to describe how I'm feeling. But I do want someone to say something. To ask why I disappeared or didn't show or couldn't stop crying or whatever.
Nights like this I can't wait to be done at Concordia so that I can move somewhere and completely isolate myself rather than trying to make "friends" only to be hurt by most of them in the long run.
Nights like this I still wonder if the people I see on a day-to-day basis would even notice if I wasn't here tomorrow?
Nights like this I want to find a way to make people feel eternally guilty for the pain I feel because of them.
Nights like this I just wish I felt loved by the people I'm around every day.
Nights like this I want to scream that the top of my lungs knowing that people will either be deaf to it all, ignore me, or jump to my rescue only to turn away when they discover that my cry for help wasn't as dire as they thought.
Nights like this I say "I quit' so many times, only to know that I'm not there yet. But nights like this, I wish I was.
Nights like this I try to run away from the world, just to see if anyone chases after me to bring me back. Or even to see if they notice. Then, I suddenly realize that if I counted my friends based on that, I wouldn't have any.
Nights like this I seem to have myself convinced that if I curl myself into a tight enough ball, I'll physically implode and cease to exist. Because I already feel like I don't in the eyes of others.
Nights like this I can't manage to find a good reason to get up in the morning other than sheer obligation.
Nights like this I want to quit life. Not quit living. Just quit life. I'll hole up in my room and cease to be a functioning member of society. I'll be depressed and anxious in my solitude. Maybe after a while of that I'd want to quit living. I suppose it would depend on whether anyone tries to break down the barrier I've built up around myself.
Nights like this I don't even care that I'm depressed and anxious. No one else seems to.
Nights like this all I feel is alone. And I've been hurt by so many of the people around me that I'm no longer brave enough to attempt reaching out to anyone.
Nights like this a small part of me wants to explode at everyone who's hurt me the last two years. But I'm not brave enough. So I'm overcome with pain and implode instead.
Nights like this I wish I could just quit. Because then I wouldn't have to deal with the new pain that arises each day. I could just be overwhelmed by everything that's already happened.
Nights like this I try to figure out why it is that the only people whose attentions and opinions matter to me are the people who've treated me the worst.
Nights like this I remember that most stereotypes originate in truth, and some stereotypes are almost entirely true.
Nights like this I don't want to talk about what's bothering me. Or try to describe how I'm feeling. But I do want someone to say something. To ask why I disappeared or didn't show or couldn't stop crying or whatever.
Nights like this I can't wait to be done at Concordia so that I can move somewhere and completely isolate myself rather than trying to make "friends" only to be hurt by most of them in the long run.
Nights like this I still wonder if the people I see on a day-to-day basis would even notice if I wasn't here tomorrow?
Nights like this I want to find a way to make people feel eternally guilty for the pain I feel because of them.
Nights like this I just wish I felt loved by the people I'm around every day.
Nights like this I want to scream that the top of my lungs knowing that people will either be deaf to it all, ignore me, or jump to my rescue only to turn away when they discover that my cry for help wasn't as dire as they thought.
Nights like this I say "I quit' so many times, only to know that I'm not there yet. But nights like this, I wish I was.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sick of Hurting
Everything hurts. Emotionally, at least. Absolutely everything. There are days that I can suppress it enough to be stable. Moments, occasionally minutes and hours, that I'm actually happy. But not very often. Happiness that lasts more than a moment appears only a handful of times each month. The rest of the time? It just hurts.
It hurts that no one seems to quite fully accept my double major. My friends don't. My adviser doesn't. My professors don't. Heck, I'm not even sure my parents fully understand it at this point. I used to be on the fence between math and music. But I've really come to discover that my passion lies in music. My heart lies in music. And all I want is to direct a choir of my own. Because the only times when I've really been happy this semester are when I've been in choir. Especially the days I got to conduct. I beamed. I loved practicing conducting. And I loved being up in front of a choir helping them to make music. Most of the world doesn't understand that, though. Most of the time when I state both of my majors, people only pay attention to the math part. Because the world needs more math teachers, especially female math teachers. I'll be sure to find a job. But my heart isn't in it anymore. My heart is in music. Yet, I feel like music people look down on me for the double major. That they think I've already given up on music or that I'm not dedicated enough to music because I have the second major. So, in essence, they pay more attention to the math part too. Only a handful of people fully recognize the music part.
It hurts feeling like a failure all the time. I feel like a failure at music education. Because I have the math ed degree. Because I'm nowhere near as good a conductor as my peers. Because I'm not as involved in ACDA as I should be. Because I'm not outgoing enough. Because I don't spend all my time in the music building. Because I don't fit in with the music ed majors. Much less the non-ed music majors. I feel like a failure at math education. Because I'm not passionate enough. Because my math ed professor consistently makes it clear to the class that we'll never be good enough for him. Because my focus has been on music ed for the last 3.5 years. I feel like a failure as a person. Because I care more about myself than anyone else right now. Because I can't just fake being happy all the time. Much less fake being happy. Because my peers rarely express that they believe in me. Or even notice my existence.
