I’m going to start off with this:
The nickel dropped
When I was on
My way beyond
The Rubicon
What did I do
And of the games that I can handle
None are ones worth the candle
What can I do
I'm a frightened, fickle person
Fighting, cryin', kickin', cursin'
What should I do
Oooh, after all the folderol,
And hauling over coals stops
What will I do
Can't take a good day without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile until I've had one
Where did I learn
I make a fuss about a little thing
The rhyme is losing to the riddling
Where's the turn
I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn
Oh, after all the folderol
And hauling over coals stops
What did I learn
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face
Oh, mister, wait until you see
What I'm gonna be
I've got a plan, a demand and it just began
And if you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
That lovely little ditty is a song by Fiona Apple entitled Better Version of Me. I've always loved the way she worded things and I deemed it appropriate to begin this post with this song in particular because this week marks the end of something for me. The end of feeling helpless, the end of just sitting by and watching everything around me crumble because I smash it. I saw a Psychotherapist, got tested and was diagnosed. Now, for those of you that read this and don’t agree with therapy or taking medication for a mental illness, I’m just going to go ahead and bid you ado and tell you not to read any further because you will not like what I have to say. You are not me so you do not know what it is like to be in my head. You can not image how terrifying it is to NOT be able to control your emotions or feelings. To have panic attacks for NO REASON. To be huddled in a corner on the bus controlling your breathing and having the nails bite into your hands because you need to focus on something physical to pull yourself out of a metal shit storm. Every. Fucking. Day. Every day. To go from being eerily happy and energetic only to plummet back to how you felt when you were 14 and listening to Linkin Park all within 10 minutes. To have to battle between rational thoughts and irrational thoughts EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. To not be able to cry, get mad or react when I should but to randomly go off about a small thing that means NOTHING and possibly hurt myself or others.
I can’t do it anymore, it’s exhausting. I can’t even describe how hard it was for me to call a stranger, set up an appointment and ask this stranger to please, please help me because I just can’t do this anymore. For me it’s humiliating to admit I can’t control what goes on in my brain. Shouldn’t you be able to have control? Isn’t that the whole fucking point of free will? I’d ask people around me (the WRONG people) and they would just dismiss me saying that I could control it. “Go to yoga” “Meditate”, don’t drink coffee (I rarely do), do this, do that, do this do that but don’t go to a shrink because that’s a crock of shit. The people I consider my true, true, amazing friends grabbed my hands, looked me straight in the eyes and told me to talk to a professional. They told me that I wasn’t just being dramatic because they have seen my struggle get worse and were worried about me. That they would support me no matter what. They understood that I really, really can’t turn off my head.
I am going to do what ever it takes to control this. That may include medication, it may not. If it does DO NOT try and deter me from it. This is already INCREDIBLY hard. A mental illness is a fucking ILLNESS. It is not something that just goes away. Something is not firing right in my brain and it’s becoming detrimental to my health and my life. If you do not believe in mental illness… then lucky you, you’ve clearly never been around a severely mentally damaged person. I was raised by one.
So, the song is a bit of inspiration for me. I’m hoping this is the start of a better version of me. Not a completely changed me because I want to retain my quirks, but I’d like to be able to control them. So cross your fingers for the greatness cause I’m coming back from the breakdown.
Also, I do plan on making this blog less mental and more physical. You’ll see what I mean.
*hums and breathes a sigh of relief*
2 comments:
+/- said...
i am actually very proud of you. for many reasons. i haven't met the people talking you out of talking to a professional, but they're probably shit heads anyway.
1. following an occupation as a means of livelihood or for gain: a professional builder. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/professional)
so really a "professional" is just someone trained in a craft. so, is it really that bad to talk to one when they are trained to deal with brains?
any really, anyone who says something like that isn't looking out for your best interest. we know your mom is FUCKED UP, and can't be turned to, so i do like to think that you can turn to your [reliable] friends for support and ideas.
i am VERY proud of you.
Tanya said...
Late comment, but I'm pretty sure I've said "YES PLS SEE THERAPIST" before, because I think for anyone who's willing it's a GREAT opportunity to receive an unbiased opinion from someone who's NOT involved in your life emotionally in ANY way.
People who say that shrinks are bad are probably just hidden Scientologists who want to take all your moneys and make you Tom Cruise's dungeon slave.
