Tag: recovery

On the Fringe

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I have always been the one on the fringe. Never in the “in-crowd” always the new girl or the odd girl. I have tried my best to fit into everyone’s world and in the process destroyed myself. I have tried to be everything to everyone and that has brought me misery and tears. My childhood was constant chaos, constantly changing and moving. So many schools, so many people, and not ever finding my place. I longed for my safe space, my great-grandmother. She was my North Star, my constant…and she left this mortal place when I was 16. I felt my light go out, my world flipped upside down and never corrected itself until recently. I see how my childhood has played out in my adult life, the chaos, the seeking another safe place…someone to just love me and hold me.

I believe that there are advantages to being on the fringes. There is freedom. I don’t have to be anyone other than me. I don’t have a social clique that dictates what I wear, who I talk to, where I live, what I drive, who I date or marry, what I do or don’t do for a living…complete freedom to try on my life and see what fits or doesn’t. I have a pass to be the new woman or the odd woman…the free woman. I’m a woman that has spent too many years trying to make someone love or like her, forgetting the whole time that loving one’s self completely is the ultimate love and freedom. So today I am going to try on self-love and see what happens.

Will you join me in this trial? Will you try-on self-love and just see what happens?

Love,

Your friend on the fringes

Claiming Me

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Photo by Esther on Pexels.com

I changed the name of my site awhile back to “Claiming Me,” hoping that I would get my fire back to fully pull myself out of the darkness. Every single time I would get still or go for a walk, this thought kept coming up…I need to claim me even when no one else does, especially when no one else does. The past decade of my life has been layers upon layers of hell, breaks in the hell with the most beautiful times of my life, and times of fear that choked the life out of me. I am still here. I have lots of baggage. Baggage that I didn’t want to claim. Baggage that I couldn’t speak about or even acknowledge for fear of punishment. Yet I know if I want to move out of this part of healing I am in, I have to claim all of me, including the baggage.

I want to write, I want to get out what has been playing on repeat in my head and tattooing itself across my body. I do not know how this will go and I have started so many times, yet stopped because of the fear of someone knowing me and everything that has happened. Judgement. Fear that I am alone in this world, fucked up beyond repair, and that I am the luggage that no one claims that is stuck in a cold, dusty room only to be forgotten.

My life has made no sense to me until recently, when the dust settled and I was finally in a safe place for the first time in my entire 48 years of living on this planet. I am writing to find out who I am, where I belong, and fully “Claiming Me.” I am building my life now and boy does it send me running for the hills. It is amazing how we will run back to everything that destroyed us because it is familiar versus stepping into the new life that is waiting for us, all because it is foreign and our tortured minds long for predictability to keep us safe. Safe in hell. I am done with hell. I am done with the coping skill of sabotage. I want a better life. I want a life that I can be proud of and that my legacy will be that of a woman that stood back up when all the cards were stacked against her and thrived. I claim my story. I claim the baggage of me. I claim the love I deserve to give myself. I claim a better tomorrow.

What do you claim? Do you claim you when no one else does? Even on the horrific days and when you have done things that you are not proud of?

IT’S BEEN A YEAR…

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Ever heard the saying that a lot can change in a year? Well, it definitely can. This time last year I was descending further into Dante’s Inferno, seven layers of pure Hell. On February 26, 2018 at 11:43 am, I received a call from the DEA. I was instructed to call back at my earliest convenience. I called back exactly 10 minutes later, 11:53 am. I can hear the Agent’s voice as if I am still sitting in my car right now. “Mrs., this is DEA Agent So-and-So, you have been indicted on two Felony counts of Fraud, you are to turn yourself in to the US Marshall’s Office at the Federal Courthouse by Noon on Wednesday, February 28, 2018. Do you understand what I just said to you?” I felt all of the world just stop, I could hear my blood as it was pumped through my blood vessel throughout my whole body. Nothing made sense, what did I do? What does indicted mean? Where am I? Did that man just say my name and turn myself in, all in the same sentence?

Yes he did. On February 28, 2018, I was processed into the Federal System, indicted on two felony counts and arraigned on bond. Exactly one month later, March 28, 2018, I attempted to take my life. I took a bottle full of pain pills that I had from previous years for my chronic illness. I woke up in an ambulance headed to the hospital.

