Hahaha panic attacks whatver

I guess I blog now or something.

This week has been a bit crazy. Since posting the last entry, I’ve basically had a 3-day 5-day panic attack, triggered by posting a blog about panic attacks. Woo! It’s been interesting though because these days my panic attacks are usually of the emotional variety.

My panic have two stages: physical and emotional. Sometimes a panic attack is just all the feelings, either straight up panic or crying or so much annoyance/anger that I am not fit to be around people. Sometimes it is physical – crazy racing or skipping heartbeat, inability to breathe, shakiness, vision loss, numbness. Sometimes it is both. Lately (the past two years or so) its been more the emotional variety, which is easier for me to spot and manage. I am good at rationalizing and managing my emotions. You can’t rationalize your heartbeat into behaving though, when it doesn’t want to, and that’s where I’ve been the last three days. Four days? I think it’s day four five six. It didn’t really occur to me until yesterday that it was a panic attack making me feel so shitty. It was just like “oh. Ohhhhhhh. The racing heart shakey not sleeping thing… ohhh right I remember this.”

My depressive cycles are similar, with this weird breakdown of sometimes emotional (crushingly sad/alone/angry/wanting to die) and sometimes more physical (so exhausted/overwhelmed I can’t actually get out of the bed). Overall, I am not sure which I prefer, because again, I’ve gotten pretty good at riding out the emotional ones. I can’t always make myself feel better, but I can logic through it and sometimes even distract myself until I ride it out. The physical cycles/attacks are hard though because I feel way more helpless. My body will just stop when it feels like it – and I get stressed that its happening, which just makes it worse. I’ll try to focus on my breathing or something, which just freaks me out and makes me panic more. But at least I don’t feel like the world is trying to kill me/I should die. It’s a toss up.

One way I’ve found recently is to give myself things to look forward to. Another thing I’ve learned in dealing with depression/anxiety is you need really, really good, really understanding friends. Most of my friends are some level of crazy. We all have anxiety/depression/other mental health issues, and it makes it easier for us to sympathize and support one another. I am beyond thankful for my crazy friends.

Having good friends also means having friends who don’t flake. A big trigger for me is disappointment (I think that’s true for most people, but some deal with it gracefully while I turn into a pile of sobbing nutcase). I’ve learned that I can help balance my depression by giving myself something to look forward to, like fun friend events, but that it has to be with the right people because if I am having a week where that is literally the only thing keeping me going and someone bails , I fall apart harder than I would have without the plans. SO I guess my ask is if you are want to hang, please be sure you can, because the awesomeness of seeing your face might be the only thing keeping me hangin on all week xo.

I started writing this last week and didn’t finish it…. I don’t remember where it was going so, um the end! 

A Spark of Madness

I guess now’s as good a time as any to actually start on/ admit I have a secret blog.

While reminiscing about Robin Williams and how fucking depressing it is when the world loses another artist, Becky pointed out that it’s as good a time as any to try once again to yell into the ether of the internet in an attempt to raise awareness about the fucking stupid stigma over mental health issue in this country (the world?).

I’m pretty sure coming from a mostly Irish family didn’t set me up to well genetically in terms of a predisposition to anger and depression and more anger. I was incredibly lucky to be blessed with parents who had pretty little of either. They have always been calm, kind and understanding (at least as long as I’ve known them). But as long as I’ve known me, it always felt like something was wrong. Like there was some screaming, Hulk-rage-monster inside me that sometimes got so angry I would punch walls, and sometimes got so sad I would cry over nothing, and sometimes got so anxious I couldn’t leave the house because I was too paranoid that the door wasn’t locking right behind me.

The first time I cut myself I was 12. I saw an article in a Girl’s Life magazine (or potentially some other teenage girl magazine) about another teenager who had battled depression and won. The story talked about how she cut herself to feel better and I thought “that’s interesting” and promptly started dragging a safety pin across my ankle until it bled a lot. It was fascinating and satisfying and the concentration that it took to draw blood with only a pin completely took my mind off being sad. I kept it a secret until I was 14 and my friend saw a cut on my thigh in the locker room. She started crying and made me promise not to do it anymore and I said ok and stopped for a while.