It hurts feeling like no matter hard I try, I will never have a group of friends at Concordia. I tried to have music friends. I still have one or two really good ones. But I don't fit in. I'm almost never invited to be a part of things. I'm rarely acknowledge when I invite myself along. I know I distanced myself after Garrett. And I've been working my butt off lately to try to find a way in. But to no avail. It's like I'm not a good enough music person to be a part of the group. Because have different musical opinions than what I should in a huge variety of ways. Or maybe it's just that I don't like to drink enough. Either way, I'll never fit in. I've tried having math friends. It almost works, sometimes. But I don't understand half the humor that happens. And I'm not philosophical enough to participate in conversation. And sometimes when I try to participate, they turn their noses up at me. I have a few good math friends. Who don't make my brain hurt. Who accept me for me. Who make an effort to include me. And they're some of the truest friends I have here. But when things include the larger group, I no longer fit in. And then, for the only time in my life, I feel like the naive, dumb blond. I'm not going to have much for any friends next year. Sure, I have a few underclassmen that I can spend some time with. But I still don't fit in with their larger group. And they aren't integral parts of my support system. It hurts feeling like all I have is the handful of people that make up my support system and a couple of other shallower friends. But it's going to hurt more next year when the support system is gone and I'm all alone.
It hurts that the love and encouragement I receive from friends and family at home has come to mean nothing. It's like I've heard it so many times that I've become immune to it. And having friends and family at home doesn't change the fact that I feel like I have no one at Concordia. So on nights like tonight when I just need to cling to someone and cry and say everything that's been on my mind for months, I find myself alone. Because I need the physical presence. But having someone from home come here would only make matters worse. Because it would only widen the gap between me and the people at Concordia that I so desperately want to have as friends. Real friends.
It hurts that I don't know how to talk to my parents anymore. Because it generally only makes me feel worse. Because it's generally either a lecture or pure worry. And I can't handle either.
It hurts that I've lost my faith. That I can't step into any church or see even a Bible verse in passing without bursting into tears. That the one thing that's supposed to bring comfort only makes me hurt more. That I don't even know why it hurts so much.
It hurts feeling like I can't openly express my hurt. Because I stopped having friends about the time that I started crying through classes and vocalizing how crappy I always felt. Because no one wants to be around someone who can't at least pretend to be happy all the time. So on nights that I feel depressed and really just need to be able to talk things out, I'm just alone. And I curl into a ball and cling to myself. Because that's the only thing I know how to cling to. It's no wonder that I've begun to have panic attacks about not being able to maintain my composure around people. There are a few that I can just let everything out with. But even when those people are there but other people are around too, I have a panic attack.
It hurts. Friends hurt. School hurts. Life hurts. And I don't even have time to deal with it. To figure out why it hurts. To fix it so it doesn't hurt anymore. Because I don't know how to express my hurt. To my friends. To my professors. To anyone. So I just have to keep going in life and attempt to deal with the hurt or ignore it. Which is probably why I have nights like tonight. Where it hurts so bad that I can't stand it anymore. Where I just sob until I can't anymore. Where I try to find something to cling to and find nothing. Because I don't have the time to deal with anything. I used to wish I could run away from the world and hide from both it and my problems. These days I wish I could run away from the world so I could take the time to work out my problems. But no one will let me do that. And I can't handle it all at once. So I fall apart. I self-destruct. I stop caring about the basic things. Like eating. Like sleeping. Like hygiene. Because as long as I feel awful emotionally, I may as well feel awful physically. People actually take notice of that.
It hurts that no one seems to quite fully accept my double major. My friends don't. My adviser doesn't. My professors don't. Heck, I'm not even sure my parents fully understand it at this point. I used to be on the fence between math and music. But I've really come to discover that my passion lies in music. My heart lies in music. And all I want is to direct a choir of my own. Because the only times when I've really been happy this semester are when I've been in choir. Especially the days I got to conduct. I beamed. I loved practicing conducting. And I loved being up in front of a choir helping them to make music. Most of the world doesn't understand that, though. Most of the time when I state both of my majors, people only pay attention to the math part. Because the world needs more math teachers, especially female math teachers. I'll be sure to find a job. But my heart isn't in it anymore. My heart is in music. Yet, I feel like music people look down on me for the double major. That they think I've already given up on music or that I'm not dedicated enough to music because I have the second major. So, in essence, they pay more attention to the math part too. Only a handful of people fully recognize the music part.
It hurts feeling like a failure all the time. I feel like a failure at music education. Because I have the math ed degree. Because I'm nowhere near as good a conductor as my peers. Because I'm not as involved in ACDA as I should be. Because I'm not outgoing enough. Because I don't spend all my time in the music building. Because I don't fit in with the music ed majors. Much less the non-ed music majors. I feel like a failure at math education. Because I'm not passionate enough. Because my math ed professor consistently makes it clear to the class that we'll never be good enough for him. Because my focus has been on music ed for the last 3.5 years. I feel like a failure as a person. Because I care more about myself than anyone else right now. Because I can't just fake being happy all the time. Much less fake being happy. Because my peers rarely express that they believe in me. Or even notice my existence.
