Loss

To say I've known loss is an understatement. My grandpa was alive one day,
and dead the next. My great grandma went from complaining to me
and my grandma about leg pains to dying within the next few months...

I haven't just had loss in the most finite way, but I've also lost friends, boyfriends, people I love and would have done anything for. I think those hurt the most, or at least,

they keep hurting.

Yea, I miss my uncles, and grandpas, and great grandma, but I don't see them anymore. When they died, that was it. I still cry about it, but I don't have to see them over and over again in their coffins....my friends...I have to see them time and time again and act like nothing ever happened, like we didn't have sleepovers and share our darkest secrets. 

That is torture. 

Huh...maybe that's the difference? Loss and torture. They're two completely different things. 

Another difference is their deaths weren't because of me. 

The torture? 

I brought it on myself. 

For trusting.

For hoping.

For getting attached.

For being too much.

For not being enough.

For loving too hard. 

I give EVERYTHING into relationships (friends, boyfriends, etc.), and, yet, I always fall short. I don't know..I screw up something. I say the wrong thing. I'm too honest. 

I'm me. That's what it boils down to. I'm just me, and, in my heart, I'm not good.

 I am just not good. Maybe, God made me like this. To keep getting hurt, over and over again. Maybe He thinks I can handle it. I just wish I knew for what purpose.

...

A new torture has begun. I'm gonna see this person time and time again when school 

starts up again (Not to mention social media). 

I'm going to see their face and remember every moment with them. 

I'm going to remember every fight that I picked and wish I could take it all back. 

I'm going to wish I hadn't been so demanding, or so broken on the inside. 

Maybe that wouldn't have driven them away.

Because they are the ones who leave, not me.

They always leave. 

Yea, I've known loss. In every sense. And yet, I continue to wish I could fix what broke and 

"keep beat[ing] on, boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." 

-F. Scott Fitzgerald 

Trying to explain it...

Explaining Depression to my Mother

I saw the video above, today, and had to share it. It brought tears to my eyes. I understood this young woman's pain. I had flashbacks to specific moments in my depression....It is powerful and so well executed. She explained it so well...the tears in her eyes, the shaking arms, the analogies, the pleading tone of voice...and yet I know it's not describing everything that is felt. It's impossible, at least for me. 

(I just wanted to say how truly blessed I am to have parents who have tried to understand what I go through. My mom deals with anxiety, too. My dad tries to dissect all the little pieces that I share. I am grateful for that and for the help, love, and support they show me. I know not everyone has that...)

No explanation I give will ever truly describe what I feel everyday, in those moments of fear. But, I try. And, I fail miserably. It's just hard to understand for people who have never gone through a panic attack or depression. Even then, EVERY situation is different, and I will never experience a panic attack like my friend does or my coworker does, and vice versa. At least, with the people who get it, they get it. (haha) They understand you on a deeper level, for the most part. 

And then there's those who think their's is worse...

I had an encounter with this customer at work. She came in for a specific reason I cannot disclose because... HIPPA. Anyways, long story short, she was talking about how bad her anxiety is. She has had it for years and years, and nothing worked. So, I told her I totally related because I have had it for forever, too. 

AND SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO SAY: NO YOURS DOESN'T SEEM TOO BAD. MINE IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THAT. 

Excuse me....how do you know? Were you there when I was hyperventilating on the break room floor, just 20 feet from where you're standing? Just because the antidepressant has worked wonders on me? Just because you're on 2mg of Xanax 3 times a day, and you have tremors?!?!?!? Oh, right, because you work at a clinic? NO. Because I've learned how to work with my illness and you haven't yet.

I was furious. I wanted to tell her, "Who are you to tell me my battle is nothing?" Of course, I didn't say that. But, oh did it bother me.

Please, don't ever demean somebody's struggle. And, I don't mean, let them mope and whine, but, acknowledge that you may never understand and encourage them to keep fighting. Because if you do the first thing, they'll never tell you what's going on ever again. 

Why would we? When all they're going to get is:

 "There are people dying from real illnesses. You just gotta look at the bright side and stop being so sad". 

We'll just probably close ourselves off even more. 

Just know that, whatever you are going through, you don't have to explain it. And, if you do? Know that people may not understand, but there are people out there (like me) who will try. Remember that other people hurt, too. You're not alone in the war waging in your mind, muscles, bones, blood, cells, etc. And lastly, lean on God. Because He will be there to comfort and understand when there is no one else. He'll always be there.

What I Want To Say

I know I'm not the only one who doesn't always say what I'm thinking. Whether by choice or lack of the words, we just don't say more than we do. I have a lot of trouble with this. I'm okay at writing, but when it comes to talking, I forget how to speak. I get to a point where I can't express what I feel, or even hold a conversation. 

I have all these thoughts racing through my mind, and then I open my mouth and.......

I notice it most in public and like small talk. The social anxiety. I went out with my boyfriend this past Saturday, and it was THE WORST! I was in a room full of people I have known for at least 3-4 months (and some girls I didn't know and who didn't care to find out who I was...but that's besides the point), and I could not make conversation. I sat on the sofa for like an hour and a half and then left because I couldn't take it. I felt so bad, though. My boyfriend invited me, and I know he wanted me to stay. But, I couldn't. I was just there like a loser..devoid of any knowledge of human interaction. 

