These are the things I no longer wish to understand

I no longer wish to understand, why you would give someone the power to make their words become your thoughts. To make you hate yourself so much.

I no longer wish to understand the ongoing panic, even when nothing in particular is happening. The fear of the fear. Developing into a thing so big, that you can’t stop it from attacking you. That you can’t control it, and – most importantly – yourself, anymore.

I no longer wish to understand this constant idea in your head, that tells you everybody hates you. That makes you believe, the absence of the evidence that someone doesn’t hate you equals them actually hating you.

I no longer wish to understand the obsession you develope once you decide to trust someone. The attachement. The fear of losing them. The realization that this relationship only exists in order to end.

I no longer wish to understand why someone would push away a loved one in order to make sure they’ll stay, instead of pulling them closer and holding on to them.

I no longer wish to understand the thoughts that control you every single day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. That make you want to leave this world. That won’t leave you alone even in the better moments.

I no longer wish to understand why someone would wish for death, even though they know that they’ve been gifted with a life.

I no longer wish to understand the way it stings in the shower the next day. The guilt of realizing what you’ve done and the idea that maybe you deserved it.

I no longer wish to understand why someone would prefer the touch of a razor blade to their skin over that of a loved one.

I no longer wish to understand how you have to explain it over and over. How it is so much worse than every other bodypart being sick. How there exists such a stigma on a single topic.

I no longer wish to understand the idea of not being sick enough. Of wasting time others may would have needed more than you. The way the brain is able to deny its own sickness.

I no longer wish to understand why someone would wish to no longer understand the things they have learned to understand.

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Speaking up about mental illness

Looking at any of my social media profiles it doesn’t take long to find a post about mental illness. If you want to find out, you will. Why am I doing this?

You’re talking about having cancer online? Showing others what it’s like to get chemo therapy? Wanting to show other patients that they are not alone?
You’re one big hero.

You’re talking about having depression online? Showing others what it’s like to get psychotherapy? Wanting to show other patients that they are not alone?
You’re an attention seeker, a simulant, a lazy teenager that doesn’t want to go to school.

Talking about mental illness still isn’t considered normal, whilst talking about physical illness is perfectly fine.

We live in a world where if you break your arm, everyone runs over to sign your cast. But if you tell people you’re depressed, everyone runs the other way.
We are so, so, so accepting of any body part breaking down other than our brains. And that’s ignorance. That’s pure ignorance. And that ignorance has created a world that doesn’t understand depression, that doesn’t understand mental health.

 

I don’t like being vocal about my problems, but I speak up anyway.
If you meet me in person it will take a long time until I tell you anything about my problems. I’ve gone years without anyone noticing there’s something wrong. It’s easier to let everyone around you think you’re okay, but not speaking up will make you even more sick.

Mental illnesses often go unnoticed for a really long time, either because the person doesn’t even know that what they’re experiencing might be a mental health issue or because they’re too afraid to tell anyone or to seek help.

In school we teach kids about HIV and aids, we show them how to brush their teeth and tell them how to take care of their body by eating healthy. But we don’t teach them to speak up about their feelings, to take care of themselves even when they’re feeling like they don’t deserve to or to take a break instead of breaking down because there’s still so much to do.

We tell parents to look out for symptoms of physical illnesses in their kids like rashes or pain, but we don’t tell them to take care of their kids mental health and to look out if they’re often angry, sad or anxious.

Why do we pay so much attention to every part of our body but our brain? Why is it okay to rest when we have a cold, but lazy to rest when we had a rough day? Why are we strong when we come to work even though we had a fever yesterday, but weak when we call in sick, because we had a full blown panic attack last night?

I want others to know that they’re not alone, that they’re not weak, that what they’re experiencing is real. I want to raise awareness on a topic that is still considered a taboo subject in our society and to stand up for those that can’t stand up for themselves.
I want to show that it’s okay to take care of yourself, that it’s okay to seek for help, that it’s okay to rest and, most of all, that it’s okay to speak up.

Nobody’s perfect, we’re all humans and we have to take care of each other and, most importantly, of ourselves.