It hurts feeling like no matter hard I try, I will never have a group of friends at Concordia. I tried to have music friends. I still have one or two really good ones. But I don't fit in. I'm almost never invited to be a part of things. I'm rarely acknowledge when I invite myself along. I know I distanced myself after Garrett. And I've been working my butt off lately to try to find a way in. But to no avail. It's like I'm not a good enough music person to be a part of the group. Because have different musical opinions than what I should in a huge variety of ways. Or maybe it's just that I don't like to drink enough. Either way, I'll never fit in. I've tried having math friends. It almost works, sometimes. But I don't understand half the humor that happens. And I'm not philosophical enough to participate in conversation. And sometimes when I try to participate, they turn their noses up at me. I have a few good math friends. Who don't make my brain hurt. Who accept me for me. Who make an effort to include me. And they're some of the truest friends I have here. But when things include the larger group, I no longer fit in. And then, for the only time in my life, I feel like the naive, dumb blond. I'm not going to have much for any friends next year. Sure, I have a few underclassmen that I can spend some time with. But I still don't fit in with their larger group. And they aren't integral parts of my support system. It hurts feeling like all I have is the handful of people that make up my support system and a couple of other shallower friends. But it's going to hurt more next year when the support system is gone and I'm all alone.
It hurts that the love and encouragement I receive from friends and family at home has come to mean nothing. It's like I've heard it so many times that I've become immune to it. And having friends and family at home doesn't change the fact that I feel like I have no one at Concordia. So on nights like tonight when I just need to cling to someone and cry and say everything that's been on my mind for months, I find myself alone. Because I need the physical presence. But having someone from home come here would only make matters worse. Because it would only widen the gap between me and the people at Concordia that I so desperately want to have as friends. Real friends.
It hurts that I don't know how to talk to my parents anymore. Because it generally only makes me feel worse. Because it's generally either a lecture or pure worry. And I can't handle either.
It hurts that I've lost my faith. That I can't step into any church or see even a Bible verse in passing without bursting into tears. That the one thing that's supposed to bring comfort only makes me hurt more. That I don't even know why it hurts so much.
It hurts feeling like I can't openly express my hurt. Because I stopped having friends about the time that I started crying through classes and vocalizing how crappy I always felt. Because no one wants to be around someone who can't at least pretend to be happy all the time. So on nights that I feel depressed and really just need to be able to talk things out, I'm just alone. And I curl into a ball and cling to myself. Because that's the only thing I know how to cling to. It's no wonder that I've begun to have panic attacks about not being able to maintain my composure around people. There are a few that I can just let everything out with. But even when those people are there but other people are around too, I have a panic attack.
It hurts. Friends hurt. School hurts. Life hurts. And I don't even have time to deal with it. To figure out why it hurts. To fix it so it doesn't hurt anymore. Because I don't know how to express my hurt. To my friends. To my professors. To anyone. So I just have to keep going in life and attempt to deal with the hurt or ignore it. Which is probably why I have nights like tonight. Where it hurts so bad that I can't stand it anymore. Where I just sob until I can't anymore. Where I try to find something to cling to and find nothing. Because I don't have the time to deal with anything. I used to wish I could run away from the world and hide from both it and my problems. These days I wish I could run away from the world so I could take the time to work out my problems. But no one will let me do that. And I can't handle it all at once. So I fall apart. I self-destruct. I stop caring about the basic things. Like eating. Like sleeping. Like hygiene. Because as long as I feel awful emotionally, I may as well feel awful physically. People actually take notice of that.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
An Outsider Looking In
I've had a couple of really awful weeks mentally and emotionally. During this time I've come to a few realizations.
1. I still can't handle being in the same room with Garrett. I don't know why. But I can't. I get super depressed. And then I have a panic attack. Fun stuff.
2. That fear of being in large groups of people part of social anxiety? Finally getting to me. I used to be able to sit through a class in tears. I can't anymore. I've had too many panic attacks in the last two weeks. All of which were at least partially caused by me freaking out about not being able to pull myself together around people. I mean, I can handle it around my parents and around a select group of friends. But anyone else? Panic. And then the attacks get worse the more people I'm around. I don't know what I'm going to do when I have a panic attack and can't remove myself from being around a large group of people.
3. I'm no longer afraid of teaching in my own music classroom. I'm afraid of socializing with my colleagues. Of that networking that's so important to music education. Because otherwise you're entirely alone. Well guess what? I am alone. I have tried for the last two years to make friends with other music majors. And I still don't feel part of the group most days. The other night I went to an ACDA election meeting. And I was the only person there who isn't graduating who was never even nominated for a position. The exact same thing happened to me last year. And the year before. Sure, sophomore year I had a position on the ACDA board. but it was a pity position. A "We have 4 positions open and 5 people showed up to elections, and we don't want you to be the only person who showed up who doesn't wind up on the board, so we're going to invent a position for you to have." position. That, honestly, I didn't really want. I wasn't ready for it. Hence I basically failed at it the entire second half of that year. I don't even know if I would have wanted a position after that point. But being the only person who doesn't get nominated, that hurts. It's a blow to my already-shallow confidence as a music education major. And it only adds to the reasons that I feel like I don't have friends among music majors.