What drives a person to take their own life? Lots of things, circumstances, pain, shame, and total devastation. Selfish act? NEVER. Let me REPEAT that, a person trying to take their own life is NOT a selfish act. I have lived 43 years on this earth, I have been through some crazy shit and always seemed to pull myself up by my bootstraps…this time had no fucking boots to even attempt to pull straps from. My world was shattered, turned upside down and shame was turned loose throughout my whole being. When I finally decided to take my life, I felt like I was destroying everyone and everything I ever loved by existing and I would be relieving this world from me. My thoughts were these:

  1. My children would do better if I wasn’t alive because they would not have to deal with a sickly, crazy, felon mother.
  2. I have shamed my family, my legacy is that of an embarrassment.
  3. This is what my life has come to; a sickly, crazy, trapped woman who is a criminal.
  4. I have lived in torture for so many  years, always hoping it would get better and now this.
  5. I am worth more dead than alive to my family.
  6. I won’t fuck anything else up or anyone; I felt like the Black Plague and I was taking everyone into hell with me.
  7. The pain, the nightmare, the anxiety will stop. IT ALL WILL STOP.

Suicide is in the News now more than anytime I can remember. People are tired, scared, screwed up from all the psych drugs/pain meds/Benzos, and Fear is everywhere. I have read comments on posts that allude to the people who succumb to suicide are Selfish and that suicide is the Most Selfish Act. That is WRONG! When someone is in the darkest moments of their life, reading comments that they are Selfish only sends them further into SHAME. As a person that has attempted suicide, I was thinking of everyone else as well. I just wanted the pain, the tornado of me, and the incessant mind chatter to STOP.

If someone is suicidal, there is a reason and it sounds like a credible decision in their mind. Hold space for them, don’t judge them. Sit with them in the darkness, meet them right where they are. I know it is soooo uncomfortable to sit with darkness because it challenges your psyche and your belief systems, your comfort zones. Here are some of my suggestions if you are brave enough to sit with someone in agony:

  1. Don’t give them advice or tell them what they should or should not do
    • You should exercise more
    • You should go to the movies or get out of your house
    • You should, should, should, should
  2. Don’t tell them how they should feel or not feel
    • You shouldn’t feel that way
    • You should be more grateful, people have it way worse than you
    • You should feel more happy
  3. Don’t try to FIX them, YOU CAN’T…I know that one hurts and is so painful to hear
    • I am a nurse by trade and I always want to fix everyone, I now know that fixing is a personal job.
  4. DO listen, when they are ready to talk
  5. DO Get Professionals Involved! Find a counselor, therapist, doctor…and take them if they are willing to go. If they are not, reach out to one and ask for Professional Advice. Find out what, if any, medications or drugs they are on. A lot of medications can cause suicidal thoughts.
  6. Hold space for them, remind them they Matter, they are Heard, they have a PURPOSE.
  7. Remember this is not about you, it is about them…they are in hell here on earth and they don’t need to be reminded how this affects you. They already know. They have analyzed every possible way and outcome in their minds.
  8. DO tell them you love them (not just with words, actions speak louder)
  9. DO let them know that they are NOT ALONE! Being suicidal for me was an island, I was alone and in my head 24/7.
  10. DO let them know that they are NOT what they have done, NOT what has happened to them, and NOT fucked up beyond repair.

I am almost a year out from trying to take my life. I wish I could say that I am healed. I am healing. I am rebuilding my life from the ashes. I have to come realize what a life of trauma does to a person. Why I do what I do, why I think the way I do, and why I lived the way I did…Chaos changes everything. How childhood coping mechanisms become harmful in adulthood.

If you are suicidal right now, YOU MATTER! YOU ARE NOT ALONE! YOU ARE STRONG! Please call someone, a hotline, a friend, a neighbor, a stranger, just reach out. This too shall pass.

Acceptance?

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*Acceptance- noun | ac-cep-tance 1. the quality or state of being accepted or acceptable.  2. the act of accepting something or someone.

*Accept- verb | ac-cept 1 a : to receive (something offered) willingly accept a gift
b : to be able or designed to take or hold (something applied or added)
2: to give admittance or approval
3 a : to endure without protest or reaction
b : to regard as proper, normal, or inevitable
c : to recognize as true : believe
4 a : to make a favorable response
b : to agree to undertake (a responsibility)

Thanks to Merriam-Webster for clarifying to me what accept and acceptance mean. I noticed that acceptance is a noun and accept is a verb. So for me today, I understand a little more on this journey of mine that by accepting (verb- action), I will get to a place of acceptance (noun- place). I may have to accept every day (every second) of the roller coaster ride I am on, yet one day I will arrive at acceptance.

