*tw*: depression, anxiety, sexual assault, abuse, self-harm
I hate the process of getting somewhere. When I’m traveling, I hate driving for long periods because I feel like I’m wasting time when I could be accomplishing something. Flying makes me anxious, and even though it’s faster, I hate the concept that I have to arrive so early before my flight just to sit in the airport and do nothing. I love traveling when I get to where I’m going. I love exploring new restaurants, seeing new sights, and doing things I haven’t done before. But it’s the process of getting there that makes me uncomfortable.
For a long time, I felt the same way about my mental health. Once I overcame an issue after a prolonged period of suffering, I thought I was done. I could check it off the list because I had overcome it. In high school, I had problems with self-harm, and once I stopped self-harming, I thought I was done with it. I was proud of myself for overcoming an obstacle and moving forward. I thought I’d never have to worry about it again. But mental health recovery doesn’t work like that. There are good days and there are bad days. Our negative patterns tend to show back up in difficult times. Recovering addicts probably know this the best, and the fact that they use the phrase “recovery” to describe their process shows a much deeper self-awareness than my own. Recovery is a process, not a checklist.
Things have been difficult lately. I’m still figuring out what the proper medications are for my anxiety, and because I also have a history of depression, it’s proving more difficult than I expected to find an anxiety medication that doesn’t also trigger my depression. I’m working with my doctor to figure out what prescription will be best for me, but it’s essentially a trial and error process. Also, our current news cycle hasn’t been any help, triggering memories and fears surrounding my own experience of sexual assault. I didn’t spend nearly enough time processing these feelings, which resulted in a breakdown during my therapy session last week, after which my therapist wouldn’t let me leave until I had a friend to meet me at home to make sure I was okay. (Overwhelmingly grateful for my therapist and my friends in that moment.) Because I’m a perfectionist, I rarely let people see me at my most vulnerable. I don’t like for people to see me cry, so asking for help in that moment was a big step.
I’m also supposed to be training for a marathon that’s happening the first weekend in November, but I’m not sure whether or not I’ll be able to run it. I sprained my ankle (for the millionth time) at the beginning of August and just started coming back from that injury a few weeks ago. I had some calf and shin issues while getting back into training because my left leg wasn’t used to the strain, so I’m incredibly behind on training. Injuries combined with mental health struggles, not to mention that I’m now battling a cold, mean I haven’t trained past 12 miles. I ran a marathon earlier this year, so I might not die if I tried to run this one, but it definitely wouldn’t be what I had hoped. I can’t stand this because I didn’t run as fast as I had hoped when I ran the Nashville Rock ‘n Roll marathon earlier this year, so I chose Savannah (a super flat and easy course) to redeem myself and try to PR (run my best time). But now, I’m facing whether or not I can even complete this marathon.
All this to say, things have been in a downward spiral lately. My depression and anxiety have caused me to spend a lot more time sitting in my room not exercising, making strange meal choices (i.e. cereal for dinner like every day), not cleaning my house, and not getting things done. Without my routine, I get even more depressed and anxious, so you can see how this spirals out of control pretty quickly. I haven’t been moving toward my goals. I haven’t been checking things off of my to-do list. Heck, I haven’t even put on make up most days to go to work. But it’s important for me to remember that these things don’t make me a failure. I’ve made it through times like this before and I can make it again. I made it through an intense bout of depression in high school. I made it through the aftermath of being sexually assaulted. I made it through breaking up with someone I had dated for 5 years only to realize he was emotionally abusive. I made it through coming out. I am strong, and sometimes strength looks a little different than we expect.
Right now, it looks like managing to eat several times per day, remembering to wash my face, going to bed at a decent time, drinking water, and taking my meds. Eventually, it might look like running a marathon again or striving toward getting more pieces published. Being mentally healthy isn’t a straight line forward, so I have to remember to celebrate the small victories along the way.