When I was 14 I moved to a new state, back to where I’d lived as a kid, but away from the support group that kept me from cutting. I thought the sadness I felt was normal “teenage” stuff, and it wasn’t until years later that I learned that no, intentionally hurting myself and wanting to die wasn’t actually normal stuff. When I was 15 I realized that on the days I didn’t eat, I felt better. The euphoric high from my body slowly starving was a new kind of self-medication. This is also around the time I realized

1. I might like girls and

2. I might actually be a boy on the inside.

I dove headfirst into anorexia with the control-powers of a stage manager and the dedication of someone who feels so trapped by their newly-curved body they’ll risk sickness and death to carve it out. I weighed 95 pounds on my 16th birthday. It was a triumph like nothing I have ever felt. I wore baggy jeans and long-sleeved hoodies to conceal my shrinking frame and the cuts that were rapidly growing in number. I also had straight A’s,  took all honors classes, was the president of 3 clubs, and generally loved by most folks. I was bubbly, and outgoing, and happy, and I hated myself and everything around me.

I was lucky. I had friends who stepped in. I had friends who saw what was happening and said “Enough. We love you. This must stop.” I tried therapy, and quit, making all kinds of excuses about how my therapist was stupid. I relapsed. I left for college, and there I suddenly met other people who were going through the same thing. I met Anastasia, who taught me “real women finish their burritos” and made me a sticker chart to keep track of my eating. Those same friends who were there for me in high school stepped back in and said “we love you still, let’s get through this.” I went to the doctor, because I was having all these weird health problems – phantom pains, heart palpitations, sinus arrhythmia, insomnia. My doctor had me fill out a questionnaire and as soon as I saw the questions I knew where it was going. I decided to be honest – for the most part. He took it when I was finished, and in about 20 minutes came back with my results.

“Most people,” he said, “score about a 1-3 on this scale. People with clinical depression score around an 8-9. You scored 11.”

I said “honest for the most part” because I lied on that quiz. I answered “no” to the “do you ever hurt yourself” question, because my mom was sitting next to me and I didn’t want her to be upset. I should have had an even higher score.

Having that diagnosis was like a gigantic weight being lifted. Knowing that something *was* wrong with me (in a sense), and that it wasn’t just me sucking at dealing with life, helped give me some perspective, and admit that I needed help. I talked to new people, other folks who didn’t like talk-therapy but found that medication worked. I started taking Prozac and for the first time understood what “normal” felt like. It wasn’t pretty – I managed to hit every single side effect of that drug for two weeks of nausea, vomiting, insomnia, drowsiness, emotional highs and lows that were even worse. But then it started working. And for two years I stayed on it and learned to detect the differences between appropriate emotional reactions and when my anxiety/depression were controlling me.

I learned to write the things I wanted to write, instead of just spewing angsty garbage. I learned to control my art as well as my temper, and to hone it into something actually half decent. After two years, the pills stopped working. By then, though, I had learned about behavioral therapy and because of the time spent observing my own behavior from a logical point while on the pills, I was able to stop taking them and manage my depression cycles without medication. It has been 4 years and I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here had I not had the incredible support group that I do.

I function, well, and generally happily. There are many, many days, though, where I am so sad I need to stay in by myself, or when I am so overwhelmed the thought of talking to someone other than my cats or my partner terrifies me into a frenzy and I can’t get my heart to calm down. There are days where I get very close to dragging a safety pin or a razor across the sweet spot on my leg that always, always worked in the past. It is important to me to say this, to all of you: I struggle. Every. Fucking. Day. And every day that I make it through without just dying, I consider a victory.