4. I feel like I don't fit in among my music friends. I have one good friend. But that's it. I am entirely convinced that my presence is only tolerated because I have that one friend, and everyone loves that person. When I am around them, I'm just simply there. I can rarely find anything to add to the conversation, am often received negatively when I do speak up, and am rarely brought into the conversation when I've been sitting in silence. I'm almost never invited to do things with the group. And usually when I am it's a pity invite when people have been planning something for a long time and feel bad that I'm sitting there with them talking about it and was never invited. And I'm still trying to figure out what feels worse: the days that happens and I get the pity invite or the days that happens and I'm still not invited. Though it kind of depends on who the pity invite comes from.
5. I am entirely fed with not fitting in. It's the story of my life. Throughout the last 5 years of elementary school, I didn't have friends. I never fit in with most of the people in my classes in junior high. High school I had some good friends, but still never found that place where I fit. Especially in choir. I had maybe a handful of real friends in choir in my entire high school choir experience. And after almost four years of college, I still don't know where I fit. freshman year, I didn't necessarily make an effort to make a lot of friends. I wish I could go back to those days. Sophomore year I fell into a group of friends associated with new roommates. The group blew up, and I found myself in between two factions. I spent more time with one, and realized that I didn't quite fit there. Though I at least have three others from that group (we called ourselves a tetris piece) is the closest thing I have to a group of friends at this point. They still generally make an effort to invite me to spend time with them, at least. They're the only ones who do that on a consistent basis. But sophomore year, when things got tense with them and people in the larger faction of the group, I discovered music people on choir tour. So I started hanging out with them. And hung out with them the first half of last year. And then I fought with Garrett, had to distance myself from him, and as a result distanced myself from all my music friends because they were all still friends with him. I have yet to find a group that I fit in with since then. Because once you distance yourself from people, there's no going back. Or maybe I never really fit in at all. And yet, for some stupid reason, I keep trying. I try to convince myself that it's all in my head. That I do fit. That people do actually care. And I try to bring myself back into the group. To make an effort. Only to feel like an outsider looking in even when I'm on the inside. Over the past few days I've purposely separated myself. Because at least I can delude myself into believing that being an outsider looking in is my own choice. Or maybe because it just lets me run away from the fact that when I'm on the inside is when I feel hurt and when I have panic attacks. At least when I avoid I can function enough to be barely social and to do things like homework.
6. I'm actually still really mad at people for how little support I got last year with all I went through. Depression that's not stabilized? It sucks. When I don't have a support system where I need it most? It sucks worse. Because I can cry through entire class periods and I can completely withdraw from everything. And people don't take notice and/or don't take action until either they see me have a panic attack or until they think I'm suicidal. But when I've reached those points? Well, the panic attacks it depends. Though, in recent days and weeks, when I've had panic attacks because I can't pull it together? I think that's a result of all the times I wasn't able to pull it together in front of people, and they said nothing. And the fact that people have made little to no effort to invite me to spend time with them since all of my super depressed days last year. If I can't pretend to be happy around people, then I have no friends. So when I'm failing horribly at pretending to be happy around people, I panic. Only with music people, though. Imagine that. And the times I've been heading toward that suicidal road? Generally because I feel like the people around me don't care anymore. And the few friends I have at school aren't enough.
And I'm still really mad about the entire Garrett situation. I still hate him. First time I've said it that way in a long time. But I still really, really do. And I think I'm still mad at all of our mutual friends for never once admitting that I could be at least partly right. For never making an effort to pull me back in when I withdrew from them. Or even ask me why. Actually, I feel like no one even noticed. Which only adds to the fact that I feel that they were never actually my friends in the first place. And I keep trying to tell myself that I'm mad at Garrett and not mad at them. Because it's so much easier to be mad at him. But I think it's only ended up with me bottling everything up. And leaving me depressed and having panic attacks at 4am on a Sunday morning. With nowhere to turn. Because support from home doesn't help anymore. And I don't even know where to try getting support at school.
I just want to know what's wrong with me. In two years of counseling, I still don't think I've managed to figure out what the root problem is. Given, the more problems I find with myself, the less adequate I feel, so I don't even know if that would help. All I know is that I want to feel loved and accepted for who I am. And I want to feel truly part of a group. And I never really have. Every group I've ever been a part of, I've always felt like an outsider looking in to some degree. And I'm sick of it. I can't handle it anymore. But I don't know how to fix it.
And it doesn't help that I gave up on myself a long time ago. I really did. Because finding the problems makes me feel worse. And my motivation to deal with problems disappeared a long time ago. Long before I lost to motivation to do homework or eat or sleep or shower. But I've never told anyone that. Because I'm afraid if they knew, then they'd give up on me too. And then it would really be over.
But for now I'm going to attempt to sleep. And attempt to be okay when I get up. And attempt to make it through the day. And then we'll see if I'm in a stable enough mental state to start clinicals on Monday morning. Because every time I've been around large groups of people in the last three days, I either burst into tears or have a panic attack. So I don't know if I'll manage to handle clinicals on Monday. Not that I know what I'm going to do if I'm not. I guess I'll figure that out if/when it happens. And hope that my counseling appointment on Monday after clinicals does me a world of good.
1. I still can't handle being in the same room with Garrett. I don't know why. But I can't. I get super depressed. And then I have a panic attack. Fun stuff.
