Moving On

Today marks one year from the end of one of the most hellacious weeks I've ever encountered. Endless hours at work. Countless tear-filled nights of wondering why/how this could all happen. Wishing the job I love so much didn't put me in the center of it.

One year ago today, I was trapped in my home, alone, while outside police and federal agents were flocking my town's streets, searching for the alleged Marathon Bombers.

I remember sitting on my floor, more in the center of my house, for fear of a potential stray bullet. Staying up all night with my family on Skype just so I wouldn't be "alone." Looking outside to see the usually bustling street completely quiet and eerie, except for the cop cars coming by once in a while, and the helicopters always overhead.

The worst part was knowing how close I was to potential danger. Not knowing where the last suspect was, but knowing he was way too close for comfort. Streaming the news online and seeing just how close all the action was, how close my coworkers were to me, but I was left a prisoner in what should be the place I find the most comfort.

Then when we thought it was all over, he was found within walking distance to my home. Yelling, gunfire, dogs, flashing lights... the helicopters. Too much, too close to home.

I continue to work on getting back to normal. Obviously a little difficult in my career. No way to get away from the stories. The footage. Remembering that day and how it all began a week before. I still get tense when I hear a helicopter. When I hear any sort of bang. Let's just say last 4th of July was not as pleasant as it should have been.

Yet we continue. We push on.

Today my street was filled with joy. Cars coming and going. Kids training at the batting cages next door. Others enjoying an Easter Egg scavenger hunt around the block. With my windows open, I enjoyed the sights and sounds. The smell of the fresh air. Enjoyed being able to walk outside with no fear. Knowing that everything will be alright.

Vulnerability

vul·ner·a·ble

  [vuhl-ner-uh-buhl]

adjective

1. capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt

Part of allowing the pain is allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. Letting yourself open up to someone on another level. Whether it be a friend, love interest, family member. 

For me, I hate being vulnerable. Letting people in. I can't handle the pain, so I've always just avoided any circumstance that would put me in a vulnerable position. Avoid the things that would get me hurt. Over the past year though, I've learned it's much easier to be open. In fact, it's beneficial.

Since my break up nearly 2 years ago, I've slowly been working my way to complete vulnerability. Not that I want the pain, but I understand the necessity of it sometimes. All my life I've held everything in. Let people walk all over me. Sat quietly in a corner, not wanting people to know how I felt inside. That is until I'd finally explode. Have what my family refers to as "A Sitz Fit." Not very healthy, and damn would it put stress on everyone who unfortunately had to deal with them.

I finally started seeing a therapist shortly after I realized how bad I was. That I just needed someone who was outside my life, no judgement, just someone to sit there and listen. That was the easy part. It was when I decided to open up to my friends and family about how bad it was that was difficult.

How do you tell the people you love, the people who should be the ones you go to that you feel uncomfortable letting them in. That you want to not be here. You feel worthless. That you wish for death daily. Not only was it for fear of being vulnerable, but it was also the fear of making them think they weren't there enough, that they didn't do enough to help me.

Obviously, that's not how it is with depression. I cannot express how amazing the support group I have is. From my family home in Michigan, to my friends out here in Mass. Yet even with that overwhelming love, you still feel like you can't say anything.

When I finally did begin to tell my friends and family what was going on, it was not what I had expected or feared. You always will get the why's and how's of how did this all come up, but I just explain that nothing has ever led to it, it's just always there. 

"You are the strongest person I know though, how do you not see that?"

"You are always so happy, why do you not want to be here?"

"I know tons of people who would be sad if you were gone tomorrow. Don't you know that?"

"How can you feel like a failure when you have done so much and have an amazing life?"

These are just some of the things I've heard when letting people in. And it's not that I don't see all these things that they point out. I really do understand all of that, but you can't tell my brain that. That certain area that is triggered to always be negative. The half glass empty asshole who won't get out of my head.

Either way. That asshole isn't going anywhere. I'm never going to get rid of him. He's just going to be the belligerent dick that won't get off the bus. But I'm learning how to cope with him, and tune him out as much as I can.

I sincerely feel like over the past few weeks I have made some really good improvements. Whether it be this new therapist or the meds, I've definitely been able to talk to people more when I feel the darkness swarming over me. And it has really helped.

Just the other day, I opened up to someone. A little about my depression, but mostly about my feelings. I don't think I've done that in the longest time. Telling someone exactly how I feel. Sort of helped that I a strong comfort level with them. Either way the point is, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I didn't know what was going to happen, and though I did not want to get hurt or hurt them or bring anything horrible to light, I felt if I didn't say something it would build up and hurt me more. And whether they truly heard what I was saying or not, it didn't matter. I said what I needed to say. I let them in, and I didn't hold back.

