Three Years

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the break up.  I know we're kind of at a point where it's weird that I remember it but: A) it was kind of a major event so of course it sticks in my head, and B) I have a tendency to remember dates anyway, and this is definitely not the weirdest one I remember.  Plus the day of the break up was also Ex-Fiance's last day of school, so we were actually counting down to it anyway back then.

Anyway, it makes me feel reflective to think that three years have passed between then--which was absolutely one of the lowest and most awful points of my life--and now, when I'm probably the best I've ever been.  The change never ceases to amaze me.  I remember telling myself that night, "Give it 6 months.  Survive the next 6 months and go from there."  (Six months because at the time, it was both the longest amount of time I could fathom thinking about and the amount of time I thought it would take for us to get back together).  Back then six months seemed like this crazy, daunting amount of time--and now I've survived 3 years, which is 6 times that original goal.  It makes me so fucking proud I can't even tell you.  There really are no words.

The past three years have probably been the most transformative of my adult life.  I've changed more than I ever thought possible.  I think when you suffer from a mental illness for as long as I did, you kind of become convinced that it's the only way you'll ever be able to function, that you're just going to stay sick until it finally kills you.  I thought that whatever level of mental health I reached, it would be perfunctory.  I thought I'd make it to a point where I could function.  To where I could hold down a job and exert a little control over my thoughts and not spend all day every day feeling like I wanted to rip my skin off of my body (legit something I used to feel, btw).  I never expected to thrive.

But I am thriving.  I'm not just holding down a job, I've got a job I truly enjoy at a company whose work I really believe in.  I'm pursuing a career in an area that interests me.  And I've got a whole other job on top of that one!  I'm financially stable and independent.  I'm genuinely happy to be alive and and looking forward to whatever comes next.  I'm not anxious about time passing or what my future's going to be.  (OK, that's not 100% true, because my 30th birthday caused a bit of a quarter life crisis, but now is not the time to talk about it).

I'm not perfect.  There are still things I'm working on and still things I struggle with.  I need to lose weight and I need to manage my money better, but I'm still ahead of where I was in both those areas.  And I definitely, definitely need to find more time to devote to writing and creative pursuits.  Sometimes I get lonely, not necessarily for a significant other, but just for friends.  It sucks to have all my closest friends in other cities or states.  And yes, I know the obvious solution is to make more friends here in Flagstaff, but I have no idea how to make friends as an adult.  Through work is the big one, I'm sure, but my co-workers are all either married moms or hard partying 20-somethings, and I don't fit into either of those groups.  (Seriously, I never would have thought that 30 would have been more awkward than junior high as far as fitting in).

One really weird thing about being three years out from the break up is that I tend to not realize how much stuff I've done since it happened.  A lot of it is small things.  Like sometimes, I'll be re-watching something on Netflix (because let's be real, I pretty much watch the same 5 or 6 shows over and over), and I'll randomly catch myself trying to remember what my ex thought of it, and then I'll remember that I didn't start watching it until after I moved back to Flagstaff.  And it's just kind of trippy how much life has happened since then, from the small stuff like TV shows to the big stuff like mental health.  Honestly, sometimes it seems like everything with him never even happened, and it breaks my heart to feel that way, because I did genuinely love him.  So many things have come after, though, that that time is kind of buried under all of it.  Even a lot of the happier memories are starting to fade, and when they spring to mind (because they do from time to time), I find myself questioning the details instead of smiling.  It makes me so damn sad to think that how I felt about him has faded away like other memories do.  I genuinely didn't think that would happen, and I don't like that it has, because it just feels wrong somehow.

It's hard to put into words how I feel about my ex and the whole situation three years later.  It's not a consistent feeling.  Most days I don't think about him, but there are times when I inexplicably miss him.  Sometimes there's a trigger, like a song that comes on or something someone says or whatever, sometimes it's just totally out of nowhere.

