Put a STOP to it!
18 May 2012 2 Comments
in Survival Tags: anxiety, change, coping, fear, friendship, post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD, stress, suicide, the life of erin, tips
(written a few nights ago)
Listen to your feelings. They are telling you something. With practice you can learn to deal with anything, even the impulse to commit suicide.
Today I’m visualize inflicting violence upon myself in some drastic way, but not as a way to kill myself. I just want everything to STOP. The greater the force behind that giant STOP sign the better.
Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to [jump from] tall buildings in a single bound!
Suicide and Superman have a lot in common. Maybe. I actually don’t know very much about Superman but that tag line captures my impulse towards self-harm.What if we imagined ourselves surviving superhero-style? Our impulse to inflict pain can be equally stopped with a fantasy of being faster than our impulse to die, and counteracting it with something stronger.
I feel better recognizing that I don’t actually want to die but that I want things to STOP. During my treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I remember learning that if you say, “STOP!” loudly and put your hand straight out to accompany it, it’s much easier to stop your feelings, if only for a moment.
I can handle this. So where do I need to put a few STOP signs in my life?
- I am stressing about my future, because it feels like I don’t have one.
- I am stressing about money, because it dictates my future in many ways, and I don’t have enough money to keep living like this.
- I’m stressing about relationships, because they too will make my future worth living or not worth living.
Those things are big — they are worth stressing about — but not to the point of pushing myself over the edge. And this is where things get tricky, because if I don’t think about my future then my life will continue going in a direction that I don’t want it to go. But must I have my whole life figured out right now? No, no I do not.
Here’s the spot where I can STOP my all-or-nothing thinking, but dammit, I can’t. It’s too much of a habit. Maybe I can at least try to be more aware of thinking in black and white. I can try to think about how much money I need to get through this month or this week or just this day.
What can I do today to make money tomorrow? What’s one teensy tiny thing I can do? I can work on filling my Etsy orders. That’s a start.
And relationships. Well, I feel like being a hermit but at least I have plans to meet up with an old friend on Wednesday. It’s scary but it’s one teeny tiny step.
Now I feel a little better, but not a lot. I’m still really stressed out. But now that I’m done writing this post, it’s bed time. Time to put my worries on the shelf and have some rest. Enter the land of STOP, but not permanently. My bedtime medication ensures sleep, which is nice and predictable. Yes, I’m probably going to have nightmares again tonight but hey, I might not.
And what can I do until I fall asleep? Breathe. Breathe one breath at a time.
My thoughts tonight make me feel insane, but this is how to survive that insanity. Minute by minute. Maybe tomorrow my road will have more STOP signs, more than today’s road. That’s worth looking forward to. Those maybes.
Where do you need some STOP signs in your life?
Self-harm & Tattoos
30 Apr 2012 12 Comments
in Life Events Tags: art, cutting, rite of passage, self harm, self-injury, tattoos, the life of erin, tips, writing
(This post talks about self-injury. Though I never write about what I find to be triggering, I do advise self-harmers to read this post with caution. If it is triggering you, stop reading or sit with someone who helps you feel safe. )
I have a consultation for a new tattoo on Thursday and I’m super excited. This will be my third tattoo. On my left forearm, I have a typewriter with cherry blossoms bursting out of it, designed for me personally by Cassandra Warren. Another of her designs is on my right shoulder: a birdcage with a burst of light coming from within, indicating that the bird has disappeared. My upcoming tattoo is my own design, and it will be the smallest. It has a very special and secret meaning for me. It’s going to be on my left wrist. Maybe I’ll share its meaning with you someday.
As a kid and younger teen, I never ever thought I’d get a tattoo. After I started self-injuring, however, the idea of permanence no longer scared me. One of the reasons I cut myself was to mark myself permanently, to tell my story, the pain of that day or week or moment. I have hundreds of scars and I can still remember the stories behind some of them. If you could wave a magic wand and make all of my scars disappear, I wouldn’t want you to do it. They are part of me and my history. Tattoos cover the scars so they aren’t the first thing people notice, but they don’t erase them. I like that. Getting tattoos marked a new chapter in my life. I chose to love my body instead of hate it.