2. That fear of being in large groups of people part of social anxiety? Finally getting to me. I used to be able to sit through a class in tears. I can't anymore. I've had too many panic attacks in the last two weeks. All of which were at least partially caused by me freaking out about not being able to pull myself together around people. I mean, I can handle it around my parents and around a select group of friends. But anyone else? Panic. And then the attacks get worse the more people I'm around. I don't know what I'm going to do when I have a panic attack and can't remove myself from being around a large group of people.
3. I'm no longer afraid of teaching in my own music classroom. I'm afraid of socializing with my colleagues. Of that networking that's so important to music education. Because otherwise you're entirely alone. Well guess what? I am alone. I have tried for the last two years to make friends with other music majors. And I still don't feel part of the group most days. The other night I went to an ACDA election meeting. And I was the only person there who isn't graduating who was never even nominated for a position. The exact same thing happened to me last year. And the year before. Sure, sophomore year I had a position on the ACDA board. but it was a pity position. A "We have 4 positions open and 5 people showed up to elections, and we don't want you to be the only person who showed up who doesn't wind up on the board, so we're going to invent a position for you to have." position. That, honestly, I didn't really want. I wasn't ready for it. Hence I basically failed at it the entire second half of that year. I don't even know if I would have wanted a position after that point. But being the only person who doesn't get nominated, that hurts. It's a blow to my already-shallow confidence as a music education major. And it only adds to the reasons that I feel like I don't have friends among music majors.
4. I feel like I don't fit in among my music friends. I have one good friend. But that's it. I am entirely convinced that my presence is only tolerated because I have that one friend, and everyone loves that person. When I am around them, I'm just simply there. I can rarely find anything to add to the conversation, am often received negatively when I do speak up, and am rarely brought into the conversation when I've been sitting in silence. I'm almost never invited to do things with the group. And usually when I am it's a pity invite when people have been planning something for a long time and feel bad that I'm sitting there with them talking about it and was never invited. And I'm still trying to figure out what feels worse: the days that happens and I get the pity invite or the days that happens and I'm still not invited. Though it kind of depends on who the pity invite comes from.
5. I am entirely fed with not fitting in. It's the story of my life. Throughout the last 5 years of elementary school, I didn't have friends. I never fit in with most of the people in my classes in junior high. High school I had some good friends, but still never found that place where I fit. Especially in choir. I had maybe a handful of real friends in choir in my entire high school choir experience. And after almost four years of college, I still don't know where I fit. freshman year, I didn't necessarily make an effort to make a lot of friends. I wish I could go back to those days. Sophomore year I fell into a group of friends associated with new roommates. The group blew up, and I found myself in between two factions. I spent more time with one, and realized that I didn't quite fit there. Though I at least have three others from that group (we called ourselves a tetris piece) is the closest thing I have to a group of friends at this point. They still generally make an effort to invite me to spend time with them, at least. They're the only ones who do that on a consistent basis. But sophomore year, when things got tense with them and people in the larger faction of the group, I discovered music people on choir tour. So I started hanging out with them. And hung out with them the first half of last year. And then I fought with Garrett, had to distance myself from him, and as a result distanced myself from all my music friends because they were all still friends with him. I have yet to find a group that I fit in with since then. Because once you distance yourself from people, there's no going back. Or maybe I never really fit in at all. And yet, for some stupid reason, I keep trying. I try to convince myself that it's all in my head. That I do fit. That people do actually care. And I try to bring myself back into the group. To make an effort. Only to feel like an outsider looking in even when I'm on the inside. Over the past few days I've purposely separated myself. Because at least I can delude myself into believing that being an outsider looking in is my own choice. Or maybe because it just lets me run away from the fact that when I'm on the inside is when I feel hurt and when I have panic attacks. At least when I avoid I can function enough to be barely social and to do things like homework.
6. I'm actually still really mad at people for how little support I got last year with all I went through. Depression that's not stabilized? It sucks. When I don't have a support system where I need it most? It sucks worse. Because I can cry through entire class periods and I can completely withdraw from everything. And people don't take notice and/or don't take action until either they see me have a panic attack or until they think I'm suicidal. But when I've reached those points? Well, the panic attacks it depends. Though, in recent days and weeks, when I've had panic attacks because I can't pull it together? I think that's a result of all the times I wasn't able to pull it together in front of people, and they said nothing. And the fact that people have made little to no effort to invite me to spend time with them since all of my super depressed days last year. If I can't pretend to be happy around people, then I have no friends. So when I'm failing horribly at pretending to be happy around people, I panic. Only with music people, though. Imagine that. And the times I've been heading toward that suicidal road? Generally because I feel like the people around me don't care anymore. And the few friends I have at school aren't enough.
And I'm still really mad about the entire Garrett situation. I still hate him. First time I've said it that way in a long time. But I still really, really do. And I think I'm still mad at all of our mutual friends for never once admitting that I could be at least partly right. For never making an effort to pull me back in when I withdrew from them. Or even ask me why. Actually, I feel like no one even noticed. Which only adds to the fact that I feel that they were never actually my friends in the first place. And I keep trying to tell myself that I'm mad at Garrett and not mad at them. Because it's so much easier to be mad at him. But I think it's only ended up with me bottling everything up. And leaving me depressed and having panic attacks at 4am on a Sunday morning. With nowhere to turn. Because support from home doesn't help anymore. And I don't even know where to try getting support at school.