You have been assigned this mountain to show others it can be moved.

Not being able to talk at times

I’m sitting in my therapists office and she asks me some simple questions.
“How are you feeling?” – “Not that good” is what I say instead of explaining why I feel horrible. “What happened this week?” – “Not that much” I say, not being able to think of what I did the last few days.

“Tell me a bit about your day” she says. And that’s when it happens.
I want to answer her question, but I just can’t get out a word. I try to breathe, but suddenly it feels like I’m suffocating. She doesn’t say anything. I look around searching for the clock, a minute goes by, it feels like an hour. “What’s so hard?” she asks. “I don’t know” is the only thing I can bring myself to say.
She asks a ton of other questions, but I can’t answer anymore. I’m silent for the rest of the session, my therapist doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not only that I am so nervous I can’t concentrate on anything or that I am too shy to answer. It’s wanting to speak but not being able to find your voice, wanting to express yourself but not being able to do it through words and sentences.

I want to talk to you, I want to look you in the eyes, I want to ask you questions, I want to be friendly, but instead I don’t say a word, I stare on the ground, wait until you give up on our conversation and come off as rude.

It’s not that I don’t want to speak, it’s simply that I just can’t. Even in therapy it’s one of the biggest obstacles. Even my therapist told me a hundred times, that she doesn’t know how to handle it.

Please, if you try to talk to someone and they’re not answering, please do not assume that it means they’re rude. Sometimes it’s just too much.

A day in the life with depression

Hearing my alarm ring I get disappointed for waking up again. I don’t wanna have to get through another day, I don’t have the strength to face another day, I’m tired and I want to sleep.

I lie in bed for another hour, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, thinking of possible excuses to call in sick today. Who cares if I show up? Does it even matter? I won’t be able to focus on anything, so why should I even force myself to go there?

I’m running late and now I can’t decide what to wear. I don’t even care how I look, so why is it that hard for me to find something that feels worth putting on? I want to go back to bed and just sleep, everything is too much and I’m so tired.

I think I don’t need breakfast today, I don’t have enough time to eat anything, nor do I feel hungry. Honestly, it doesn’t matter, I feel like shit anyways.

I didn’t catch my bus and have to wait another hour. I don’t have the motivation to go back home, so instead I sit in the rain for a bit. I’m getting cold and I think about just giving up on today and going back to sleep again.

I arrive an hour late at school, my teacher says that I have to get up earlier and that this will no longer count as an excuse. I want to tell them that I didn’t even plan on arriving here and that I considered to throw myself in front of every car that I passed on the way.

During class I can’t focus. I want the day to be over already. I start to count: Seconds, minutes, hours until I can finally leave. Just another 45 minutes, I try to count to 2700 to pass the time. I get tired at 300. 40 more minutes to go. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay awake any longer. I’m so tired.

My teachers get upset with me because I didn’t tell them about my missing homework. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t tell them this every single day. I never have my homework. I want to do them every day and every day I fail. I don’t know how to build up the motivation and energy to do this. It’s not that I don’t know the answers or anything, I just don’t get anything done.

During class several teachers come up to me. They’re disappointed because I don’t write everything down. I’m sorry. I’m disappointed, too.

As I finally arrive at my house again, I just want to fall into bed. But I have to do some stuff to help my mum, and oh, I want to help her so much, but oh, I’m so overwhelmed by everything and even the simplest task is too hard for me.
Seeing my family doing so much more than I do hurts and I understand that it comes off as laziness most of the time, but really, I’m trying, I’m trying so hard.

I probably should eat something, I’m feeling a bit hungry, but I just don’t care. I’d rather starve than make myself something to eat. I just can’t find the motivation to get up and walk those few steps to the fridge. Later on I get really hungry, so I just search for something that I don’t have to prepare and eat it. I honestly don’t care.

And day after day I sit on my bed, staring at the wall, thinking about doing my homework and day after day I end up not doing it. I want to do it, I really want to do it. I won’t get a job, I won’t succeed in life, I won’t ever be happy again, I probably won’t even survive until I’m 20.