There are some people who argue that getting tattoos or piercings are a form of self-harm. When it comes down to it, these things do harm the body physically, so the argument is a valid one, but I believe it’s the reasoning behind the acts of “harm” that make body modification different. That said, I know I can handle the pain of a tattoo because of my experience with self-harm. Maybe that’s why tattoos mean so much to me.You can’t separate or define some things. That argument doesn’t matter much to me.
So, my typewriter tattoo spans over 50-100 scars on my one arm. At first when people asked me whether it hurt more to be tattooed over my scars, I couldn’t give them an answer because I only had one tattoo. Now that my shoulder is tattooed, I can say that getting tattooed over my scars didn’t hurt more than getting normal skin tattooed. Most of my scars were at least five years old, however. The minimum healing time before getting a tattoo over a scar is six months so that your skin is properly healed first. I think my scarred skin is tougher than unscarred skin. Overall, your body feels pain differently all over, so it really depends on the location, the detail of the tattoo, and the tattoo artist when it comes to pain.
No one has ever looked at my scars with less judgement than the tattoo artists at True Love Tattoo. It was as if we talked about me getting tattooed over a single scar from an accident. I felt no shame when I saw how little my scars affected those tattoo artists. So my advice is, if you are worried about the reaction you’ll get from tattoo artists when it comes to your scars, DON’T WORRY! These people alter skin for a living. They don’t care why your skin is a certain way, they just want you to love your tattoo(s). They go to tattoo conventions where there are people with the most extreme forms of body modification. Google it! I swear it’ll make you feel like your scars aren’t shameful.
So being a self-injurer made me consider getting tattoos, whereas if I’d never self-harmed I might not have considered tattoos as easily. But now that I have tattoos, I know they are 100% for me. As a writer and artist, symbols mean a lot to me. , but also the work behind writing. to grow out of that typewriter because of the meaning that flower holds and its tie-in with a favourite book of mine. My birdcage tattoo has many meanings that I expect to change as I grow. The tattoo primarily symbolizes escape, but the birdcage can represent so many things.
Take the time to come up with an idea you love. Then find a tattoo artist who is skilled and be prepared to pay them as much as they ask for, plus a tip. It’s worth every penny! They are giving you art that you’ll have the rest of your life.
If you want tattoos but are scared of their permanence and whether you’ll get sick of them, do what I did. I printed out a picture of each of my tattoos and hung it on my wall as I saved up my money. After six months, if you aren’t sick of seeing the design every day, then it’s a safe bet as a tattoo. Also consider getting your tattoo(s) in a spot you can’t see all the time. My shoulder tattoo is more visible to others than to me and so it’s always a delight when I glimpse it in a mirror or in a photograph.
Tattoos celebrate life. They help define who you are without you ever saying a word. They remind you of your beauty. Take the time and then take the risk. Life is worth living, however you do it. Go ahead and do it!
The Wellness Formula
03 Apr 2012 8 Comments
in Diagnosis Tags: depression, doctors, formulas, goals, growth, medication, pets, physical illness, the life of erin, therapy, tips
Guess what? I still have the flu! Today is day seven of lying on the couch, taking Gravol to keep food down, and boring the pants off my puppy. Yuck!
I said to my friend S. the other day that I should be better by now. After all, isn’t this the formula for getting well?
Liquids + rest = wellness
No? Okay, how about:
Liquids + rest + Vitamin C + chicken noodle soup + flat ginger ale = wellness
Whenever I’m doing something that “should” be working but isn’t, I have this magical belief that I actually need to do something totally random to get better. Like the universe wants me to chew bubble gum while brushing my hair and listening to Radiohead. That exact combination will equal kicking this cold to the curb! Unfortunately I don’t have the energy to try every combination of activities under the sun while I’m sick.
I know that if I went to the doctor and ask her how to get well, she would say almost the same thing as my formula above:
Rest + liquids + time = wellness
Ah, yes, time. Time and patience, those slippery things. Maybe some faith doesn’t hurt either. And so as I lie here staring at the ceiling, I have to remind myself that even though I’m doing everything that I “should” be doing to get better, my body is only going to get better when it decides to. I have to let go and wait.