I just want to know what's wrong with me. In two years of counseling, I still don't think I've managed to figure out what the root problem is. Given, the more problems I find with myself, the less adequate I feel, so I don't even know if that would help. All I know is that I want to feel loved and accepted for who I am. And I want to feel truly part of a group. And I never really have. Every group I've ever been a part of, I've always felt like an outsider looking in to some degree. And I'm sick of it. I can't handle it anymore. But I don't know how to fix it.
And it doesn't help that I gave up on myself a long time ago. I really did. Because finding the problems makes me feel worse. And my motivation to deal with problems disappeared a long time ago. Long before I lost to motivation to do homework or eat or sleep or shower. But I've never told anyone that. Because I'm afraid if they knew, then they'd give up on me too. And then it would really be over.
But for now I'm going to attempt to sleep. And attempt to be okay when I get up. And attempt to make it through the day. And then we'll see if I'm in a stable enough mental state to start clinicals on Monday morning. Because every time I've been around large groups of people in the last three days, I either burst into tears or have a panic attack. So I don't know if I'll manage to handle clinicals on Monday. Not that I know what I'm going to do if I'm not. I guess I'll figure that out if/when it happens. And hope that my counseling appointment on Monday after clinicals does me a world of good.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Why I'm So Passive
I've been a passive person for as long as I can remember. I fear conflict. It makes me feel horrible. For years. I still feel physically sick when I think about small conflicts that happened when I was 3 years old, much less all the big ones that have happened since then.
And I'm told that it's not good to be passive. I guess I know I get walked all over all the time. And in the aftermath, I sometimes get frustrated. But it's better than the alternative.
The alternative is speaking my mind. Saying what I'm actually thinking. There are a small group of people that I feel comfortable doing that with. Because they don't judge me for what I'm saying. And if they think it's really dumb, they tell me nicely. Or they point out that I'm really crabby, but in a nice way.
Funny thing, I rarely ever speak my mind around most unless I'm really crabby. I think that, to an extent, crabbiness makes me lose all speaking inhibitions. So maybe that's why it bites me in the butt? But I can't even say that. Because on numerous occasions over the past couple of years, I've spoken my mind and lost friends over it. There are numerous people that I'm no longer friends with because I spoke up about what I thought. I spoke up about being worried about people. I spoke up about my own needs. I spoke up about what I really thought. And it backfired in huge ways.
The past three days I've woken up feeling horrible emotionally. Those low days that come with having depression. And it's been a stressful week. And things have happened early on in those days to make my already-depressed self feel worse. And I've expressed how I felt about things that happened. And was then belittled for feeling the way I felt. And it sent me imploding. It makes me feel worthless. Because, as I recently realized, my self-worth is entirely dependent on other people's opinions of me. I've finally learned to lean on other friends to help pull me out of a down-spiral as it begins. But even with friends to pull me out again, I don't feel any more encouraged to actually speak my mind. Because every time I speak my mind to anyone outside a select group of people, I am told that I won't be successful following my goals, that I'm worthless, or that I'm a horrible person for feeling the way I feel.
There are times that I want to be assertive. And then days like the last three days happen. And then I realize that either way I feel crappy, so I may as well be passive and feel less crappy than I do when I'm assertive.
And I'm told that it's not good to be passive. I guess I know I get walked all over all the time. And in the aftermath, I sometimes get frustrated. But it's better than the alternative.
The alternative is speaking my mind. Saying what I'm actually thinking. There are a small group of people that I feel comfortable doing that with. Because they don't judge me for what I'm saying. And if they think it's really dumb, they tell me nicely. Or they point out that I'm really crabby, but in a nice way.
Funny thing, I rarely ever speak my mind around most unless I'm really crabby. I think that, to an extent, crabbiness makes me lose all speaking inhibitions. So maybe that's why it bites me in the butt? But I can't even say that. Because on numerous occasions over the past couple of years, I've spoken my mind and lost friends over it. There are numerous people that I'm no longer friends with because I spoke up about what I thought. I spoke up about being worried about people. I spoke up about my own needs. I spoke up about what I really thought. And it backfired in huge ways.
The past three days I've woken up feeling horrible emotionally. Those low days that come with having depression. And it's been a stressful week. And things have happened early on in those days to make my already-depressed self feel worse. And I've expressed how I felt about things that happened. And was then belittled for feeling the way I felt. And it sent me imploding. It makes me feel worthless. Because, as I recently realized, my self-worth is entirely dependent on other people's opinions of me. I've finally learned to lean on other friends to help pull me out of a down-spiral as it begins. But even with friends to pull me out again, I don't feel any more encouraged to actually speak my mind. Because every time I speak my mind to anyone outside a select group of people, I am told that I won't be successful following my goals, that I'm worthless, or that I'm a horrible person for feeling the way I feel.
There are times that I want to be assertive. And then days like the last three days happen. And then I realize that either way I feel crappy, so I may as well be passive and feel less crappy than I do when I'm assertive.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sundays
So, I haven't posted in a long time. I've thought about it numerous times. And then I get scared and don't. Which is funny because I started this blog so that I could write somewhere where I wouldn't be scared. But I guess a few conversations made me feel as awful about writing anywhere where anyone could see again, so I stopped. But tonight I need it.
