Birthday Parties are the Worst.

My son is going to a birthday party today.

For most mothers this phrase is akin to “It’s Tuesday.” or “I need to make dinner.”  Someone else’s kid’s party usually means you can drop off your kid and have two or three hours to yourself.  Or it means interacting with other adults (and probably their kids).

For me, the phrase is akin to “Let’s pull out our fingernails” or “Time for a root canal!”

Yesterday was a particularly difficult day because an Occupational Therapist came for a visit to assess my current condition.  I was nervous when she arrived, started crying for no rational reason halfway into her visit, and after she left, I was anxious and exhausted.  Nothing bad happened, but that’s no excuse for my crazy brain!  That bitch thinks and does what she wants.  I’m just along for the ride.

This morning when I woke up, I was suddenly terrified at the prospect of going out and interacting with people.  I partially blame the anxiety and panic hangover from yesterday.  I have three options when it comes to social gatherings:  1.) suck it up and pretend to enjoy yourself, 2.) keep to myself while encouraging my husband to stay with me in one area that I have, for whatever reason, deemed a safe zone, or 3.) stay the hell at home.

Let me be clear:  I don’t necessarily hate people.  I hate my brain.  Let’s say I go to the party and wind up interacting with people.  My brain is a complete douche.  She says what she wants and shows me the worst case scenario while telling me that I’m overreacting.  In less than a minute my brain’s non-stop stream of consciousness diatribe will look something like this:

You’ve been talking too long. She’s not laughing at your pathetic attempt at being funny.  Her grin is just obligatory and I bet she bolts the moment you finish speaking. Oh, look, that chick in the corner is staring at you.  I bet it’s because your outfit looks hideous and you look super fat. Why didn’t you put on any make up today?  The least you could do is cover up your ugly face.  And good job, asshole, you forgot to paint your toenails but you’re wearing sandals.  Why did you even leave the house?  Do you think keeping your husband by your side for this event is going to keep you safe?  You need to hover over your kid so he doesn’t get hurt but be careful because you know all these other people will judge you for being a helicopter mom.  

If I don’t go, then my brain can shut up.  Or can she?

I bet your husband is disgusted with you.  You can’t even leave the house for a two-hour birthday party?  Haven’t we been through this before?  It’s not like the world is out to get you.  Well, except for this time and that time and that other time and don’t forget that one really horrible time when… So you figure you’re just going to stay home and do laundry as a trade-off?  Right.  You know that the moment he leaves, you’re going to sit on the couch and fail.  He expects that from you, so why don’t you just accept it.  Oh, and by the way, you are such a lard ass.  Why don’t you go for a walk?  It will be fun.  I bet you’ll pass by a lot of other people walking and they’ll think, “Oh it’s that lady that always wears yoga pants to pick up her kid from school.  What a surprise that she’s wearing yoga pants again today.  She looks so sloppy and unattractive.”  So maybe we shouldn’t go for a walk.  All the more reason to just park your ass on the couch and hope that no one knocks on the door.  Better yet, just go to bed and pretend you don’t exist.

This is what my brain is like.  She’s that mean girl who pushed me around back in school.  She’s a relentless parent that never stops nagging.  She’s a co-worker that stabs you in the back. She’s a carnival mirror that never reflects  your true self properly.  She’s an abusive ex-boyfriend that reminds me of every last reason why I’m never good enough.  She’s the scientist observing me under a microscope.  She’s the proverbial monkey on my back.

This is what it’s like to live with an overly anxious mind.  It’s scary.

You know what’s even scarier?  This is my brain being “better” compared the nightmare that was my brain before years of therapy, workshops, medication trials, and self-help books.

Sometimes I wish that my brain would just shut the fuck up.

A word on mental illness….

A friend of mine came forward earlier this week on Facebook to talk about his struggles with mental illness. I thought it was a really brave thing to do and it’s inspired me to do the same. If society ignores mental illness and doesn’t have an open and honest dialogue about it, nothing will ever change. So here goes nothing…

I suffer from anxiety, depression, slight body dysmorphia, trust issues and borderline personality disorder. You guys might be thinking, “Borderline personality disorder?! Is she some kind of psycho? Does that mean she has multiple personalities? Is she crazy?”

There are lots of answers to that question. Yes, I often say I’m crazy or completely effed – but its more of a joke to myself. I’m not really crazy. I just deal with times when I’m depressed to the point of not wanting to get out of bed. I deal with anxiety and panic attacks that can be crippling. And the borderline personality disorder? It’s not as creepy as you might think. It basically an emotional dysregulation disorder. I feel things more intently than most. If I am happy, I am completely elated. If I am sad, I am simply distraught. If I get angry, I go from zero to bitch in no time at all. Yes, I take medication. Yes, I have been through intensive therapy and continue with bi-monthly therapy sessions. Yes, I am getting better, but it’s a daily struggle.

I have a great support system with some close, trusted friends and family. My husband is the most patient, caring and understanding soul and he’s been on the front line with me. My son is my inspiration and his very existence forces me to keep myself in check.

I am able to function. I am able to keep healthy relationships with those who exude positive energy. Sometimes I am able to step out of my house and not be scared about what strangers think of me. But it’s been a long road.

The bad experiences in my life have shaped and molded me into the person I am today. I used to regret all my issues, but I realize now that they have made me a stronger and better person. I can sympathize and be there for people who need it – and I want nothing in return. I can do these things because I understand what it’s like to hurt and I don’t want the ones I love to feel alone or hurt. If there’s anything I can do to help them, I always will be there without question. Sometimes it means that I end up emotionally investing into their issues. Sometimes that can be hard because I have enough baggage of my own – but I feel compelled to help. It’s in my nature. And when I see that person notice the silver lining, I feel like everything is worth it.

80% of the world is dealing with some form of mental illness. This world is not forgiving – it forces our hand to make choices in our life that we may not want to make. And because of this, people are prone to a myriad of mental issues.

It’s okay to admit things aren’t perfect. It’s okay to feel the way you do – no one lives your life for you. Your emotions are justified – they’re your emotions. No one should tell you that you’re ridiculous or that you’re overreacting, or that it’s just a phase. Most of the time it’s not – and people who deal with mental illness have to look at themselves and see the darkest parts. It’s what you choose to do with those emotions…those darkest parts…that can make or break you. I decided to actively seek help seven years ago – a choice I made on my own because I knew living was the only option for me. And I don’t just mean being alive, but actually living and working towards a healthier and happier me.

It is a huge step for me to even admit this on a public platform. Part of me is scared to even post this because I just don’t want to be judged. But a bigger part of me wants to share this with everyone. It’s important for people to stand up and understand that there should be no stigma towards mental illness. It’s an illness just like any other and should be treated with the same respect and care that any physical illness receives.

People who struggle with mental illness often wear a figurative mask. We hide ourselves behind this mask because we’re afraid to be judged. We’re afraid to lose family and friends who may not ever be able to accept you for who you are. That mask is toxic. Eventually it will break you down, make you thin skinned and vulnerable. When you take the mask off and are true to yourself, that’s when progress and healing can begin.

I truly appreciate you for reading this. I hope that my post at least reaches one person. If for nothing else, to let you know that you’re not alone. You’re not damaged, broken or flawed. You are strong for making it this far. So keep your chin up – even though its hard. Look straight ahead and keep moving, don’t stop until you find yourself. We all deserve happiness.

Much love to all of you.