The same thing could be said for depression. When I was first diagnosed I was told:
Medication = mental wellness.
Well, that didn’t make me better. I tried another combination:
Medication + therapy = wellness
That wasn’t the quick fix I was looking for either. Adding time to the equation didn’t fix things either. Now, after eleven years of trying to get well, I have learned a formula that kind of works for me:
The right medication + intensive psychotherapy + routine + eating well + getting enough sleep + social time + alone time + writing + grounding myself + humour + pets + time + patience = the start of wellness
What a ridiculously long formula! And after all that, I only get the start of wellness?
Unfortunately, yes, and I could have added a lot more into that equation, too. In fact, I add new parts to it every day. Sometimes I take away pieces but usually I add them back. And to make matters even more frustrating, the formula is different for every person. It’s common for certain parts of that formula to work for other people, so much so that doctors pretty much always recommend medication, but it doesn’t mean that medication always works for everyone.
It sounds really unfair, and it is. As human beings we don’t like unpredictability. We like things to fit in neat little boxes that we can sort and pile and then put away. But even the things we can measure EXACTLY don’t always act like they are supposed to.
For example, take time. There are 365 days in a year, twenty-four hours in a day, and sixty minutes per hour. Nice measurable and neat! Think back to what you were doing a year ago. Does it feel like a whole year has gone by since then? Not for me, it feels like spring of 2011 was maybe four months ago. What about when you’re really looking forward to something? Time slows right down, so that kids waiting for Santa cannot believe how long it takes for those 24 days of December to go by. And when we’re dreading something, time seems to travel faster than ever before.
So time is measurable and immeasurable. Same with illness, both physical and mental. If I were to go to the doctor today and tell her my symptoms she’d probably say that I have the flu, but there are no blood tests or breathalyzers to confirm that diagnosis. Same for depression and many other kinds of mental illness. Medicine isn’t an exact science. Life isn’t an exact science.
Luckily for me, I was never really a math or science person. I passed those classes fine but man, were they boring! Now the arts, they overflow with unpredictability. I loved drama and English and art. Pretending and writing and painting all make my feelings more manageable without putting them in neat little boxes. In drama and English and art, there are rules, but it takes more than following those rules to create something artistic. It takes heart. It takes life. It takes unpredictability.
So, back to me beating the flu. I’m still going to keep downing liquids, resting on the couch, and taking Vitamin C but I need to add some more faith that those things still will work, but on their own time. I’ve read two books in the last week, and maybe a third will bring my wellness to the surface. Maybe I’ll try walking Digby a little bit today even though I still feel nauseous.
The beauty in the unpredictable formulas is that we get to participate in our remedy. We get to stretch our comfort zones and try what we like and try what we don’t like and by process of elimination we get closer to what we really need.
What is your formula for wellness?
Hands Behind the Wheel
26 Mar 2012 1 Comment
in Day-to-Day Life Tags: change, depression, goals, loss, quotes, the life of erin
This weekend I worked for my dad behind a booth at a local car show. During one of my breaks I walked around the exhibits, checking out restored gems from decades ago alongside some newer cars brought in by local dealers. I slid into a , shut the door, put my hands on the wheel and felt something I rarely ever feel: desire.
New people tune in to my blog every day, so if you’re a new reader, I’ll fill you in on a few points: I love cars and love to drive, but I crashed my car last summer. Now my insurance will be too high for me to afford to drive, since I could barely afford it before the accident.
Cars symbolize freedom and control. For almost a year now I’ve had nightmares about crashing my car, the last dream being two nights ago. It’s a pretty mild recurring nightmare of mine, compared to the others, but I think it’s symbolic my whole life being out of control. Yet despite the nightmares, I still felt desire when I sat in my dream car. I was so close to being able to drive that car, yet still so far away.
Desire has one key emotion behind it: hope. I sat in that car and my heart said, “I want this.” My brain was spewing its usual chatter: “You’re broke as hell and will never be able to afford insurance again, let alone a car.” Yet my heart didn’t listen. It told me that I could have that car just like anyone else could.