For whatever reason, Sundays are my worst day of the week. It's on Sundays that I feel most overwhelmed and just want to close myself off to the world. It doesn't help that every Sunday I wake up physically feeling like crap. My entire body hurts and I have a headache that lasts all day. And I don't know why. I don't do anything special on Saturday. I stay up just as late and generally actually manage to get the recommended amount of sleep. But I wake up feeling like I have the flu. I just physically feel gross. Not a great way to start off any day.
I don't really go anywhere on Sundays. Not this semester, anyway. Partially because I feel like crap when I wake up, and, oftentimes, I attempt to sleep longer, hoping that I'll feel better after more sleep. No such luck.
And then the homework panic sets in because I don't generally do much homework until Sunday, especially homework that doesn't involve solving problems. Because I have zero motivation. For school work especially. But, heck, I don't really have the motivation to take care of myself at all. I don't really ever sleep enough. I mean, I can't convince myself that going to sleep at night is a good idea. At all. It works out well when I can sleep in the next morning. But when I have 8am class, I generally get really upset with myself in the morning. Heck, I have a hard time getting up early enough to go to my 10:30 counseling appointment on Mondays. Given, Sundays are usually my latest nights, which doesn't help.
Sundays. Sundays are my panic days. And it makes me just want to quit. Doesn't help that I'm not motivated. At all. Combined with the fact that I'm not particularly excited about most of my classes this semester. Geometry makes my brain hurt half the time because I have a hard time thinking geometrically in the first place. I'd rather go back to Modern Algebra, actually. And Math Senior Seminar is a complete joke. I hate it. And I hate both of my presentation topics. And my partner and I don't work well together. She's a really nice person, but we just don't mesh when it comes to being partnered to do a project. And she loves our topics, and I hate them. And I just don't want to put any effort into the class because it's awful. The structure of the class is awful. And it doesn't even serve the purpose that it's supposed to serve. And then there's Math Methods where I go to a class just to listen to a professor tell us all how we're all not good enough to be math teachers and make us feel like we'll never reach his standards. And, well, at least I actually like Comparative Ed. But so much of the work is research and reading and responding, and I'd much rather go to class and participate in a discussion than respond online. (May I mention that this is the first time I've ever said that about a class...) And the research part, well, when I don't have motivation to do anything in the short term, how do you think the long-term is going?
Every Sunday night I realize this. And I rediscover all the other responsibilities I have for the week beyond basic functioning and homework. And I want to quit it all. Especially with things like work and being on the choir board. I mean, how can I, or anyone else, expect me to take care of other people's needs when I can't even take care of my own. I said before, I can't find a way to convince myself that going to bed at a decent time is a good idea until I have to wake up to an alarm clock in the morning. I think I've retrained my body to deal with eating no where near enough food every day again because I don't feel like eating. It takes me being really hungry to find any desire to actually eat something, and even then, I generally have a hard time convincing myself that cooking something semi-substantial (like cereal or something that I just pop into the microwave) is a good idea. It was supposed to get better now that I use paper dishes, but it hasn't. The only thing I can generally convince myself to make is tea. And I'm starting to run out of mugs... I still haven't finished unpacking after moving back to school 3 weeks ago. And my room is slowly turning into a mess again. And then there's the whole personal hygiene issue.
During the week I have very little will to function, but force myself to function because I have to go to class. (Which I'm also losing the will to do). Sundays, well, I don't really function at all. If I don't absolutely have to leave my residence hall, I don't. I sleep in late. Stay up really, really late. Attempt to get homework done. Watch TV and/or movies when I lose the desire to do homework. Then stay up until between 3 and 4 am because all of these thoughts are running through my head.
Because, frankly, I've lost my will to function. In fact, I think I lost it sometime last semester. Just not quite this badly. But still. I just want to quit. Not that I don't want to live. Just that I don't want to be a functional member of society. Watch TV and movies, play games, write about stuff, maybe socialize on some occasion. Don't have to deal with classes or work. Don't have to deal with things like sleeping or eating unless I really want to. Just exist doing nothing productive.
That's what I feel like every Sunday night. Sometimes during the week too. But mostly on Sundays. By 2am on Monday at the latest.
And then I cry and don't know who to turn to. Because it's not socially acceptable to want to not function. And everyone I see on a consistent basis is sick of me saying that I'm not doing okay. Though I could point out that there the ones that ask but don't ever want to hear the truth. (It's my newest soapbox). I don't know where my niche is. I have good friends but no group of people who would notice a difference whether I was there or not. Not at school, anyway.
So on top of not desiring to function, I'm in the middle of a strange type of identity crisis and facing issues of not belonging that, quite frankly, I've dealt with since elementary school. Every Sunday night. What a way to start the week. And by this point on Sundays (Or, Mondays technically), I don't have the desire to start the week at all. And I finally hit this point where I want to just go to sleep and wake up when college is over. And, sudden realization, college is supposed to be the best time of your life. Well, I've had some good times in college, but in terms of my life so far, I think college has been the worst.
