Election and Mental Health

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you may know that I am currently experiencing different levels of depression, and have been for quite some time. There's a lot of factors that go into this, including my history of clinical depression, but it would be silly to ignore the elephant in the room (and I'm not talking about Trump! As repulsive and unseemly as he may be...) 

COVID restrictions and quarantine continues trudging along in America, along with the apprehension that was election season. Luckily, we did get a Biden-Harris administration, which I am excited about, but the state of our country and our world is very much still in flux.

Here's the reality of my situation: much like our country, I'm on the right path but there's a long way to go. 

Untitled

 

I'm not so ironically titling this post "untitled", because I don't have the energy to think right now. I don't have the energy to come up with a theme, or a plan, or a post. All I can do, in this moment, is listen to the click clack of my laptop keys as I sputter out another post, typing, writing, and trying.

I've written about my depression and my depressive episode in many of my previous posts. It has been taking over me and swallowing me whole. And I am trying, so hard, to be hopeful.

I had a few days of good. A few good days. Joe Biden FINALLY won the election, alleviating my anxiety if only for a bit. I got to be with my parents when the news came in. I got to call my grandma and deliver the news. And for a few days, things were good.

But that's the tricky thing about mental illness. I guess part of me knew the darkness would seep back. The nightmares are still here, my anxieties playing out folktales in my unconsciousness. 

I can still smile, even if it feels forced. I still know, deep down, that my writing is meaningful not only for me but for others. I know I am not alone in this, that none of us are. As lonely and empty as depression can feel, I am overflowing with love and support.

I am managing. I am getting out of bed. I am asking for help-- from my parents, from my sister, from my friend. I am reminding myself of the truths I know but cannot feel. The truth that I am loved, supported, beautiful, and powerful.

And with this, I settle back into what I know: I write. I type and I listen to the click clack of the keys. I drink water. I tell myself I will be okay, because I will be. That's all I can do right now.

And that's plenty.

With love,

Rivi

Small Talk

Am I okay? That’s the question I ask myself daily. It’s always been a complicated question for me, even before Covid. I try to answer honestly, without being too honest. American society has gone from “pretty good, you?” To “ hanging in there” and now to “all things considered? I don’t know. ” It’s no longer a small talk question and a recited answer, and that is actually pretty nice for me. 

I always take things too literally, give more information than anyone asked for, and lack the general social awareness that comes with small talk and friendly banter. I never understood the formality of asking a question with a predetermined answer, or why a full rundown of my mental health status and hormonal levels was not an adequate response to “how’s your day?”

There is a social game we all play, and I long ago decided I would not read the rules. I understand things the way my neurodivergent brain comprehends them, and as much as I try to fake it, I see the world differently. 

I see the world differently because of what I have been through, with misdiagnosis and doctors and years of quiet struggles. For once I wanted someone other than a doctor to ask me how my mental health was, someone who wasn’t listening for trigger words or symptom analysis. I wanted to give a full description of the bright points and the struggles of my summer, because summer time I could travel and live outside my own head for a few weeks. But I also wanted to say that sometimes hiking in macchu picchu is exhausting and I cried in the middle of the walk, because that has a bigger meaning to me. (Read my post here about that meaning) I couldn’t understand why I had to hold all these feelings inside, will never fully comprehend the complexities of the social game we call life.

So how am I doing today? In short, I am okay. I am writing, and I am loving that ability. I like creating this blog and creating some kind of meaning out of the absurdity that is this year and all my many years of mental health struggles and general life experience. 

I may not be the most socially experienced or adept at making small talk, but I try to make meanings through my writing. That is good enough for me. 

With love and strength,

Rivi

Tired of Fighting

 Maybe the pharmacy changed the manufacturer for my anti-depressant. Maybe I need to spend more time outside. Maybe I'm not eating right. Maybe I need to exercise. Maybe I can fix this.

These are all the thoughts that are burning through my mind tonight, at 10 pm, as I try to decide what to do next. I am crying, for no reason, because that's what depression is. I am fretting about how my friend won't respond to my small talk texts because maybe she doesn't like me anymore, or so my anxiety says. So I do what I have been doing for years, the only surefire way I have to combat these feelings: I write.