Deep down I feel like I don’t deserve to have the few things I do want. After all, who would I take for a drive in a new car? I don’t have many friends, I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have anyone to go visit. My self talk is terrible!
I catch myself disbelieving I could even get a job, save up money, and maybe one day buy that car for myself. As if fate would put its foot down and say, NO!! ERIN CAN’T HAVE IT! SHE DOESN’T DESERVE IT!
Um, no. No one gives a shit whether or not I have that car. It’s up to me.
Lately I’ve felt stuck. Like I’m waiting for the world to notice that I’m missing and invite me back into it instead of taking responsibility for myself. Getting up, dusting myself off, and putting myself back out there. Arguably, I could say that I’m doing all right – after all, I did work all weekend and talked to hundreds of strangers. I made money, I was “out there.” Yet I always leave feeling empty. Maybe it’s my depression, maybe I’m not in my element. It could be a thousand things.
We all get lost once in a while, sometimes by choice, sometimes due to forces beyond our control. When we learn what it is our soul needs to learn, the path presents itself. Sometimes we see the way out but wander further and deeper despite ourselves; the fear, the anger or the sadness preventing us returning. Sometimes we prefer to be lost and wandering, sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes we find our own way out. But regardless, always, we are found.
Cecelia Ahern, A Place Called Here
I did feel “found” a few months ago but it didn’t last. I am trying my best to hang on to that feeling but it’s hard work.
What do you do when you feel lost? How much of it is in our control? How much of it is depression? How much of it is our soul-sucking economy? How much is it isolation and deprivation?
I need a shortcut, a way out. I feel like the world must be full of opportunities or else everyone around me wouldn’t be getting by as well as they are. Maybe my antennae are broken and I just can’t feel out the good like I’m supposed to. Actually, I KNOW that’s my problem. Depression is losing touch with the good in our lives. I just feel like I’ve been working my way through it for nothing.
Sure I want a new car, but it’s more than that. I want my hands behind the wheel, I want power and control and safety. I want freedom. I want fuel to burn as I drive towards a destination that I’ve dreamed about.
Hearts Bursting & Secrets Spilled
18 Mar 2012 6 Comments
in Local Events Tags: frank warren, postsecret, secrets, suicide, the life of erin
For as far back as I can remember, I have felt such intensity of emotion that my heart breaks and rebuilds itself a thousand times each day. Remember in the classic Grinch movie, how the Grinch’s heart was two times too small? And then later it grows so large that it breaks out of its frame? That’s my heart at the end, just ready to burst with feeling, although it’s not always bursting with love or something good. Yet the painful things do have pieces of goodness in them, and the good things can be painful. Welcome to human life on this fucked-up planet.
I saw Frank Warren, the creator of PostSecret, speak at the University of Western Ontario here in London two weeks ago. I left feeling so much emotion that I had to let it calm down before reflecting on my experience there. I’ve followed PostSecret since almost its beginning in 2005, and have been fortunate enough to have TWO of my homemade postcards featured on the website. (Curious about my secrets? Read on!)
I’m not going to describe the presentation in detail because I wouldn’t do it justice. Plus, I don’t want to spoil it for you in case you decide to attend a PostSecret event in the future yourself. In short, it was magical and humbling. Frank is a man who didn’t create the phenomenon of strangers sharing their secrets anonymously, he merely opened his eyes and his heart and said, “Come in, you are welcome and you are not alone.” And since then he tells the world that every Sunday when reveals a fraction of the week’s secrets from his mailbox by sharing them with the world. And his speech was exactly that, Frank sharing his open heart with the audience. And although he did most of the talking, he conversed with the audience the whole time. He sat there and spoke with us as a friend.
As some of you probably know already, each time Frank speaks he invites the audience to share some of their secrets. It is vastly different from the anonymous artwork shared on the website because it involves voicing one’s secret in front of audience members that most likely include classmates, friends, and/or family. Scary! As audience members shared their secrets I didn’t look back towards the microphones, I just let the voices wash over me.
