Finally, I Want to Live

For the first time in a long time, I want to live. Now, I didn't say anything before, because I wasn't sure if this was a fluke or not. My emotions can be a bit volatile. I'm pretty mind blown that I find myself in this situation. I never would have believed it was possible if I wasn't living in it right now. My therapist told me there would be a time that I wouldn't see her anymore. I thought she was totally bogus. Not happening. There is no way I could get to that point. But I did. Somehow a few months have passed since I've met with my therapist, and I don't feel like I need to. And here I am, looking forward to my days.

So, what changed? I would say the biggest leap I've taken is that I finally found a job I absolutely love, that pays the bills and more, and that fits my personality. It has been a complete game changer. When my last x-ray job didn't work out a few years ago, I turned that blame inward; I felt like something was wrong with ME. I felt ashamed of myself when I would see my friends from college successfully living out the career I somehow failed at. I felt like I was less of a person than them, and I could barely look them in the eye. I felt like a complete failure and that I was worth nothing. I looked at all my past accomplishments- my 4.0 GPA, my graduation speech, nailing a job right out of the gate, and I diminished everything I had ever achieved. I looked behind me and saw someone who was successful and had so much potential, and I felt like I lost it all. I was nothing. I let everyone down.

I've gone on many mental health journeys over my lifetime through depression and anxiety and pills and therapy and hospitals. This journey- this chapter- was three years long. Maybe you look at that and think, "Holy shit, that is a long time to wallow in a pool of sadness and stress and a lack of self worth." If you are struggling under your own black cloud right now, it might seem impossible to visualize yourself requiring YEARS to finally see the light at the end of a tunnel. It seems hopeless. I won't lie- it's hard, it's time consuming, and there are no promises.

What didn't work out about that job 3 years ago was that it didn't jive with my personality. I felt isolated, alone, and bored. I didn't know other people at the clinics I worked at, and nobody knew me. That environment ate away at me. I thought I HAD to fit myself into this job, otherwise something must be wrong with me. I would not allow myself to think that I had the right to feel like I needed a different work environment better suited to my personality. I thought I had to take what I could get in a job, no matter what. I thought it would be selfish to want anything different. And all this time it wasn't me that was flawed, it was the job. Gee, wish I would have figured that out long ago! Would have saved me some time!

This roundabout journey took me on some detours that I believe really helped me get to where I am now. When I became unemployed, going back to my old retail job was just what I needed at that time in my life. It was difficult at first. I spent six months on unemployment adamantly opposed to returning to my previous job. I felt like it was a step backwards for me. I felt like going back to that would be settling, giving up, admitting defeat. I had worked too hard, invested too much time, racked up too many student loans just to give it all up. Once I started working there, though, it immediately brightened my affect. I was part of a community of coworkers that were close knit and supportive. It made my soul happy. And then weeks turned into months which turned into years. I became complacent. A tiny part deep inside of me knew that I needed to get kicked out of the nest and spread my wings again. This season of my life was needed to change. I never had the guts to do it on my own- it took getting laid off to force me to make the career leap I needed.

It's weird to say that I am so glad I lost my job- both jobs, in fact. I am happy these bad things happened. At the time, I couldn't imagine going on with my life or seeing any future for myself. Yet here I am. So many morsels of skills, inspiration, therapy, tricks, thoughts, and so much more have helped me along through all these years living with mental illness. My hope is that, moving forward, I am able to pass those golden nuggets on to other people who are struggling. How that's going to happen? I haven't a clue! But I've got life by the horns and I'm ready to see where this rodeo will take me next.

Gun Ownership: A Mental Health Perspective

In light of the recent school shooting in Florida, I'd like to offer a mental health perspective on having access to guns. Now, I hate politics, and I don't care to get into the nitty gritty details of the issues at hand, but as someone who has dealt with and continues to be challenged with depression, I know a gun does not belong in my possession. If there is not a law that would guarantee that, then I think there should be. I'm not about to go shoot up a bunch of innocent people, and the vast majority of people living with mental illness are more a danger to themselves than others. They are more likely to be victims rather than perpetrators.

You might describe me as being "in recovery," but there is still a delicate line there. What life circumstances would trigger me? What trauma would crumble my will to keep going? A job loss? A friend's suicide? Both have happened in the past couple weeks, and I'll admit I am pleasantly surprised at my ability to get through these circumstances in a healthy way. I have reached a level of self awareness that I can generally sense and express when I am a danger to myself. I will tell someone if I don't think I should be alone. I enlist my husband to lock my medications away when I am feeling "off," as a precaution. We don't keep hard liquor in the house, because in a moment of weakness, having ready access to that isn't safe. For me to be able to get to a point where I can express those needs, and for my family and friends to respond to those needs properly has taken YEARS of therapy and more so, breaking down the barriers and stigma that keep loved ones from talking about these things openly.