I can tell you that I'm still not 100% over it.  To be honest, some of that is because I won't let myself let it go.  I can tell you that I'm not angry at him for breaking up with me anymore.  I am angry that he never came back.  More precisely, I'm angry that after I left, and then after he saw that I was getting better, he was never curious about whether it might work between us then.  I'm angry that he never made an effort to get to know the real me.

I wonder, all the time, about that.  I have for three years now.  I wonder what it would be like to be around another now.  If we'd still get along.  If that spark that was there on our first date would still be there, if all those old feelings would come rushing back.  I wonder about him, too, sometimes.  About what he's been up to since we broke up, about what his life's been like, about this experience from his perspective.  Aside from him moving back to his hometown a year after we broke up, I don't know anything about his life now.

I know, for sure, that I still regret screwing up and letting him go.  That hasn't changed, nor will it anytime soon.  I had an amazing man, we were so in love, and I completely fucked that up.  I wish so much that I had done things differently back then.  I may end up completely over my ex someday, I may end up married and spend my life with somebody else, but that regret will never go away.  I'm OK with that.  Corey will always be my one that got away, period, and I'll always wonder what might have been.

I fell in love with him on our first date, and I do still love him.  I would love to just talk to him, about us and everything that happened and where we are now and just see if there's anything still there, because I still feel like I haven't completely gotten closure where we're concerned.  If the opportunity for a conversation ever came up, if he were to contact me, I'd absolutely listen.  As much as I'm sure that'll never happen, I'm always going to hold out a little hope, because that's just who I am.  I'm not sorry for it.

But that hope, and the fact that I would still like another chance with him, doesn't rule my life and it absolutely won't stop me from living my life.  I want that to be clear: I'm not just hanging around hoping/wishing/praying for my ex to walk back into my life.  I've got my own plans and I intend to follow them.

So that's that, I suppose.  Three years behind me and my whole life ahead of me.  I am so excited for whatever the future holds, whether my ex is involved or not.  And I am truly grateful for these past three years, because even though they started with this awful heartbreak, they have been amazing.  I love who I am now and where I am now, and I've loved being able to figure out who I am as a person and embrace that.  I'm happy to be healthy, and I'm happy to be happy!

2 Years of Evolution

So I was actually going to write this post back at the end of the May (around the 2 year break up anniversary), but then . . . I just got busy and it got pushed to the back burner and I ended up not getting around to it then.

But the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that today—the first of July—is actually a more appropriate anniversary for this journey I've been on. Because, even though it was on May 25^th that Ex-Fiance told me he didn't think we should get married, that relationship didn't truly end—and I didn't truly start to focus on myself and getting better—until I moved back up to Flagstaff. And that happened two years ago today.

Honestly, it's hard to even know where to begin when I talk about this. I've changed so drastically since that day two years ago that I barely know how to put it into words. I've talked about it a lot on here, in bits and pieces, but summing it all up is a challenge.

The day that Ex-Fiance drove me to Flagstaff felt like the worst of my life. To say I was miserable would be a pretty major understatement. I remember the anxiety and numbness coming in waves: my stomach knotting up, palms sweating, heart racing, and then a sudden detachment, a sense of almost nothingness, like I was outside of my body and all around not a part of what was going on. I didn't want to be in Flagstaff; I kept thinking that there was no way I was ever going to get better in the place where my life had completely fallen apart. I kept thinking about my nephew and and saying goodbye to him and how awful that had been, and how bitter I was at being forced out of my hometown and away from my family. At the time I had a crappy job and really didn't know how I was going to survive financially. I knew I needed a full time job, but I also knew that I wasn't mentally well enough to hold down a full time job . . . and I wasn't going to be able to afford treatment without a full time job. (How's that for a vicious cycle?). I didn't have a car and I was dreading having to depend on the bus system. And on top of that I had just gotten dumped; I was with the man I loved, the man I had fully intended to spend the rest of my life with, the man I was supposed to have married just the day before, and I knew that at the end of the day he was going to leave. I remember that he stuck around for a few hours, and that I felt like I was going to throw up when he finally said he needed to get going. He kissed me and told me he loved me before he left; I stood on my porch and watched him drive away and wished that I was dead.