In the end, life is going to hurt. But what I keep hearing is that is how you know it's real. That you're doing it right. You're on a journey with consequences. Whether you choose to deal with them or try to avoid them plays a part in how you live. I've too long tried to avoid any sort of pain. Any sort of vulnerability. But not anymore. I just want to be alive. 

This is How It Feels

When I began this blog, it was a way for me to focus on the good in life during a very dark time. One good thing a day. That's all I wanted. Instead, this has turned into so much more.

I have recently been hearing a lot of positive feedback about the blog from people who read it, even those who don't. After writing Nothing to Fear, several people sent me messages. Many expressing their fears. How they too feel the same way I do.

Hearing from them felt almost uplifting. Not only did I feel a sense of support, but also that what I was writing may be helping other people. That maybe letting people in to what I face daily with my depression, could help others.

It was something I had never thought of until the other day at work. I was talking with my coworker Joe about how our blogs have been doing. A fellow coworker named Nicole overheard and asked what we were discussing. We told her and when she asked what they were about, she was shocked to hear mine was about my battle with clinical depression. Her face, struck with awe as she told me how "brave" I was to write about this. To let people in to something that is almost always a private fight. Telling me, "That's a strong thing to do."

I know I'm not the first to do this. Certainly won't be the last. I too was once moved by someone who I heard speak on the issue. Her name is Allie Brosh. She writes a humorous, autobiographical comic about her life, which of course includes her battle. I first heard her talk on NPR driving in to work one day. It was all light-hearted and fun in the beginning, but when she began to speak of her depression, it really hit me. I remember sitting in my car in the parking lot at work crying. I was completely moved hearing her describe the emptiness, helplessness, darkness of depression. Allie was saying everything I could never admit about my own pain. What it feels like. How you don't want to tell anyone. How there is no cause and effect to how you feel... it's just there.

Here is an excerpts from her interview on Fresh Air that really struck a chord:

GROSS: You write, some people have a legitimate reason to feel depressed, but not me. Were you trying to figure out why you were depressed and not coming up with a reason?

BROSH: You know, I think that there's a common misconception that depression is about something, or depression is sadness or some form of negativity. And it can represent a sadness or a self-loathing, as the first half of my depression did. And it actually contributed more - it sort of circled back on itself and made me dislike myself more because I was so sad, and I didn't know why, and I felt like I needed a reason.

You know, I would think, you know, there are people who have it much worse than me. I actually have a great life. Why am I feeling like this? Why can't I enjoy this? Why can't I feel happy, like I feel I should be? And it took me a long time to figure out that it was just - something was broken on a fundamental level. It wasn't - there was no reason behind it. It was just the way things were, the way my brain was at that point.

In the end, we all fight our own battles. Some quietly, others more loudly. I once was one of the quiet ones. Hard to believe I know. In fact, my friends and I would laugh when I would finally cry because my tears would only come from my left eye. Something we said was due to me holding back all the time, trying to be strong for others. But don't worry. I'm letting go, and letting the tears flow from both eyes now. And letting you in during the process.

Note: If you would like to hear Fresh Air's interview with Allie Brosh (I highly recommend it!), you can find that at the link below.

http://www.npr.org/2013/11/12/244758140/even-when-it-hurts-alot-brosh-faces-life-with-plenty-of-hyperbole

Everything and Nothing

"Feeling pain is what lets us know we are alive."

This was something brought up in a recent conversation I had. However in our conversation, it was about feelings in general. Pain, fear, anger, sadness, joy, trust, love. But what happens when all you feel is pain? When every moment, no matter how wonderful is overpowered. Such is my daily life.

I walk around wearing a mask. Smiling no matter what. It has been a great coping mechanism in my job. No matter how sad the situation, you push through with a smile and a joke, because if you don't, you won't survive. It's rare you will ever see me sad. If you have, you caught me at my most vulnerable. 

Just such a thing happened the other night with one of my friends. They had convinced me to come out and play when I was particularly not in the mood. And though I was not wanting to be there, it was completely and thoroughly entertaining. But the entire time my chest hurt. A new physical attribute that has risen out of my depression. It's a constant feeling that my chest is caving in.

As the night went on, I forgot about my pain, and enjoyed the night. It wasn't until we were alone and chatting that I asked him to be honest about something with me. He was... and it wasn't what I wanted to hear, but he was honest. It was then that I poured my heart out. Let out the tears. Let out everything I'd been feeling. My loneliness. My pain. My doubts. How I wish I could be happy with the life I've made for myself. How I fear I won't make it through this.