I avoid to look at my phone, because answering peoples messages stresses me out too much and I don’t have the energy to keep up with literally anything. I binge watch something I can’t focus on until I can finally go to bed at an embarassing early time.

I lie in bed thinking about how I wasted another day and ask myself how I am supposed to get through tomorrow. I’m already tired for like the next three years. I just want to sleep, but please, I don’t want to dream anything, because even dreaming is too exhausting. Some time after midnight I eventually fall asleep, thanks to my sleeping pills.
I made it through today, but it was hard. Will I make it through tomorrow?

Why I push away the ones I fear to lose

I know I get too attached. I always feel like I can’t trust anyone, but if I do, I start to get attached which comes along with the fear of losing the ones I need the most. And then, somehow, I always happen to push away exactly these people. That’s what happens all the time.

And here’s why.

I know I have trust issues, I usually never trust anyone. But sometimes I start to trust people and suddenly they become an important part of my life. I get obsessed, and that’s when I get so afraid of losing them, that it seems like the only option I have is to push them away.

I don’t want them to recognize how much they mean to me, because it might freak them out a bit and they might distance themselves, but at the other hand I want them to know how much of an impact they have on my life.
I don’t want them to think I’m obsessing over their exsitence, but I want them to know that they’re cherished as a person.
I don’t want them to get annoyed with me, but I want to talk to them or spend time with them.
I don’t want them to think I’m like some kind of stalker, but I for sure want them to know that I don’t hate them.
But most of the time that’s probably exactly what they think of me.

Those people are often teachers, therapists or others that did something that helped me or that I appreciated. Most of time I don’t really talk to those people, I probably don’t even say hi when I walk past them, because I am too shy.
I’m 24/7 afraid that someone I like hates me.

I am so terrified of being hated, forgotten or left, that I think I have to be the one who leaves first, because it hurts less to leave than being left.

But I’m not strong enough and so I keep losing people. And I always lose them. Maybe if I told them how important they are to me and that I want to stay in touch, some of them wouldn’t leave completely.

I hope you always remember someone out there appreciates you and your existence in their life, even if you don’t get to recognize it. 

What being inpatient really is like

I might or might not have written this to convince myself that going inpatient isn’t as scary as it seems. Yes, I’ve been inpatient before; no, that doesn’t mean I’m not scared of doing it again. So here you go:


Thinking about inpatient treatment for mental illness, the first thing that comes to peoples minds is probably a lot of scary stuff.

Sure, it is scary as hell, but since you’re fighting a war inside of your mind, fighting to get your life back, doing things you never wanted to do and so on, that’s pretty normal.
It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to fear it, because IT IS SCARY.

But there is so much more to this.

Being inpatient on an open station isn’t sitting in your room in a hospital gown crying all day, it’s walking around in pyjamas all day every day and nobody cares what you look like.
It’s playing video games with other patients and fighting about who gets to be Peach in Mario Kart to distract yourself, trying to get into the staff wifi for free and watching at least two movies a day.

It isn’t eating the same gross hospital food alone in your room everyday, it’s sitting at a table with your friends, eating like a family and building stuff with bread and tooth sticks.
It’s playing games like “Who am I” on the table, so those with an eating disorder have something other than food to think about and those with social anxiety have something to talk about to the others.

Staying in the hospital over night isn’t always hearing the alarm go off, people screaming outside your room or ambulances arriving every night.
Sure that happens too, but sometimes it’s sneaking out of your room at midnight to wish your friend in another room a happy birthday.
Sometimes it’s begging the staff to allow you to stay outside of your rooms until midnight and them being okay with it.
Sometimes it’s staying outside until locktime watching the stars and listening to music.

Being there for a really long time isn’t missing home every single day and wanting to escape all the time.
Sure homesickness is real and will come along quiet often, but eventually you’ll meet the most wonderful people in there, with which you’ll be in contact for the rest of your life and still talking about the time you spent inpatient together 20 years after.
Maybe it’s finding out that you’ll consider this place your second home for the rest of your life and that it will always belong in your heart .

It’s experiencing things you’d never imagined before, good and bad. But it for sure isn’t just scary.