On that day my life just didn't make sense. I looked at it from all the angles I could, and it sucked from every single one. I don't think I'd ever felt more defeated than I did that day. My future—to me, at least—looked bleak. Very, very bleak.

Today, two years later, I am happier than I've ever been. And it was just a normal, busy day; I got up, went to work (at both jobs), and came home to Jerbs and my dogs. That's probably the best part about being mentally healthy—that the normal, uneventful, everyday kind of days are happy ones. When I was sick I hated being alive, hated having to live through every day, but now I'm truly engaged in my life and myself. It's such a good feeling.

I've come so far in two years. I got an amazing full time job, and I've been excelling at it for almost 18 months now. I feel like a lot of my personal growth has come from my job at MHC, for a lot of reasons. The financial stability has been great, and has led to a lot less anxiety about money. I've also been able to start getting my credit on track. Aside from that, I feel like I've become a lot more confident about myself since I started at MHC. I've taken on more responsibility there than I ever imagined I would; some of the things that have been added to my work load are things that, when I first started, I didn't think I could do or would want to do. But now, I'm pretty sure I could do anything that was asked of me at work; I'm very confident in my abilities. And the confidence that's come from everything I do at MHC is what let me to be sure I could handle a second job. And let me tell you that having two jobs makes me feel absolutely amazing.

It's also been a great experience to work with people who don't know me as being sick. My co-workers like me, and just think of me as me. And it's been nice to be looked at like a normal person, to have been able to make friends and just . . . I don't know, show people who I really am. When you think about it, my MHC co-workers are the first group of people who have ever met me without knowing anything about my mental health history. And I'm definitely not saying that I feel like other people in my life have been judgmental; I'm just saying that it's kind of nice to have people in my life who never saw me like that. They make me feel normal.

I've stopped overreacting to things. I feel like in the past, things that were pretty small and insignificant would make me freak out. Like changes in schedules or the store being out of something I needed or whatever. Those little things would just make me go ballistic and ruin my whole day. Now, those things just don't bother me. And even bigger things that happen don't bother me as much. Like the flat tire on my way to work last month. Old me would have lost my shit. I'd probably have cried and screamed and kicked my car. I wouldn't have had the money to pay for a tow or new tire and I'd have made Jerbs wake up and meet me so she could take care of it. I probably would have been so upset that I'd have called in to work because I wouldn't have been able to focus after freaking out. And then I'd have come home and thrown myself a huge pity party and thought about all the reasons my life sucked. But instead, I rolled my eyes, grumbled a little bit (because no one WANTS to get a flat tire on their way to work on a Monday morning), and took care of it. I joked with the tow truck driver, passed the time at the tire shop playing Angry Birds on my phone, and then went to work. And that was just that. It didn't even remotely ruin my day.

I've stopped focusing on other people's lives and letting them effect me. Before I dreaded reading Facebook statuses because every little thing just . . . I don't know, made me get all over analytical about my own life. Any time a friend would get engaged or get married or move or get a job or really succeed in any way, I'd have an anxiety attack about the fact that I wasn't succeeding. I felt like a failure and everyone else's successes just reinforced that over and over again. It got to points where I wouldn't be able to focus on anything else and would get far too wrapped up in other people's lives for my own good. Now when I hear about good things happening to other people on Facebook, I'm just happy for them. I'm doing well enough in my own life, at this point, that I can come back to it easily. And even more than that, I want to come back to it. No matter how well anyone I know is doing, I like my own life better. I used to dread the future but now I'm excited about it. I see so much potential in myself and I know I'm going to accomplish great things.

