It’s been a little over two months since my last update, and a lot has happened. Before I get into everything, I’m going to request something. This post is going to be very honest and open. Mental health stuff is incredibly important to talk about. A lot of people feel alone in their journeys. Sharing our struggles helps close that gap between others who share similar struggles. However, I am also keenly aware that sharing my story, my struggles, and my diagnoses opens me up to snide comments, unsupportive commentary, and unwanted opinions. Before you insert your views on my life and the things I’m struggling with, ask yourself how helpful your comment would be. How would you feel if someone said it to you? To someone you loved? How would it be taken? If it’s not something you’d want to hear, then you shouldn’t be saying it to someone else.
Being in IOP taught me a lot about myself, and a lot about mental health in general. I think what surprised me the most to learn was how many people struggled with similar things, but felt like they had no one to really talk to about it. Age and gender really didn’t matter. I found heartbreaking similarities between myself and a nineteen-year-old guy as easily as I did with a woman in her sixties. We’ve all been kicked in the teeth by life. Some of us just handle it better. Or, as I’ve learned is more likely, some of us are just better at hiding it from others.
I always knew my opinion of myself wasn’t very high. I didn’t expect to learn it was as low as it was. I went into it believing I was too broken, too unstable, too much in general, even for myself. I would have been happy to go to sleep and just not wake up. In fact, there were many nights I prayed that would happen. While I would love to say that IOP cured me and suddenly everything is different and better, that would not be accurate at all. I have more good days than bad now, but the bad days are still pretty bad.
Going into IOP, I thought I had major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and PTSD. Leaving IOP, I now know my mental health diagnosis is much more complicated and multi-layered.
Not only do I have MDD, but I have treatment-resistant MDD. I’ve been on half a dozen anti-depressants that work until they don’t. In fairly rapid succession. Also, I don’t just have PTSD, but C-PTSD. The C stands for complex. Like me. Because of abandonment and rejection traumas, I always thought I was just super sensitive. Apparently, there’s something called rejection sensitive dysphoria. Basically, perceived rejection and criticism is blown way out of proportion in my mind. The best way I’ve seen it illustrated is asking someone if they want to do something…say, go get ice cream. The other person says “Sure, if you want to.” The RSD brain hears “They don’t really want to go but are saying yes because they know you want to.” So you tell them they don’t have to go if they don’t want to, they say something about how they just said they would, spinning into perceived annoyance and irritation. And that’s just a simple exchange. Think about actual rejection. Think about what that possibly does in my brain. Coupled with my anxious attachment style, I am a basket case. But wait, there’s more!
Something I have known about myself for a little while now is something I’ve been afraid to share with a whole lot of people. But that fear keeps me feeling isolated and ashamed of something over which I have no control. I have a dissociative disorder. OSDD, to be exact. It isn’t the same thing as dissociative identity disorder (DID) or what used to be called multiple personality disorder. But I do have parts (some people call them alters), and they make it very complicated, confusing, and inconsistent in my head. I’m not crazy or dangerous, except maybe to myself from time to time because I lose time/memories. There has been a time or two I’ve been driving and had absolutely not idea where I was going or where I’ve come from.
On top of that, I’ve gotten some pretty interesting physical health news. Between my heart and my spine, I am also physically falling apart. So that’s fun.
I’m not suicidal. Let me come right out and say that. I’m in a lot of pain, both physical and emotional, every single day. And I’m really lonely. I have my dad and friends, but it’s a deeper kind of loneliness than that. It’s the longing to be held when I’m not feeling good, someone to go to scary appointments with me and hold my hand, and tell me they’re still going to be there even when it gets tough. I know I deserve that, and I know I’m worthy of it. But I also know worth and deserving doesn’t mean you are guaranteed to get it.
So, I’m trying to find ways to cope on my own. Because, no matter how much family or how many amazing friends I have, at the end of the day, I’m still alone. And I’m trying to accept that it will likely remain that way, because this is a lot. I am a lot. It would take someone extremely special and patient to want to partner themselves with me. And I’m not saying this person doesn’t exist. I’m saying it would take a literal act of God for us to find each other at this point. Which is a whole other blog post because the big guy and I are not on great terms right now.
Anyway, so that’s what’s going on with me. I’m still a mess. I may even be more of a mess than I was before I went into IOP. But I am navigating it a bit better. I give myself a bit more grace now that I know it’s not just me being dramatic or not letting go, or making drama out of nothing. I understand I am considered neurodivergent, and that a lot of the ways I react to things or perceive them may not be considered “normal.” I’m also learning to accept that “just because I used to” doesn’t mean I still can. We are all always changing. I heard someone say we’re closer to Pokemon than we are to butterflies, because we go through more than one evolution in our lives.
I like to think I’m an Eevee who can’t decide which evolution tree to go down. I’m constantly choosing between all the different cute and quirky versions of myself. Some versions are fluffier than others, some are a bit more spicy, some are darker than others. The important thing is that I love myself in every version. And, like the weather in New England, all I have to do is wait a while, and it’ll change.