I have started blogging at http://www.rexicorn.com
This is also WordPress based, so you can follow just the same.
The reasoning for this is that I have come out as transgender, and am kind of opening a new chapter in my life.
I hope you can find the same humor, insight, sarcasm, and introspection there, with a nice healthy helping of gender fuckery.
Thank you!
Silence had broken out in The Garage, a workstation in a small town where nerds met weekly to plink away on projects and be nerdly in step together, never quite locking eyes in their imagined social landscape. This was actually almost inevitable, since my friend and her husband and I were the last ones left, and her husband was in another room, buzzing on circuits and code.
I finally decide to confront the feelings that have been choking me the past couple weeks.
“I don’t think it’s anxiety, but…”
This was in reference to a coworker of mine who had said “I don’t think it’s anxiety, I just have this sense of impending doom.”
That’s the goddamn definition of anxiety.
“I don’t think it’s anxiety, but I have this sinking feeling in my chest.”
“Is this a new feeling?”
Word vomit was my answer. “I don’t think it’s new in the sense that I’ve never felt it before but it’s new in the last couple weeks and I had been doing so well and I’m just concerned that I’m slipping backwards and what if…”
She interrupted. “Lock the door. Hide the key. Turn out the lights. Pretend you aren’t home.”
“Maybe it’s just loneliness?”
We ended up discussing this at length. How loneliness just is, how it shouldn’t bring such pain with it, how I need to learn to sit with loneliness, and historically have epically failed at doing so.
So really, at the root of it, what am I afraid of?
Because that’s the goddamn definition of anxiety.
On one layer of it, I am afraid to be alone.
But I’m also afraid to be with someone, afraid of the things that would come out, afraid of who I am when I’m also defined by someone else.
And along the way, I am afraid to put myself out there, to try with people.
Or, another example, I am afraid to fail artistically, so I take tricks and little advantages and cheats. I can’t get by without my reference photos and projectors and tracings. It makes the art more likely to be “successful” on the first crack, but I know my own limitations and weaknesses. I’ve guaranteed that I will never be able to view something as truly successful.
So, so, scared to succeed. That’s way worse. That’s why I self sabotage so expertly and so devoutly.
This is a tangent, but a relevant one. Dr. Bell looked at me one day and asked me what borderline personality was. I parroted back to him “It’s a personality disorder characterized by at least 5 of 9 traits, such as impulsivity, anger issues, lack of identity, suicidal tendencies, and a few others.”
His reply was “That’s just a list of symptoms. If I asked you to describe what diabetes was, you wouldn’t just say it makes you pee a lot.”
He went on. “Typically, in a borderline person’s life, someone was there that they looked up to, a person of authority, typically a parent, who would tell that person to do something but not how they wanted it done. And the child would try it their own way, because everyone’s got their own way, I’m a psychiatrist but my son’s an engineer, we have different ways, anyways, the child would try it and the parent would be upset that it wasn’t done perfectly in their image. The parent would say something like ‘No, you idiot, what’d you do it that way for?’ and that would be the smack. So the child tries again, and again, different ways, becoming a chameleon for what they think that person wants. Then they’ll grow up and do this for anyone important in their lives. That’s what they mean by lack of identity. ”
“But,” he continued, “these people, you are, very bright. And they’re afraid of failure, afraid of that smack, but they’re just as afraid of success. In fact, it seems like when things start going well for a borderline patient, like a good business deal, a graduation they’ll often self sabotage. Why do you think that is?”
This was hard for me. Precisely because it hit so close to home, and it felt like some real therapizing was about to happen. “Because…it’s easier…not having people expect anything of you?”
And there it was. It’s not just insecurities, worrying about what people thought of me, it was worrying about being a constructive member of society. About setting myself up to fail bigger down the road.
I’m afraid to have anyone rely on me.
Because I’m afraid I’ll let them down.
Because I’m afraid I’m not good enough.
Or simply not… enough.
Ultimately, I think that there’s something in me, that’s afraid to simply be. On a molecular level, I’m jittery.
I don’t think I’m alone in this.
It recently was the Saturday Night Speaker meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. In a meeting on Friday, someone said that the last time this guy spoke, he brought eleven pages of material and only got to two, so they were looking forward to the other nine. This was clearly someone of my species.
The speaker began after the usual fare.
There was only one Speedo joke. For those unfamiliar with Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ll let you guess if that’s a running gag with the fellowship or not. No mercy.
Near the end, he said something that really resonated with me. It was really near the end. Maybe that’s bad. Maybe I shouldn’t let him know how long it took for something he said to really stick.
“I’ve given up all hope for a better past.”
Wow.
Or…
Ouch.