I have read over and over again, the only way through anxiety and fear is accepting what is going on and not fighting it. Yet, no one has ever really taught me how to get there, until recently. I really don’t believe that you understand the place of acceptance until accepting is the only option you have left. This past year and a half of recovering from a medication has taught me what I truly can control and what I cannot, this has led me right to the healing power of accepting. I could not change anything that my body, mind or spirit was doing to heal itself…much like a person healing from a broken bone or car wreck, there is nothing they can possibly do to speed up the process of repair. So, every moment of every day I practice accepting what is going on and hold on to hope that it will come to an end one day and I will be in a different space or season than this one. However, as much as I want to speed through this season of healing, I am coming to learn so much about myself and life right now. I am grateful for that. I know that I will come out a better person because of this and will have much more wisdom from riding the storms out.

For today, I breath in and I breath out…acceptance is my destination and accepting is my action.

 

*definitions from Merriam-Webster.com

 

One Pill That Changed Everything…

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As I sit here and listen to the trees swaying back and forth in the breeze, my mind wanders to the deep dark place that was introduced to me this past year. I have been to the dark places before in my life, just never like this, never this black. Imagine yourself a small child watching a horrific scary movie that you’re not supposed to see, that completely seems real in every way, now turn the intensity up to off-the-freaking-charts. No laughter, no joy, no connection with anything but fear, anger and pain. Yep, that has been my address for the past year all because of a tiny, little yellow pill that was given to me by a physician who said it would help my autonomic nervous system balance itself out.

I was starting to get very sick about 5 years ago, my heart rate would jump sky-high and my blood pressure would plummet, and the inevitable blackout would ensue. Doctors tried me on all the heart medicines to slow the heart rate and I was not able to tolerate them at all. So, what do they do when they can’t give you a pill? They boot you to a “specialist” that can take over and try their concoctions, until theirs do not work and the process repeats itself. Mind you, all the while, no one is asking “why” this is happening…they are doing how they were taught, let me give you a prescription. So the specialist I was sent to at least did more testing than the others and found out that I had an autonomic nervous system problem. When I would stand up, lay down, move around, my nervous would not be able to regulate the heart or vascular system in my body. In turn, my heart rate would soar above 180 and my blood pressure would drop to 70/30. However, she had a “cure” for me, all you need is the one pill and it will do wonders for you. She handed me the prescription and said you will start with one pill in the am and one in the evening, don’t miss a dose. I believed her, was relieved that this would work and happily set off to the local drugstore, walking in with a huge smile on my face waiting for this magic pill to take this all away.

That magic pill was black magic, it sent my life into a tailspin that nearly killed me. One that robbed me of memories, feeling anything, being able to think, and living a wanted life. And what is that magic pill you ask that offers so much, none other than the infamous, Klonopin. A tranquilizer, a benzodiazepine. Little did I know 5 years ago that myself and a heroin addict would have something in common, WITHDRAWAL FROM HELL. I wasn’t a junkie, I wasn’t a street drug user, I wasn’t a social drug user…I was a hard-working, educated, professional, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend…that was given a prescription drug for a medical reason that was “off-label” use for Klonopin. I took it faithfully (like my prescription stated) everyday for 4 years. When it was quickly stopped by a new physician, because in their opinion I didn’t need it anymore, all HELL broke loose.

The constant brain chatter started, the incessant crying, not being able to sleep for days or eat for days, the fear of “going” mad, my body feeling that hot pokers were being shoved up my spine, my head feeling so tight and pressure building so much that I knew it was going to explode any minute, fears coming out of nowhere that made no sense whatsoever, not being able to relate to anyone or anything and last, but definitely not least, feeling like there was something gravely wrong with me and I would NEVER, EVER be ok again.

Today, I am one year from that last pill of Klonopin. I survived, no take that back, I existed some how, some way. I still struggle with the aftermath and withdrawal symptoms, they are not as bad as they were but it still lets me know it is there. I have learned how to really “cope” with life, I have learned I am stronger than I ever thought I was. My heart feels so much compassion now for addicts of any kind, until you have sat with the hell breaking loose in and all around you, you have no idea what battles they fight and attempt to survive on a daily basis.

I am breathing, I am alive and I will survive.