Two years ago I met Kate Bornstein. She is amazing. You should read her books. I met her at a reading of a book called Live ThroughThis: On creativity and self-destruction. It’s a collection of stories and art about women came out on the other side of depression through their art, compiled by Sabrina Chap. In reading it, I learned that sometimes it is ok to give in – if you need to cut a little to keep yourself alive, and that’s the only way you can do it right now, fine. Stay alive now so that you can recover. Obviously the desired outcome is a life where you don’t have to cut anymore, but a life at all is better than none. Slipping does NOT make you a failure. If you need to stay in your house for a few days, do it. But know that you CAN and WILL get through to the other side, and that there are so many people who want to help you do it.

I also learned, again, that I am really, truly not alone. Reading Kate’s books helped me understand my own fluid gender more. I began a healing journey that covered over the scars of “why can’t you be normal” that old false-friends and boyfriends had spat at me. Knowing that someone else had gone through something so similar, yet still different, was so comforting, and I never would be where I was if Kate and all the other amazing people who wrote and made art for Live Through This hadn’t had the guts to share their stories.

Kate gave me a “get out of hell free” card, which I carry with me everywhere. It says this:

Do whatever you need or want to do in order to make life worth living. Love who and how you want to love. Just don’t be mean. Should you get sent to Hell for doing something that isn’t mean to someone, I’ll do your time in Hell for you.

For some of us, Hell seems like it would be a release. Don’t give in to that shit.

Robin Williams once said "You're only given one little spark of madness. If you lose that... nothing."

My best friend Becky said “If you have a story, you shouldn't be afraid to share it.”

We all have a ‪#‎sparkofmadness. Please don’t let yours go out.

I still love you, Brian Fallon

The Gaslight Anthem is one of my all-time favorite bands ever. I found out the other day that their singer, Brian Fallon, is a “devout Christian”. This led to a slight crisis for me, as my immediate reaction was something along the lines of “WHAT CHRISTIANS UGH NOO WHYY UGHH NO OUR LOVE IS OVER”. You might say it was an over-reaction, but that was basically my gut-instinct kicking in. I’ve taken some time to evaluate that reaction and I can honestly say I am disappointed in myself.

Now, I have a lot of friends who would say “Don’t be disappointed in yourself, be disappointed in Brain! Ugh Christians! How can any person who respects other people identify with religion anymore GOD ugh why?”

I get that. It was a long week for me, made worse by some folks who happen to identify as Christians. Does that mean that I should blanket hate all Christians? Wouldn’t that make me just as guilty as I think they are? Let’s back track.

“I don’t hate you, I love you, which is why I want you to stop your disgusting shameful behavior!”

Last Thursday, a gentleman saw fit to post on a (work) website some comments to the effect of “Let’s not forget what history taught us – allowing the gays to be gay will bring damnation on us all!” I had that shit reviewed and deleted asap. My work is super awesome about diversity and not tolerating hateful shit.  I am sure if/when that dude was told how his post was hostile he responded “do you know what else is hostile? HELL!” because then he goes and makes another post, which literally takes bible verses, smashes them up together to make a statement that says that homosexuals SHOULD BE PUT TO DEATH.

Now, this is a man whom I have worked with. Face to face, on the phone, over the internet. I’ve had conversations with this dude – he seemed a little weird, but murderous? No way! Now, I have to think “shit, next time I am alone with him, is he going to try and put me to death by hitting me over the head with a laptop? Stabbing me with his monogrammed Bic?” I don’t know!

 Do I really think he’s gonna assault me? No. But the intent is there, all packaged up and hidden behind some bullshit excuse called religion.

Now here’s the thing about this whole situation that upsets me

I was a Christian – I was a Catholic! For a really long time! Voluntarily! My parents didn’t push religion on me – when I begged to go to bible camp in 4^th grade, they were a little taken aback. I went to youth group twice a week, and I volunteered at my church, attending several masses a weekend in order to help out. I read that bible like it was my job, I sang in the worship choir, I fell to my knees sobbing on more than one occasion when my heart felt like bursting over the incredible gift that was Jesus’ sacrifice.