The nickel dropped
When I was on
My way beyond
The Rubicon
What did I do
And of the games that I can handle
None are ones worth the candle
What can I do
I'm a frightened, fickle person
Fighting, cryin', kickin', cursin'
What should I do
Oooh, after all the folderol,
And hauling over coals stops
What will I do
Can't take a good day without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile until I've had one
Where did I learn
I make a fuss about a little thing
The rhyme is losing to the riddling
Where's the turn
I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn
Oh, after all the folderol
And hauling over coals stops
What did I learn
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face
Oh, mister, wait until you see
What I'm gonna be
I've got a plan, a demand and it just began
And if you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
That lovely little ditty is a song by Fiona Apple entitled Better Version of Me. I've always loved the way she worded things and I deemed it appropriate to begin this post with this song in particular because this week marks the end of something for me. The end of feeling helpless, the end of just sitting by and watching everything around me crumble because I smash it. I saw a Psychotherapist, got tested and was diagnosed. Now, for those of you that read this and don’t agree with therapy or taking medication for a mental illness, I’m just going to go ahead and bid you ado and tell you not to read any further because you will not like what I have to say. You are not me so you do not know what it is like to be in my head. You can not image how terrifying it is to NOT be able to control your emotions or feelings. To have panic attacks for NO REASON. To be huddled in a corner on the bus controlling your breathing and having the nails bite into your hands because you need to focus on something physical to pull yourself out of a metal shit storm. Every. Fucking. Day. Every day. To go from being eerily happy and energetic only to plummet back to how you felt when you were 14 and listening to Linkin Park all within 10 minutes. To have to battle between rational thoughts and irrational thoughts EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. To not be able to cry, get mad or react when I should but to randomly go off about a small thing that means NOTHING and possibly hurt myself or others.
I can’t do it anymore, it’s exhausting. I can’t even describe how hard it was for me to call a stranger, set up an appointment and ask this stranger to please, please help me because I just can’t do this anymore. For me it’s humiliating to admit I can’t control what goes on in my brain. Shouldn’t you be able to have control? Isn’t that the whole fucking point of free will? I’d ask people around me (the WRONG people) and they would just dismiss me saying that I could control it. “Go to yoga” “Meditate”, don’t drink coffee (I rarely do), do this, do that, do this do that but don’t go to a shrink because that’s a crock of shit. The people I consider my true, true, amazing friends grabbed my hands, looked me straight in the eyes and told me to talk to a professional. They told me that I wasn’t just being dramatic because they have seen my struggle get worse and were worried about me. That they would support me no matter what. They understood that I really, really can’t turn off my head.
I am going to do what ever it takes to control this. That may include medication, it may not. If it does DO NOT try and deter me from it. This is already INCREDIBLY hard. A mental illness is a fucking ILLNESS. It is not something that just goes away. Something is not firing right in my brain and it’s becoming detrimental to my health and my life. If you do not believe in mental illness… then lucky you, you’ve clearly never been around a severely mentally damaged person. I was raised by one.
So, the song is a bit of inspiration for me. I’m hoping this is the start of a better version of me. Not a completely changed me because I want to retain my quirks, but I’d like to be able to control them. So cross your fingers for the greatness cause I’m coming back from the breakdown.
Also, I do plan on making this blog less mental and more physical. You’ll see what I mean.
*hums and breathes a sigh of relief*
2 comments:
+/- said...
i am actually very proud of you. for many reasons. i haven't met the people talking you out of talking to a professional, but they're probably shit heads anyway.
1. following an occupation as a means of livelihood or for gain: a professional builder. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/professional)
so really a "professional" is just someone trained in a craft. so, is it really that bad to talk to one when they are trained to deal with brains?
any really, anyone who says something like that isn't looking out for your best interest. we know your mom is FUCKED UP, and can't be turned to, so i do like to think that you can turn to your [reliable] friends for support and ideas.
i am VERY proud of you.
Tanya said...
Late comment, but I'm pretty sure I've said "YES PLS SEE THERAPIST" before, because I think for anyone who's willing it's a GREAT opportunity to receive an unbiased opinion from someone who's NOT involved in your life emotionally in ANY way.
People who say that shrinks are bad are probably just hidden Scientologists who want to take all your moneys and make you Tom Cruise's dungeon slave.
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