I am so very tired of fighting depression, but I will not surrender to the despair. I take out my battle weapons: my writing, my water, my family support. I sit up and roll my shoulders back and I type. And in this way, I am fighting my war. 

The tears have stopped flowing now. This one thing, writing my truths-- this, I can do. This has held me up for years. This has given others insight and opened my online community up to hold me up and keep me fighting. I need that support now. 

What else is there to say? I tell myself to keep writing, keep spilling ink because at 10 pm at night that is what I need so I may sleep peacefully. I need the familiarity of thoughts on screens and the familiar click clack of keys as my words take form. 

Some people turn to substances, and I thank my lucky stars (or, more accurately, my parents and community) that I have found this productive way to express my pain, my stress, my battles. I don't know how far my words will reach tonight, but they are giving me peace. 

I started typing this post in tears and I am ending it with calm. The storm has passed, flowing through my thoughts into this post that maybe no one will care about but still it has given me something. It has given me freedom from the clutch that is depression. 

Depression, anxiety, and mental illness take over every part of life. I worry about my depression as I sit numbly, staring at videos and trying to escape into another headspace. I think about my ADHD when I walk, convinced that exercise will help; the doctor said so. Even the things I do not do because of my mental illness, my battles creep amongst everything I do. They scurry out at random times, taking hold of my mind and sending me spiraling.

But not writing. Writing is my sword and I am fighting back. When I am in my writing headspace, my mental illness is my audience instead of my conductor. It sits quietly before me, waiting to hear how I will transform my pain into truth. Into stories. Into love.

I am here. I am transforming and I am understanding. I am living. I am writing. And I will keep writing, because writing is my best friend and my battle partner, carrying me into peace.

Why I Write (July 27, 2020)

Today's selfie: I'm smiling.

Before anything else, I need to say thank you to everyone who has commented, liked, shared, messaged me, etc. since my last post. I have been blown away with the amount of love and support I have in my community. 

It is in these dark times when I am able to see the number of sparks and lights that are brightening my way. Depression doesn’t feel like darkness for me; rather, it feels like a heavy fog. It feels like a television with the brightness turned down all the way, a wrinkled version of the life I know is possible. 

I write about my depression, my anxiety, my ADHD, and my mental health journey for many reasons, the primary reason being this: I want to be the person I needed when I was younger. I am not striving to make some grand statement, no moral of the story here. I am simply writing my truth because writing is the best connection I know. Writing was how I expressed myself when I felt invisible. Writing was what brought me out during the darkest times of my journey in high school, and it is what lifts me up now. 

Writing gives me a purpose beyond my own struggle. Writing provides truth and value in a world of social media filtered perfection. Writing remains how I speak unspeakable truths, how I share what I hold too tightly. I hope that may connect with someone, even if that connection is only with myself on a deeper level.

I write because I don’t have the answer. I write because there are not always answers, sometimes there are only statements and stories and truths. My story is still going, and it is nowhere near complete. I am not near my ending, both in the dark sense and the superficial sense. I will continue living and continue writing and continue sharing my truth. My story is also not over in the aspect that it is not tied up with a pretty bow. I am not a success story, I am only a story. I do not know what happens next, but I invite you along for the ride. 

Come with me as I write my story. I am blessed with love from a community of tangental connections, people who are reaching out across screens to offer support. And when you are ready, I invite you to share your story as well. We are all living stories of the beauties of humanity. Come with me; let us live and tell our stories.

With love and strength,

Rivi

Fighting Depression, continued

I don’t know how to start this other than to say: I’m here. I’m okay. I’m going to make it through.

A couple of months ago, I wrote a blog post about my anxieties around depression. I wrote about what it had been feeling like to live in quarantine, my feelings of loss and lack of routine, my sadness, my hopelessness. 

At the beginning of June, I returned to work teaching preschool with strict regulations in place as California began to reopen. And now, at the end of July, I have made the decision with my therapist to go on medical leave until my mental health improves and the overall pandemic and political environment shifts. 