Specific phobias

Did you ever fear something so much you would have rather died than having to experience that thing?

That’s what it’s like to have a specific phobia.

Everything I do in my life is meant to prevent on experiencing my fear, every thought I think is checked at least twice in case it could make this thing happen.

I can’t even write about what my biggest fear is, because when I write or talk about it it seems even more real and even more like it’s gonna happen in any moment.

I am ashamed, of my fear and of myself. I know that these thoughts don’t make sense, I know that my fear seems irrelevant to others and I know that my phobia is what holds me back from living a happy life.

Not even one simple action like putting a glas on a table isn’t thought through a hundred times. Did I ever do it like I’m doing it right now and was I afraid or did the thing happen? If I do it like this now, will I be afraid or will this thing happen? If I do it like this now and I will be afraid or the thing will happen, I won’t ever be able to do it like this again, because it will happen again. If I won’t ever be able to do it like this again, I will get afraid and the thing might happen.

My thoughts never stop. My mind is currently working and creating “What if” sentences. I can’t make it stop. I can’t make it stop, because if I don’t think about it, I will be afraid and the thing might happen.

At times it gets worse and I become really afraid. I won’t be able to function like a normal human being, I might escape or try to interact with you, I might talk a lot or not at all, I might sit still or walk around trying to breathe, I might tell you what’s going on, but most of the time I won’t.

I have to get through this and I most probably will get through this, but I never know for sure if I really will.

Sometimes I want to give up, I don’t want to exist anymore or I want to die, because then the thing won’t ever happen again.

Sometimes I just want to hide, forever. I want to find an option to make sure this thing won’t ever happen, at all costs.

Sometimes I just want this fear to go away, because I would like to do something randomly and not think about the same thing all the time, sometimes I just want to know how a normal life feels.

Please, I beg you to never ever ever play down someone’s fears or to even make fun of them. If you’ve never felt like that before, you won’t be able to understand, no matter how hard you try. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.

Try to find out what comforts the person, what lowers their fear and what you can do to help them a little. Even if it’s just talking random stuff or sitting across the room; the best you can do is to respect the persons fear and to try to minimize the harm they do to themselves, mentally and/or physically. 

[mhaw] ❁ Why not having an ED could’ve made me develope one

[Mental Health Awareness Week – Post 2]

I never had an eating disorder. But everybody always thought I had one.
And that’s the problem.

I was born underweight and I was underweight my whole life.
When I was only 1 year old my mother got asked if I get enough to eat, when I was 3 years old I was told I eat like a bird, when I was 7 years old other girls started to comment on my body and when I was 10 some of my classmates first started to get jealous.
When I was 12 my teacher (!) said that they’d wish to weigh as less as I did, when I was 13 years old, I was forced to eat more than I wanted by someone that doesn’t even belong to my family.
Even when I went inpatient for therapy, I was under an eating disorder treatment and it took me 9 weeks of resistance until they started to second-guess themselves. I had to eat on the tables with people who actually do have an ED for 12 weeks, my weight was checked twice a week for 85 days and even when I was released they still didn’t completely believe me.

I got commented on my weight by family, friends, classmates, doctors and strangers every day my whole life long. I was asked if I have an eating disorder almost once a week, I was asked how much I eat and if I go running or to the gym.

No. I was like everyone else my age. The low weight is in my genes, I wasn’t doing anything for it.

But when you hear things like this every single day, you start to think about it.
Most of the time it was just annoying, sometimes I felt complimented, but I still wanted to gain some weight.
Some day I started to feel like I wasn’t allowed to change anymore. I thought I had to stay that way so people wouldn’t stop liking me, I thought that if I gained weight people would dislike me, because I’d be like everyone else.

I can be very lucky that I can control these thoughts and that I eat what I want, when I want, but someone else might have been even more uncomfortable with how they look and would have started to diet.

What’s saddest about this is, that even teachers, those that are rolemodels to so many young children, were telling me that they wished for a weight like mine. They didn’t know if I had an eating disorder or not. I was lucky that I didn’t have one, but there are so many people out there that do, and they receive the same messages all the time.