There are times I wish I still felt that way. It is a good feeling to know the answers to everything. It is a good feeling to know that there is an almighty power watching out for you. When I moved to Chicago a month before starting high school, my faith in God is one of the very few things that kept me from going over the edge and just killing myself. My faith in God and The Alkaline Trio are what gave me strength to recover from an eating disorder. As that faith slowly started slipping away from me, my anxiety and depression got worse for a while – they’re ok now, and I’m not saying a lack of faith leads to these things, just that at this time, for me, it did.

When I was 13, I asked my best friend, “What happens to the people that don’t know about Jesus?” Our priest had said that everyone has an opportunity to know Jesus in their life, so everyone has an opportunity to be saved. I was concerned about folks deep in the jungle – if they never met anyone who knew about Jesus, how could they be saved? My friend answered “The bible says one thing over and over. God is love. Jesus is love. If you know love you know Jesus, it doesn’t matter if you call him by name.”

THAT is what Christianity taught me. And now that I’ve left the church (a whole different story) that is one lesson I took with me – not to get all hippie on you – but the most important thing is to love people. And that’s my deal with (some) Christians right now – why ya’ll gotta forget that part? I know hating people is totally way easier than loving them.  Loving people takes WORK. Because sometimes people SUCK. Sometimes they are jerks or they do weird shit that you don’t understand or they don’t like cats (lol whut no way) and it takes way more work to show compassion and empathy for those folks who you don’t like or agree with. But you will feel better, dudes!

Getting off the soapbox and back to my still one true love Brian Fallon

Here’s the thing. If Brian Fallon had said “I’m a Buddhist.” Or “I’m converting to Judaism” I’d have been like “Eh, religion is whacko, but do what you do, girl.” Instead I saw “Christianity” and went “What ugh why fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu”. How does this make me any better than the “Christians” who see “gay” and go “Burn in hell burn in helllllllllllllll”.

It doesn’t. It makes me the same.

So I read this whole interview. And it turns out, Brian Fallon is a pretty f’ing awesome Christian. He’s chill about it, he knows his beliefs, he doesn’t push them on others, and he doesn’t use his band as a megaphone to preach with.
“Yeah, you know with Gaslight I’m not trying to put my agenda across because the other guys don’t share the same beliefs I do. If you’re gonna start talking about things that are of a certain faith you need to have all of the people involved in that being of a certain faith... A house divided can’t stand.”

Reading up on it, Brian’s the kind of Christian I wish other Christians would look up to. And I think that for the most part, the vast majority of Christians are like him. Unfortunately for everyone, it’s the assholes who are the loudest, and they give everyone a bad name. I know some Christians, and they are awesome. They don’t hate gays or women or artists or anything, they just wanna go to church and feel that good feeling. And I think maybe we should give them a break. I hear a lot of clamor from my atheist friends about how the good Christians should hold the bad ones responsible, should yell louder and reform their religions.

Dudes, when did yelling louder than an asshole ever stop him from being an asshole?

Literally never. And I don’t think it’s fair to tell folks who are going through life being awesome and loving in their own way that they are all of a sudden responsible for all these folks just cuz those folks are misinterpreting the shit out of their belief system. I KNOW I am gonna get some shit for writing this. I know that. But just think about how you sound when you are faith bashing, and compare that to the folks yr hating on. It’s starting to get hard to tell the difference. That isn’t how you win a fight, dudes. It’s about being better, not louder. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches on and off the internet, I know how much you want to do it. Chill for a minute, bros.

I fought against saying I was an atheist for a long time – I still don’t really self-identify as one, because I had so many bad experiences with atheists – just as many as I had with fundamentalist Christians. Even after I left the church, the very mention of believing in anything sent my atheist friends into a frenzy, and they were a lot meaner and a lot more hurtful and aggressive than any Christians I’ve met in real life (until last week ugh). Is that what you want? I’m just sayin.