I've stopped feeling like I need to define myself and become more OK with all of the parts of my personality co-existing. Before I felt like I had to pick who I was and whenever I did anything I wondered about how that fit into this over arching definition of me. For example, I remember once I got to thinking that I hadn't done a sewing project in a while. So I decided I wanted to sew something. And what should have been as easy as picking a pattern, grabbing some fabric, and setting up my machine turned into a massive anxiety attack because I just didn't know if I was the type of person who sewed. Does that make sense? My head made it a far bigger thing than it was, I guess. I just didn't know how to reconcile all the things I enjoyed into one personality. It seems so ridiculous now but it was a very serious issue at the time. And now I really get that I can be all the things I like and it's all just part of who I am. I sew, I write, I read, I hike, I work out . . . and it's all fine. I can do all those things without worrying about what they mean.

In general, my mind just feels more mine than it used to. I feel like I didn't used to have a lot of control over where my thoughts would go and what they would do; it was to the point that I couldn't really read books or watch TV or movies because I never knew how they'd effect my thought process. It sounds crazy but it's true. I was so afraid of the anxiety or depression or mania or whatever might come up that I just avoided anything I hadn't read or seen before. And it's silly but I missed those things, and having them back is a small victory but a victory nonetheless.

One thing that I haven't talked much about on here is that I've found my faith since I started this journey two years ago. I used to be a staunch atheist. And while I don't think there's anything wrong with that at all, my views in that area have definitely shifted. I don't know that I'd call myself a Christian, and I haven't read the Bible, and I don't go to church, but I do believe in God. I feel like my faith is something I want to experience on my own terms; I pursue a personal relationship with a higher power and that's that. I will say that I pray a lot, and that I feel very blessed. I see God at work every day in my own life. Like I said, I don't talk about it much, because it's very private.

Right now, I really do love my life. It's not perfect but it's wonderful, and I'm happy. I love where I live, I love what I do, and I love who I am. I am aware, every single day, of how fortunate I am to have gotten where I am from where I was. And I am thankful, every single day, for everything that got me there: for God, for my family, for Jerbs, for my ex, and for my own determination.

It hasn't been an easy journey, but it has been a beautiful one. As much pain and struggle as there's been, I don't think I'd change a thing.

2 Years

As I posted that lovely entry about being sick, I noticed the date: April 18th.  It's a significant date because it was on April 18th, 2011 that I went to my first appointment with my current doctor, when I was officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder.

Which means that today marks the 2 year anniversary of my real journey to getting better.

I'm not even really sure what I want to say about this, but I feel like I should say something.

First and foremost, I can't believe it was two years ago that I got help but that it's only been about 8 months-ish that I've actually been really, truly better.  I still feel a little bit ashamed of that, but at the same time, better late than never.  I never expected things to go the way they did but I never expected getting better to be easy, either.

Corey took me to that first appointment.  I remember shaking like a leaf the whole way there because I was so nervous; I think he took my hand and said a prayer for me before we went into the office.  My doctor turned out to be amazing--smart and competent and willing to really listen--and I was incredibly impressed with him, especially considering we only chose him because he was the first doctor Corey called who took uninsured patients.  I owe a lot to my doctor.

That appointment lasted an hour and a half and cost $235.  I paid some, Corey paid some, Jerbs paid some, and my mom paid some--it was definitely a group effort to get me there.

My head is still fuzzy so I think I'll just say thank you.  I owe thank yous to a lot of people in this but there's one in particular I feel like getting off my chest tonight . . . I'll write out the rest later, when my head's clear.

Thank you Corey, for finding me a good doctor and for getting me to that first appointment; thank you for insisting so fiercely that I was worth getting better.  I know that you meant it, and that you wanted me to get better because you loved me.  Even if that's not true now, I know that I wouldn't have gotten help if you hadn't pushed me to, and that I owe a lot of this to you.  I am grateful for your help.  I am also deeply, deeply sorry that you got hurt so much in the process; I hope that you can forgive me for that, and I hope that you know the girl who put you through all that pain and BS is not who I really am.  Regardless of what's happened between us, and regardless of what happens between us in the future, I'll remain grateful.

That's it for tonight.  I need to lie down.