It's funny, this one girl was like, "You're so quiet Nancy," and all that came out was a weak smile and a, "Yeah, I'm tired". Needless to say, she did NOT continue to try to talk to me. (I'm laughing at my own awkwardness). This is just one of many, MANY instances.

I've just grown to accept it, but I worry that everyone thinks I'm bored with being there, or stuck up, or think I'm too good to talk to them, or weird, or boring. I especially worry about it when I'm anywhere near my boyfriend's or my parents' friends. I WANT to fit in. I WANT to make a good impression for the sake of my loved ones. I WANT my loved ones to be proud of me and of being associated with me. But, I don't know...I feel like that may not be the case most of the time. 

I put them through a lot. How they all deal with me, I have no idea, but I am so grateful that they do. I hoped it would go away over time, and, to a certain point, it kind of has, but it's still pretty bad...maybe one day it'll get better. 

It would definitely make everyone's lives easier.

Home

I'm moving back home in about 30 days, give or take, and I'm feeling good about it, mostly. I've been living only 4 minutes away from school for a year, now, and I dread the hour drive I'll have to make soon. 

I didn't want to move home. Although, I know it was the stubborn pride in me and maybe even the disappointment in myself. 

"You're 23 years old, Nicole. If you go home now, you'll be taking 100 steps back. Think about what everyone will think. They'll think you failed. They'll think you couldn't handle the real world and are running back home to mom and dad. They'll talk about how you'll be losing your freedom, that your parents will control you and your life again..."

Some of these have actually been said to me when I've told friends that I'm moving back home. I get why people would say these things. I get it because I've thought them myself, but I know that's the wrong mentality. When I talked to my dad, he said that he really thinks this'll be a fresh start for me. Now that my mind is better, I can take care of my finances, weight and God. (He didn't say that last sentence. but it crossed my mind when we talked.) I told him about my worries, how I felt like I'd lose my freedom. He said I was an adult now, and I won't need permission to do the things I want. Of course, I still have to respect house rules and (UGH) wash dishes. But, it won't be like I was thinking. 

I thought a whole lot about it, and I decided it is the best thing for me. I miss my family. Seeing them only once or twice a month sucks. I know they miss me too...well maybe not my brother, but I think he may secretly miss me (haha). And, it really will be better money wise. I won't have to pay rent or utilities. Once I'm better on my feet, money wise, I'll started helping them again, but this past year really has been tough. I have barely afforded bills and just enough food for me and my kitty. So, home cooking will fatten me up, hopefully! Plus, I like money, so you can see why this has been killing me. 

I NEED THOSE SHOES AND PURSES AND CLOTHES THAT I DON'T ACTUALLY NEED!

I know it'll be a pain in the butt to drive so much and living an hour away from my boyfriend will be hard, but this really is the best thing for me right now. I'm pretty excited.

I'm ready to go home. 

The Sun

The sun has finally come out. 

No I don't mean the ACTUAL sun because, where I live, the sun has been burning down on us for months. I mean the sun in my soul. You know, where the darkness creeps away and (almost) everything is working out. That's me right now. 

Why, you ask?

Well, let me give you a bit of backstory. I was a Chemistry major for four years in college. I wanted to be a pharmacist, and it just wasn't working out. I kept applying and kept getting rejected. I kept failing all of my classes. My GPA kept dropping. I was giving up on even finishing college. You see, when the dream you have had for more than half of your life (so far) keeps rejecting you and laughing in your face, you lose hope. The light goes out. The struggle I was enduring was only made worse by my anxiety. It got to the point where I couldn't sit through an exam without having an anxiety attack, couldn't study, and couldn't even go to class. I felt like a failure. The people I graduated high school with were graduating college, getting married, having kids, establishing careers, and I had become the person I dreaded, the one who flew through grade school and sunk in college. My mind had so much fun telling me that I sucked, that I won't amount to anything, that my parents will be so disappointed, that people will talk about me with pity. I was about to give up. 

And then, I changed my major. I knew what I was doing before wasn't working. I knew I had to make a change. So, I swallowed my pride and went to an adviser at school. I pretty much poured my heart out, professionally, and she asked me what I LIKED to do. I told her about Alpha Sigma Tau and my role in the sorority. She looked at me and said "Mass Communications. Advertising. That's where you belong." I looked back at her and took the biggest leap of my life. "Okay," I said. This was at the end of November. It was pretty much my first step in getting all of the help I needed.

The sun is out. I am standing in its warmth. 

Readers of my blog, I didn't get anything less than a B in any of my classes. I actually attended class. I GOT HUNDREDS ON EXAMS. I actually understood the subjects being taught. 

And okay, get this....

I ACTUALLY WAS HAVING FUN LEARNING. That hadn't happened since I took Inorganic Chemistry 3 years ago. I do give some credit to the antidepressant. Without it, I know I'd still be struggling to take hold of my anxiety, but I also give credit to the major. It fits me, and I love it. 

I feel like the moral of my story is that humbling myself and asking for help was the best choice I ever made. I fought against my anxiety for 20 ish years without truly accepting help, and I was just ignoring the problem. Once I relented and accepted that help, of any kind, was the best choice, I really began to live my life...