Think before you speak.

[mhaw] ❁ Zoloft

[Mental Health Awareness Week – Post 1 – Talking about Zoloft]

As Zoloft is the most prescribed antidepressant and the second most prescribed pychiatric medication, a lot of people in the mental health community know about it or take it themselves.
Everytime someone found out I also take them I was asked a ton of questions about my experience with it. I was asked on tumblr, facebook, instagram, just random chats, ..

So let’s talk about it.


First of all, what the hell is Zoloft?
Zoloft or Sertraline is an an antidepressant used to treat
Depression, Anxiety, OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder), Panic Disorder (with or without Agoraphobia), Social Anxiety, Phobias, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Eating Disorders such as Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia Nervosa or Binge Eating, Body Dysmorphic Disorder and PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

How does it work?
Sertraline belongs to a group of drugs called SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors), it is also a dopamine reuptake inhibitor.
So basically what it does is increasing the dose of the sertraline and dopamine in your brain. Those neurotransmitters are chemicals that relay signals between the cells in the brain.
Clients with depressive or anxiety disorders do produce way less of those chemicals, so by upping the dose in the brain sertraline is thought to improve the symptoms.

I’ve been taking Zoloft for almost 1 and 1/2 year now. I started with 25mg/day, at the moment I take 175mg/day. The highest dose you can take per day is 200mg.
My psychiatrist prescribed it to me before having an ECG and a full blood count done, but only because of the bad state I was in. You should really get those things done before starting your medication, because otherwise it could be extremely dangerous.

At the first 1 or 2 weeks I didn’t recognize anything besides not being able to sleep and my OCD being worse. Week 3 and 4 were the hardest, I had a lot of side effects like being extremely exhausted but having insomnia, being really hungry or not hungry at all, feeling nauseous and dizzy all the time (great for my phobia – not), having to yawn like every 2 seconds which is embarassing and exhausting, not feeling present at all and stuff like that.

But after 1 month I started to feel less anxious and less depressed, getting out of bed and the house was easier, my phsyical symptoms almost dissappeared and my therapist said that I seemed to be a lot more present and “alive”.

Having the meds and not wanting to go to the psych ward I started going to school again, which I definitely wouldn’t be able to do without meds.
I could start therapy after like 2 months of taking Zoloft and was able to get inpatient in a different hospital that was 10(!) hours away from my hometown (imagine having agoraphobia and being that far away from home for 1/4 year).

Everytime we upped my dose I had like 1 week of side effects, but felt better after my body got used to the higher dose. As I already said I’m currently taking 175mg and we decided not to stop or switch to another med yet, because it’s a really high risk.


Something you really should know about Sertraline is that in the beginning it quite often increases the amount of suicidal thoughts someone is experiencing and it’s known to be able to lead to suicide, so if you’re experiencing these sideeffects you should immediately tell your doctor!

 

 

Real Anxiety

How my anxiety affected me producing a short film about anxiety

I have struggled with social anxiety since I was in kindergarten.
Now I’m 18 and still struggling.
But things have changed.

Now I’m able to speak up and raise awareness about what I and a thousand others suffer from.

Therefor I decided to produce a short film about anxiety for my 2-year-school-project.
Well, being in front of the camera I recognized I’m even more uncomfortable than I want it to seem in the video.

Most of the anxiety scenes in the short film are staged, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t anxious doing all this.
A whole bunch of the raw material is just me awkwardly talking to the person behind the camera, jumping up and down doing weird stuff with my hands and not being able to think because of the panic in my head.
I have more than 1 hour of material that doesn’t show anything besides me sitting on my bed dissociating and staring at the ceiling the whole time.

But none of this is included in the short film.
It’s raw, it’s real, it’s personal and it’s embarrasing to look at. I look horrible, I do not have any control and I’m an open book. I’m hurtable.

BUT THESE SCENES ARE THE MOST REAL ONES. I want the world to recognize the ugliness of anxiety attacks, I want the people to keep an eye on their family and friends, I want them to know the signs.

Continue reading “Real Anxiety”