My feelings after the event were so mixed because I was completely knocked out of my comfort zone. I felt overwhelmed after suicide and abuse and mental illness were talked about openly in a crowd of my peers, yet I still felt so distant from everyone. I felt angry. I felt like everyone in the auditorium could talk about those things but that they still wouldn’t get it, what it’s like to be stuck in illness and pain for years and years. And I felt angry at myself, at my silence.
Frank said that “suicide connects us, we just can’t see it” because each one of us knows someone who has been suicidal or has ended their life. Maybe it’s a friend of a friend that took their own life but we’ve all had suicide touch our lives somehow. It’s one hundred percent true, unfortunately. Yet I sat there, in the front row no doubt, and screamed silently. Suicide has gone way beyond touching my life – it’s been on my mind as a viable option for my whole life. It has been my imagined antidote for too much feeling, my overburdened heart.
I feel like it’s really hard to talk about suicide because society spreads the message that once we do talk about it, we “save” someone from death and that’s all there is to it. The crisis passes and there, the person is fixed. I’ve attempted suicide over four times but I don’t like to talk about it. Why? Because that was the easy part, giving up. Getting up each day to take on another day of living, THAT is what hurts. That is where the battle lies and where so many of us feel alone.
One of my favourite PostSecret postcards touched on that problem exactly. Now Frank, I bet you’re going to read this post because you’re that awesome, so let me know if it isn’t cool to re-post this secret here and I’ll take it down. Until then, here is that secret, by some anonymous person out there:
One of the many things I love about PostSecret is that Frank doesn’t judge or edit, he just lets the art speak for itself. All of human emotion is allowed. Which is why I felt safe enough to share my art first with Frank and then with the world. I’m keeping one of my PostSecret-published secrets to myself, but here’s one I will share with you:
Not very artistic, is it? It was all I could muster. When I wrote it my life felt as black as that paper. It was July and scorching hot outside but my world couldn’t have been darker. My bursting heart could hardly take any more. I didn’t want to tell anyone I knew just how bad I was feeling but I needed to tell someone. So I told Frank and then the world.
So, dear internet, in case you were wondering, I lived longer than just writing that postcard. I lived another four years (a rough estimate) and I’m still going. Sending that secret helped me tremendously. It taught me to value my own secrets enough to share just one of them. It taught me that art, no matter how small or how simple, helps me keep going. It taught me that the world values my secrets too.
My favourite thing that Frank Warren said when he spoke that night was that “sharing secrets saves lives.” It gave my silent self a jolt of electricity, reminding me that keeping my secrets to myself isn’t helping anyone. I often feel like my story is too dark to share, too evil, and that the world would be much better without ever hearing it. But maybe that isn’t for me to judge.
Most of us don’t want the secrets we have, we never asked for them, to carry as burdens for years and years, yet there they are. They are ours, but they don’t have to stay just ours. We can let them go. When we’re ready, of course, little by little, and ease our troubled hearts.
Maybe your secret is as small as breathing for one more day. Each breath in is courage, and each breath out silently whispers to the world that we’re still here. We’re still fighting, less alone than we know.
I started writing this post at 11:45 on a Saturday, and now that I’m finished, it’s been Sunday for half an hour. A brand new batch of secrets are up! Go visit PostSecret and start the week off feeling far less alone.
I Miss You
11 Mar 2012 5 Comments
in Emergency, Life Events Tags: loss, pets, psychiatry, stress, the life of erin, writing
I must admit that things are pretty crappy right now. I can count my current woes on my fingers but I still feel some secret hope that I can’t quite identify. Perhaps it is spring. Today we’re back into daylight savings time, thank God. That is a sure sign of spring, isn’t it? It’s something we can trust.
I keep waiting to feel stronger before posting here so that I can bring more good to the world and feel sure of it. Deep down, however, I know that writing itself helps me feel stronger. So here I am, writing.
My psychiatrist keeps asking me about my plans for the future and I feel like yelling at him. I feel like he should know me better than to ask me that. I feel like my life is one big ball of unpredictability, and planning for the future is like planning to win the lottery.