The things I’ve done will never stop being real. Even, or perhaps especially, the things I don’t remember, because the period of time that’s ECT damaged was filled with heavy hurts and grief. I have, as a drunk, as a suicidal ball of depression and crazy, and simply as a person(three separate categories and three identical categories) done terrible things. I have trashed every living situation I’ve been in. I have lived in my car rather than resolve differences with people that love me. I have neglected animals. I have abused people I’ve been in relationships with. I have stolen. I have lied. I have attempted suicide.
I have made people worry about me. I have made people give up on me.
And still I kept drinking.
But that quote: “I’ve given up all hope for a better past.”
It’s very First Step. Life was unmanageable then. I was an active alcoholic.
And there’s hope for a better future.
I haven’t given up on that.
I go in to residential treatment tomorrow morning. Simultaneously I’m ready and not ready. I’m scared and excited. I feel very alone and yet surrounded in love.
I am viewing this as my last hope. If I can’t find that slip of humanity in me here, then it’s lost forever.
It won’t be worth wasting the time and money of my loved ones and my insurance company to keep putzing along, keeping me alive.
It will be time to accept that I am beyond hope.
And I will kill myself then.
But I’m not there yet. I’m at a tipping point where things could really change.
And I’m not gonna kill myself today.
I walked into IOP particularly bedraggled on Wednesday. Intending only to reduce the amount I’d need to pay for residential, I got my sorry ass out of bed and into my normal treatment. I sat, hunched and still pulling the sleep from my eyes, when Karl called on me. He asked what skill I’d use in a particular situation-could I think of anything that’d help the guys. I pulled myself up a little before I suggested “Opposite emotion is what comes to mind.”He asked me to explain it.
“Opposite emotion is behaving differently than you feel in the hopes that you can influence yourself to feel differently. Like, if you’re angry, intentionally softening your expression, bringing your shoulders down, taking a step back. Or if you’re sad, there’s evidence that doing a little Mona Lisa smile will cheer you up.” The group laughed and I sat up a little straighter. “Or, like me, you’re tired and grumpy and don’t want to be here, sit up and engage with the group more.” Karl smiled.
Later, when I had to go through my own recovery log, I spoke of how I feel like I can’t win and progress gets robbed from me. Then Karl wanted to do an exercise.
He asked the group what everyone thought I was doing right in my recovery, and how I benefitted the group. He gave everyone a few minutes and had them write on 3×5 cards. Here’s the contents of my own card-
following the recovery skills/tools worksheet
reading a lot
avoiding cravings by using sweets instead
The time between writing that and waiting for everyone else to finish was glacial.
Here’s a list of the things everyone else said about me,
Caring
Wants serenity
Hope
Smart
Helped me when I got emotional
Caring, work conscience, talented
Blog, parental support, horses, researching treatment options, coming to IOP
Bright, educated, informed
Sense of humor, well spoken, good teacher, goal setter
Hope for future, researching options
Still coming to IOP, not giving up
Intelligent, truthful, hopeful
You don’t give up, always looking for something better or different to solve your problems.
Very intelligent, knowledgable, modest, loves animals, honest, open, talented, diligent, resourceful, resilient, sense of humor, planning, taking it day by day, not giving up, honesty.
Knowledge
1 Know what you’re talking about
Very able to see up what you’re saying
2 Very caring person
Especially about others
3 Wants to get help and not giving up the search for it
Knowledgable
Skilled
Friendly
Meaningful to this group
Tenacious
I’m really writing this to drive it deeper into my midbrain, not to show off or anything.
And I’m not gonna kill myself today.
IOP today was filled with great little tidbits. I’ll probably stretch out my notes into several posts. There was a guest who had gone through the program about 2 years ago, and he said something that really hit me.
“Accept the fact that you are what you became.”
He meant this in terms of knowing that he’d never be able to drink again, but I think it’s really applicable in a number of ways.
I became an alcoholic. I became a very hurt individual. I didn’t start out that way but it’s how things ended up. Now I need to do the work of accepting myself and moving forward.
Perusing the room, a magnet on Karl’s desk read “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
Wow.
Wow.
Maybe it’s not too late for me to heal. Maybe I can still be a functioning member of society. Maybe I can live out my dreams.
Maybe.
Maybe it’s not too late for me.
I’m not gonna kill myself today.
Today was interesting in the hellish sense.
Started with an 8 am appointment with a different therapist than usual, after having maybe four hours of sleep. She was really nice, and greatly supported the idea of the residential treatment. She’s also the woman that my mom was looking into seeing, and I’m so geeked at the idea of my mom finally agreeing to see a therapist that I will do nothing to stand in the way and will gladly drive farther to my old therapist again.