Yep, that's what my Sundays feel like. I don't know why it's Sundays. But it's every Sunday. It's starting to get old...
For whatever reason, Sundays are my worst day of the week. It's on Sundays that I feel most overwhelmed and just want to close myself off to the world. It doesn't help that every Sunday I wake up physically feeling like crap. My entire body hurts and I have a headache that lasts all day. And I don't know why. I don't do anything special on Saturday. I stay up just as late and generally actually manage to get the recommended amount of sleep. But I wake up feeling like I have the flu. I just physically feel gross. Not a great way to start off any day.
I don't really go anywhere on Sundays. Not this semester, anyway. Partially because I feel like crap when I wake up, and, oftentimes, I attempt to sleep longer, hoping that I'll feel better after more sleep. No such luck.
And then the homework panic sets in because I don't generally do much homework until Sunday, especially homework that doesn't involve solving problems. Because I have zero motivation. For school work especially. But, heck, I don't really have the motivation to take care of myself at all. I don't really ever sleep enough. I mean, I can't convince myself that going to sleep at night is a good idea. At all. It works out well when I can sleep in the next morning. But when I have 8am class, I generally get really upset with myself in the morning. Heck, I have a hard time getting up early enough to go to my 10:30 counseling appointment on Mondays. Given, Sundays are usually my latest nights, which doesn't help.
Sundays. Sundays are my panic days. And it makes me just want to quit. Doesn't help that I'm not motivated. At all. Combined with the fact that I'm not particularly excited about most of my classes this semester. Geometry makes my brain hurt half the time because I have a hard time thinking geometrically in the first place. I'd rather go back to Modern Algebra, actually. And Math Senior Seminar is a complete joke. I hate it. And I hate both of my presentation topics. And my partner and I don't work well together. She's a really nice person, but we just don't mesh when it comes to being partnered to do a project. And she loves our topics, and I hate them. And I just don't want to put any effort into the class because it's awful. The structure of the class is awful. And it doesn't even serve the purpose that it's supposed to serve. And then there's Math Methods where I go to a class just to listen to a professor tell us all how we're all not good enough to be math teachers and make us feel like we'll never reach his standards. And, well, at least I actually like Comparative Ed. But so much of the work is research and reading and responding, and I'd much rather go to class and participate in a discussion than respond online. (May I mention that this is the first time I've ever said that about a class...) And the research part, well, when I don't have motivation to do anything in the short term, how do you think the long-term is going?
Every Sunday night I realize this. And I rediscover all the other responsibilities I have for the week beyond basic functioning and homework. And I want to quit it all. Especially with things like work and being on the choir board. I mean, how can I, or anyone else, expect me to take care of other people's needs when I can't even take care of my own. I said before, I can't find a way to convince myself that going to bed at a decent time is a good idea until I have to wake up to an alarm clock in the morning. I think I've retrained my body to deal with eating no where near enough food every day again because I don't feel like eating. It takes me being really hungry to find any desire to actually eat something, and even then, I generally have a hard time convincing myself that cooking something semi-substantial (like cereal or something that I just pop into the microwave) is a good idea. It was supposed to get better now that I use paper dishes, but it hasn't. The only thing I can generally convince myself to make is tea. And I'm starting to run out of mugs... I still haven't finished unpacking after moving back to school 3 weeks ago. And my room is slowly turning into a mess again. And then there's the whole personal hygiene issue.
During the week I have very little will to function, but force myself to function because I have to go to class. (Which I'm also losing the will to do). Sundays, well, I don't really function at all. If I don't absolutely have to leave my residence hall, I don't. I sleep in late. Stay up really, really late. Attempt to get homework done. Watch TV and/or movies when I lose the desire to do homework. Then stay up until between 3 and 4 am because all of these thoughts are running through my head.
Because, frankly, I've lost my will to function. In fact, I think I lost it sometime last semester. Just not quite this badly. But still. I just want to quit. Not that I don't want to live. Just that I don't want to be a functional member of society. Watch TV and movies, play games, write about stuff, maybe socialize on some occasion. Don't have to deal with classes or work. Don't have to deal with things like sleeping or eating unless I really want to. Just exist doing nothing productive.
That's what I feel like every Sunday night. Sometimes during the week too. But mostly on Sundays. By 2am on Monday at the latest.
And then I cry and don't know who to turn to. Because it's not socially acceptable to want to not function. And everyone I see on a consistent basis is sick of me saying that I'm not doing okay. Though I could point out that there the ones that ask but don't ever want to hear the truth. (It's my newest soapbox). I don't know where my niche is. I have good friends but no group of people who would notice a difference whether I was there or not. Not at school, anyway.
So on top of not desiring to function, I'm in the middle of a strange type of identity crisis and facing issues of not belonging that, quite frankly, I've dealt with since elementary school. Every Sunday night. What a way to start the week. And by this point on Sundays (Or, Mondays technically), I don't have the desire to start the week at all. And I finally hit this point where I want to just go to sleep and wake up when college is over. And, sudden realization, college is supposed to be the best time of your life. Well, I've had some good times in college, but in terms of my life so far, I think college has been the worst.
Yep, that's what my Sundays feel like. I don't know why it's Sundays. But it's every Sunday. It's starting to get old...
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