One of my family’s cats died a week ago yesterday. He was fourteen and had a good life but his death caught my family by surprise. Oliver was such happy and healthy kitty that we expected to have for a few more years at least. It prompted the unofficial silence on my blog. Death humbles us all, makes us feel powerless.
Two nights ago I crashed into my dresser in my sleep. Yes, I was sleep walking, something I thought I’d stopped doing since being put on sleep medication years ago. I know I was sleep walking because I didn’t have a clue that I was even out of bed until I was on the floor, my kneecaps and my forehead throbbing with pain, blood gushing from my forehead. I stumbled around in the dark, all over the apartment, until finally grabbing a rag and making my way into the bathroom to see the damage done. I kind of screamed when I saw what I did to my head and then shortly after I started laughing.
The next morning I was pissed because I needed to get stitches instead of heading right to the Indie Media Fair as planned, to sell my buttons and zines. I didn’t have to wait long at the hospital, however, and so I did end up making it to the craft sale after I put stickers of a pug, scissors, and a cat on my forehead bandage.
I haven’t been to the hospital for something non-mental health related since I was five years old and sprained my arm. It’s a relief to be shame free when I talk about getting stitches. Imagine that! Well, I am a little ashamed because it was a really stupid accident but my ego isn’t too damaged. That said, I can’t help but feel like my sleep walking was somewhat related to my mental health and stress levels. Friday was a stressful day with therapy and last-minute craft show preparation. I am thankful, however, that I didn’t hurt myself any worse. A few inches lower and I could have lost my eye. I’m going to have an ugly scar but I can handle looking a little tougher.
I have a lot more to tell you about. Hopefully this post will break my silence and get my words flowing again. I miss you a lot.
You Aren’t Alone
20 Feb 2012 14 Comments
in Survival Tags: childhood, death, depression, loss, music, the life of erin
From the age of eleven I felt depression weighing me down every day, but it wasn’t diagnosed until I was sixteen. Why? I thought it was normal to feel that way.
I’d always felt sad as a kid but I could live with it. Then when I got into my double digits it became a lot bigger because people in my family were dying, and so I thought that death was the reality of life. I thought that when you grow up, your loved ones die. Due to bad genes or bad luck, my family members died early and so I had to grow up too fast.
And the first clue I had to knowing that something was wrong with me was my level of functioning. It was so hard to get up, go to school, face the day, face my parents, face the world. I thought all of the adults around me felt equally terrible but that there was something wrong with me because I let my terrible feelings take over. I wasn’t handling them right. I wasn’t a strong person, I was too sensitive.
Looking back I know that those feelings weren’t normal. They were a sign that there was something wrong in my life and in my brain chemistry. But as a kid, you think that your family is the world. That everyone else’s family is just like yours, or that they could be, if their relatives died.
I feel SO sad when I write this, and I feel angry. I think to myself that if I spend every day of the rest of my life trying to get the message across to kids and teens that they aren’t alone, and it gets through to one person, then my life, all this fighting, will be worth it. I never want to let myself forget how alone I felt growing up.
And then I think, well, what could anyone have done to help me, anyway? My parents were trying their best, and no one could magically stop my family members from dying. Being diagnosed with depression earlier might have helped me feel less alone but it wouldn’t have eased the pain much at all. I think I knew that deep down when I was eleven. I knew that we were all helpless little ants on a doomed planet.
I believe that every kid feels really fucking alone sometimes. Some feel more alone than others, but especially those of us who feel really deeply, that aloneness is part of our existence. But as a kid, that aloneness is so scary. When I think back to how much pain I was in at eleven, I cannot believe I got through it. Honest to God, I can’t believe I did.
So what helped? Waiting. Taking it day by day. And music.
See, my dad is really into music and as a kid he’d give me cassette tapes of bands he thought I’d like. I had Queen and Michael Jackson, and would listen to their music and stare out by bedroom window. Then my shitty little tape deck stopped working. I told my dad and he didn’t say anything really. I was disappointed.