Then I worked for my dad a little and called the insurance company and a couple providers. Still researching. I’m hoping to be in treatment by the middle of next week, but right now so much depends on other people getting back with me. In the meantime I’ll keep going to Intensive Outpatient, meaning I don’t get to sleep in tomorrow either. 😦
I got through work today with a dramatic use of chunking. I can make it til break. I can make it til lunch. I can make it til break. Then it got really rough towards the end of the day. Some physical ailments, increased anxiety, and fatigue were all adding up to my needing to make it a goal to get through one minute at a time. Then there were the head games. Oh, it’s 9:14. That’s practically 9:15 which is very nearly 9:20 which is almost 9:30 and then there’s only an hour left which you can take fifteen minutes out of for clean up and ten for shutting down the machine so you’re basically done already!
I’m not promising that these are healthy behaviors. But it got me through the night, and I was fantasizing hard about leaving early, so I’m very proud of myself for working that whole shift.
Now I’m snuggled up in bed with less than usual to complain about(my body is complaining though, and loudly).
I think I’ll try to sleep now.
And I’m not gonna kill myself today.
The number of times I’ve been through hospitalization is getting ridiculous. And it doesn’t seem to be doing much good, I stay on the same 4-6 month schedule of suicide attempts.
I spent last weekend hallucinating and seizing in my bed. It wasn’t enough for coma or death, just enough to make me miserable for days.
So, I made a decision. I’m seeking out residential treatment, a thirty day program, at least. Those little hospitalizations have kept me alive, hopefully this big one will give me some quality of life.
This is going to be damn expensive. I’m gonna fund raise in any way I can think of. I might be annoying. But at least you aren’t attending a funeral today, right?
Please, if you have any ideas, lob them at me. I appreciate all the help I can get.
And I’m not gonna kill myself today.
No promises about any other day. It’s like AA. Just for today. Chunking.
I can make it through today.
I think one of the scariest things about depression is how alone that you feel. A depressed person is not only lonely, but lost and forsaken, feeling unworthy of love. It isn’t about physical presence, because you can be in a crowd and be the only one there. It’s not about mental presence, because you can be engaged with somebody, wholly involved in an experience, and still be desperately alone. It’s not even about emotional presence, because a depressed person can still be a functioning partner in a relationship.
It’s about the pit.
I imagine an endless gray landscape, dotted with abysmal pits. I imagine a smattering of trees, and a thick fog. This is where people go when they are depressed. All you can see is the inside of the pit, the clammy, rocky walls of the pit. They are rough, jagged, hopeless. Far above, there is a pinprick of light. The opening. There is nothing comfortable about this pit.
It is not impossible to get out of the pit, but it takes help. Help that IS OUT THERE because DEPRESSION LIES and YOU ARE NOT ALONE. There are people that love you milling around outside that pit, wondering the best way to get you out. Waiting to help in any way that they can. You can’t see them, though. Because you’re in the pit. You don’t have the right perspective.
Maybe someday something magical starts to happen. Your medication starts to work. You’ve started ECT. Something clicks in therapy. Suddenly, there’s a rope being lowered into the pit. You don’t know whether to trust it, but you give it a few yanks and it feels solid. So you start to climb.
It’s hard work. Everyone is looking down into the pit and cheering, but their voices bounce off the walls, seemingly turning into mockery. Depression, you see, has a tendency to distort everything. But you climb. And climb. And climb.
Maybe you get out this time. Maybe it takes a few tries, a few rests, some time to strengthen your muscles. But you make it!
And shockingly, there’s all your friends and family. You just couldn’t see them before. I’m looking around right now, on the cusp of genuine okayness if not wellness, and I can see that the droning that was driving me mad while I was in the pit is my support system excavating a staircase down to the side of my pit. These are my skills and coping mechanisms, now out in the light and ready to be practiced daily so that I may learn them truly. So that future visits to the pit can be a lot easier to get myself out of. So that they can come visit me.
There can be something comforting about the pit. If nothing else, it’s yours. It’s a safe place. A place for you to feel miserable, but safely so. It is so devastatingly difficult to leave, but so easy to return to, especially if you are afraid to make a new normal. The kind of bravery it takes to get out of the pit is nothing compared to what it takes for the first few steps to the land of new being. That’s where unhealthy coping mechanisms get analyzed and shed, where toxic relationships pass into memory, where bad habits meet their demise. Replacements for all of them are forged, and you become a stronger, healthier being.
Wherever you stand today, friend, I would like to encourage you. Do not succumb to the lies of the pit, nor those of the gray landscape. Keep stepping forward.
I was talking with my mother today, or, rather, being chastised for not completing a sketch that she wanted me to finish.
“So, is drawing and stuff what you do to keep from drinking?”
“And stuff.”
“What else?”
“You know I’m writing a book, right?”
“No, but you certainly can do it! You’ve got the ability to put words into… words.”
“Clearly it’s not genetic.”
“Clearly,” she smiled.
Rexicorn 