Everything hurts right now. 

There’s no “but”, no follow up that will make it all worth it. This depression is happening and it is painful for me, and that’s real. It’s a struggle I’ve know for over 10 years, and it’s back in a heartbreaking way.

Fighting Off Depression

We're living in a weird time. I started out counting our lockdown in days, then weeks, and now we are slowly beginning the second month and it is all more of the same. I've been doing a pretty good job lately of keeping my anxiety, ADHD, and neurodiversity in check-- I know what I need for myself and my mental well-being, and to the best of my ability, I accommodate. But a few days ago, I entered the battle of depression.

I never understood the term "fighting illness". I never liked the idea that someone loses a fight because they are not strong enough to battle any longer, and yet, it is the best metaphor I can use right now. Because I am not depressed, or slipping quietly into a depressive episode. I am strongly, bravely, and exhaustingly, fighting. 

My body and my mind wish to go quietly. I found myself crying for no reason, breaking down because my mind had nothing left to give. A gray cloud of depression very much hung over me, surrounding me in fear and sadness and overwhelming darkness. But my spirit fights on.

One of the most profound moments in my depression journey came a few months ago, before the pandemic, before the lockdown, when life was still so normal. 

Real Time Anxiety Attack and Recovery

The following is a real time account of my thoughts/stream of consciousness as I recover from a major anxiety attack:

I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared. These were the only thoughts clouding my brain this afternoon as I lay curled up alone in my bed, shaking under my covers, in the middle of the first full fledged anxiety attack I'd had in months. Even now, as I have pulled through it, I keep reminding my breath to slow down, remind my heart it's still beating, tell myself I am moving through the fear.

I've been doing really, really well for the past number of months. I haven't posted much on this blog, as you may have been able to tell, but I have been doing really well. I have my own apartment in Berkeley. I have a job teaching preschool that I love so much; I look forward to going to it every day. I have a therapist and a medication schedule and a gym and a fridge full of healthy foods I cook myself. But just about a week ago, it all started crumbling around me. Between coronavirus, worldwide anxiety, and the news cycle, it hit me like a freight train all at once.

This too shall pass. I tell myself this during this shaky moments, when uncertainty is all around me and I am still struggling to pull myself together. This is just another bump in the road. I've been through obstacles far greater with much less hope.

I smiled. I just smiled. It was spontaneous, but I can feel the anxiety releasing more and more every letter I type. I am listening to an acoustic playlist as I write this, and I suddenly recognized an Ed Sheeran tune ("Thinking Out Loud"). I remember how much my sister loves Ed Sheeran, how we'd listen to it on long trips in the summertime. She's coming home. I'll get to see her soon.

The guitar strums at a nice beat through the screen and I smile with tears in my eyes. There are tough moments, but I am here. For every scary, paralyzing afternoon I spend watching the sunlight fade away from my window, I know I will come out. I know the nights are dark and sometimes scary but the morning light can be the best cleanser.

My shoulders unclench, slowly. I remind myself this is a process of uncurling myself, letting go of the darkness surrounding me. I have found a bit of light to clear up the panic, and it is stitching me back together.

I smile again. I think about cute, feel good videos where toddlers meet their celebrity crushes. About happy things, scented candles and sticker filled journal pages. I will get through this. Not just this anxiety attack, but the ones that will return again and again, a boomerang shattering me into a hundred pieces. But I am stronger than I ever was, and each day I grow stronger and braver.

Anxiety is not just being nervous for social situations or stressing about lost items, although it is that too. There are days and moments like these when it is truly debilitating. But I have my community around me, digitally, and I have love and support from everywhere.

I am smiling now. And that makes up for all the tears.

With love and strength,

Rivi

Some links:

The instrumental playlist I'm listening to: https://youtu.be/_UucPr2M-qU

Cute Videos: 

Adam Levine's New Girlfriend (Toddler meets Adam Levine on The Ellen Show): https://youtu.be/k3aAl92_VDE

Jimmy Kimmel Surprises Bieber Fan (2010): https://youtu.be/AKEQwvaYI_k