Then one night after dinner my dad told me to go upstairs and pull down my blind in my bedroom window. I was in the middle of doing homework or something and was like, “Why?” He told me again, strictly, to do it. So I stomped up the stairs feeling totally pissed off and opened my bedroom door to find the blind already down. What the–?
Then I saw it. A brand new stereo was on my shelf. It was huge compared to my last one and it played CD’s. It wasn’t my birthday or anything, it was November, so nothing special was going on that would warrant presents. But there it was. And that changed everything for me.
Later my dad would confess to me that my mom was angry that he’d spent like $200 randomly on me so close to Christmas. But it was right when my aunt was dying and the timing could not have been better.
My dad was part of this music club where they’d send you a pamphlet of all the latest CD’s and if you bought like three from them over the year you got ten free. So I’d pick out bands I’d heard of or whose cover art I liked and my dad would give those free CD’s to me.
And so R.E.M. got me through. Our Lady Peace and Oasis. Sarah McLaughlin. I never felt safe enough to tell people just how alone I felt at that time, and I didn’t feel safe enough to cry. I was emotionally fucked but I had music, and so I’d put on my stereo and turn it up so loud that all of my feelings got a little quieter in comparison. And my parents never told me to turn my music down, ever. Not once.
So I guess my advice to you, if you’re one of those people who feel really alone and feel like no one can help you, is to find some sort of outlet for your feelings. Find music you love, find books and find sports or whatever your heart is drawn to and surround yourself in it. Fill up your days with your passions and if you do that, then the days will be easier to get through and the nights might not feel so dark. Keep doing what you love, dream about a better life, and just hang on until you feel safe enough to talk to someone.
And when you find the right person they will help you. You’ll still have your passions but then you’ll have a person or a network of people who can fill in those times when your passions can’t drown out your pain. And when those supportive people in your life can’t be with you for whatever reason, you’ll have your passions. Switch back and forth between the two, or better yet, keep faith that you’ll meet someone who not only understands you but loves the things that you love too.
When you feel alone, remember that human beings have felt deep horrifying pain for thousands of years. They found a way to cope by making music, making art, building castles and inventing the lightbulb. They used their pain and passions as fuel for the journey. They make great fuel.
Happy Lists!
13 Feb 2012 10 Comments
in Day-to-Day Life, Fun, Survival Tags: coping, friendship, happy lists, lists, suicide, the life of erin, younger self
February is one of the ugliest months for weather but I took advantage of the sunshine today and walked to get bubble tea this afternoon. At the bubble tea shop I wrote a letter to my friend Victorya on pug stationery. In her letter I remarked at how good my mood was, despite it being a Monday. Then I realized that I’d combined a bunch of my favourite things together, and so of course I felt better than usual!
A walk in the sunshine + bubble tea + writing to a friend + pug stationery = Erin in a good mood!
That realization reminds me of something my friend Lisa and I used to do in Grade Seven. We started making these things we called “Happy Lists.” We’d each make a giant list of things that made us happy, mainly small things. Sometimes we’d compare lists after we’d each written like twenty things down. Often we’d hear things on the other person’s list and then say, “Oh, me too!” and add it to our own list.
The idea is hardly unique; remember that scene in The Sound of Music when the kids are afraid of a thunderstorm and so Mary sings that song about “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens?” You’ve heard the idea of Happy Lists before because it works!
Sometimes when things are really bad we forget all the stuff that we love. If you aren’t in the mood to make a list when you’re sad, try doing one when you’re happy to refer to the next time you’re sad.
Sometimes when I’m in a terrible mood I see a list and think, “Yeah, well bubble tea is okay but it’s no miracle.” Then I read down the list, feeling a teensy tiny bit better with each item. All of those teensy things add up! The longer the list you have the better.
In the past when I’ve been suicidal I think of some of the things I enjoy that I would miss if I weren’t around anymore. Or the next time someone asks you what you want for your birthday, look at your list! These Happy Lists are always helpful!
Click “More” below to read more of my list and feel free to leave some items from your Happy List in the comments! If you get stuck, try thinking about each of your senses: What do you love seeing? Tasting? Touching? Hearing? Smelling?
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