It was a relief to be able to let it all out. As I mentioned last post, I'm trying to allow myself to feel, to allow the emotions to flow instead of hiding them. Though it was a relief, it obviously doesn't cure everything, but it sure is a start.

Who's to say why we are given the life we are given. Why it seems easier for some than others. Why they get the promotion, while you spend years just trying to get a chance. Why the person who cares and puts others before themselves is left alone, feeling unloved, and unwanted. How someone who has had so much joy and love and support in their life is diagnosed with clinical depression. 

The past couple months have been extremely difficult. Personal things have been overwhelming the past few months. And at work, we have been preparing for the Marathon Anniversary. A particularly anxiety inducing time for me. Having loved ones at the finish line. Being so close to almost being there if it weren't for little things that changed the events of the day. Being locked up, alone in my apartment, so close to the Watertown Take Down. The helicopters flying over, hearing the gun shots, cops walking/driving around my house constantly with major assault rifles, Tsarnaev being arrested around the corner from me. The culmination of so much going on in such a short period of time, and in such close proximity really impacted me. So much so I have been diagnosed with PTSD. 

When I was first told that my feelings were related to PTSD, I tried to brush it off. How could I have PTSD? That's what soldiers who have seen war have. Not me. But just like with my depression, it's something you can't control. You never know how you will react to something. Everyone is different. But it is how you chose to go forward with it that defines you.

For me, I'm fighting back. I am getting help. I am learning how to deal with my problems. I'm making an effort because the alternative is too scary. I've been there. I didn't like it. And I refuse to go back there again.

Nothing to Fear

I have many fears. Most of them are what consume the better part of my day. What feeds my depression.

I'm afraid of failure. Afraid of being alone. Afraid I'll never be loved. I'm afraid I'll let everyone down. Afraid they'll think I'm dumb or not good enough. Afraid that I will fall too deep, and just be hurt like before.

These thoughts stop me so many times from taking chances. But what is chance without taking that first, scary step of trying?

The biggest step I've overcome is putting myself out their. Speaking my mind. I know most who know me would not believe that I am actually extremely shy, but I am. Mostly for the simple fact that I am afraid of being judged. Afraid of what you'll think of me. Afraid that when I finally take that chance, I'll just be let down like always.

Though the fear is always there, it's when I look back that my biggest accomplishments where taken when I was most afraid. Hell I was horrified when I decided to move to Boston, but I knew that if I didn't do something, I would continue to stay at the jobs I was holding down, with no upward motion, and still barely get by.

It was fear that led me to some of the best people I know. It was fear that guides my heart to the things I want most. And though it hurts, I at least learn from trying and taking on those challenges.

Tonight, I completed a fear I have been holding on to, and one that should not be a fear at all. Tonight I sat down and wrote a letter to Anna's parents. Yes, the same letter I told you a year ago I was planning on writing. In fact, I had written it in an email to myself shortly after I wrote that blog post. But I never wrote it out. I'd stare at it sometimes, thinking that I should finally put pen to paper and tell them how much they all changed my life. However I was afraid that my letter would stir up memories. Maybe make them sad at a moment when they had finally let go and let themselves have a good day without remembering their loss. But after I sat down and poured my heart out onto that sheet of paper, I knew I had done the right thing. My words are not malicious, or painful. I just told them how Anna helped me be the person I am today, that she is a constant presence, that she and them were near and dear to me growing up. There is no reason to think my letter will be taken as anything more than just a letter of love.

Tomorrow, I will send it. I have to. If I don't, I'm afraid another year will pass.

There is so much I still need to work on in my life. Most importantly... allowing myself to not be afraid of feeling. To let myself cry, and stop hiding behind a smile. As they say though, "Slow and steady wins the race."

This song by Lucius has been a recent source of strength for me.

There are two of us on the run

Going so fast, every doubt we had is coming undone

And falling behind with everything we left there

We held on for far too long

And now we pass so many people on the road

They could come along, I wish they'd been told

They may call it a shot in the dark

From what we know, it's not unheard of

And we'll one day tell our story

Of how we made something of ourselves now

Our favorite parts are what we'll keep

Ornamental parts of love and parts of memories

So everything else has room to grow

'Cause in better light, everything changes

So we can one day tell our story

Of how we made something of ourselves now

There's no race, there's only a runner

Just keep one foot in front of the other

There's no race there's only a runner

1, 2, 3 even when you get tired

Just keep one foot in front of the other

There's no race, no ending in sight

No second too short, no window too tight

Just turn off the lights when you leave

'Cause we've got everything we're gonna need

We're on the run, we're on the run, we're on the run child

We gotta run, we gotta run, we gotta run child

One day tell our story

Of how we made something of ourselves now

One day tell our story

Of how we made something

We made something of ourselves