I am in a place in my journey where I can admit that having access or ownership to a gun is not in my best interest. The risk of me using it to hurt myself is tiny, but the risk is still there. Any risk is too much and not worth it. I don't think there are a lot of people who struggle with mental health issues that would be able to keep themselves safe on their own. It takes a lot of humility and self care to find yourself in a place that you can do that- to admit that you need to rely on others for help, that you have nothing to prove by going it alone. A gun law that would help make the decision of safe gun ownership through screening would be advantageous. I don't believe this because it will keep guns out of murderer's hands (although that would be cool, too); I believe this because it would keep guns out of the hands of people like myself who are at risk of hurting themselves. Sure, it feels a little like being a kid and not having control of yourself. Grown ups don't like being told what they can and can't do or have. I'm strong willed and stubborn, so when my mom or sister say, "Maybe you shouldn't have such-and-such in the house for your own safety," sometimes it makes me want to throw a tantrum. "I'll do whatever I want! I can take care of myself! I don't need any help! I'm not a child" That's the thing about being an adult- you need to show willingness. It isn't just about getting your way and having anything you want.

In the days following my coworker's suicide, sitting alone at home, craving a heaping dose of something strong to numb the grief I was feeling, I thought to myself, "My damn family knowing what's best for me! It just pisses me off! I guess it's good that we don't have any liquor in the house after all, even if I thought I was completely in control." The thing is with control- you have it, until you don't. Just like an insurance policy, you never know when disaster will strike; you will feel good knowing that you took the precautions in the first place.

I view being granted a gun as something you need to earn and qualify for. We take classes and tests to drive a car, we need to meet certain criteria to be granted medications, there are hoops to jump through with licenses and certifications and applications to get stuff in this world for the safety of ourselves and others. Some of those hoops are stupid, worthless busywork, but a lot of times they are in everyone's best interest. So why shouldn't it be the same with owning a gun?

Open Letter to My Coworkers

If you've been following my blog, you know that one of my coworkers committed suicide almost two weeks ago. In the days following his death, I started writing this "letter" to my coworkers. At the time, I didn't know whether I would ever share it with them. I didn't know if I wrote it for them, for me, or for no one. But for that week, we all pulled together. We all had our tears, and we all offered shoulders to cry on. We became closer, and I really started to feel like this was a safe place to be, a place that I was proud to call my work home.

Little did I know that when I bucked up and went to work after the funeral that that would be the last shift I would ever work at my job. I can't decide if it's just ironic, bad luck, or some kind of joke. The timing couldn't have been more tragic. I was laid off. And what's more sad is that I wasn't surprised by it. I think a part of me knew it was only a matter of time. A part of me knows that I am replaceable and only as valuable as how much money I can make for someone else. (This is the part where people that know and love me are yelling at the screen for me to stop putting myself down! But the truth is, although we like to say everyone is of infinite worth, our society has a shitty way of showing it!)

But I think the message I wanted to say is still relevant even if I don't have any coworkers anymore. The message being essentially that you see the people you work with everyday- probably more than your own family. We need to be there for each other, all differences set aside. I'm sick of adding to the list of people I knew who committed suicide. My intention was to work on my "letter" more before it being read by others, but after losing my job....I can't say my heart is into making any improvements to it:


"Whether you have worked here for two weeks or you were around in the ancient days when this store opened, before eBooks and WiFi existed, you are part of our family. If you need to cry, we will let you, and we won't judge you. Just like family, we will probably hold grudges, we'll get pissed off at each other, and annoyed. Sometimes it's hard to let people in or ask for help. As someone who has struggled with depression and multiple suicide attempts, hospitalizations, therapy, and medication cocktails, I personally know that it's very hard to trust anyone with that kind of crap. We'd like to think that we live in a world where people are accepting and understanding about people from all sorts of walks of life and backgrounds, but the world still has a ways to go. When I came back to work for The Barn, I had lost my job as a successful x-ray tech not once, but twice. I didn't even see it coming. I had grown up with the message beaten down my throat that you do not ever let on to anyone if you struggle with mental illness, because you might lose your job; someone might use it against you. For the first time ever, I did open up about it at my x-ray job. I thought things were different now. I openly communicated every step of my journey to my management team so they could work with me and my medical commitments, but even so, I still lost my job (twice). My wall came back up. When I came back to The Barn after that, I was skeptical. I was really vague about the circumstances of my return, and I was not about to trust anyone with my struggles. If I had to get time off work for a medical reason, or if I just up and didn't come to work for a few days because I had literally overdosed over the weekend, I skipped the details and downplayed everything. I was so afraid I would lose my job again. Little by little, the wall began to crumble as management worked with me to schedule shifts around my many therapy and med check appointments. They even asked how things were going periodically. It was weird. A good weird, but I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I figured it was only a matter of time before something bad would happen; this nice act had to be up at some point, right? Well, three years later, I am still here. Sure, I probably have some beef with some of you, and maybe you have some annoyances with me, but in light of what our Barn family has gone through lately, it's all just a bunch of bullshit, isn't it? Damn rewards card percentages and email collections and nasty bathroom cleanings and pricing gripes- it's all just stuff. It doesn't even matter. You matter. I matter. We all matter. We are more than just employees and customers- we are a family and a community. We care about each other and we look out for each other. So if you need something, tell someone. Maybe you'll be thinking, "Well, I don't know this person very well," or "They won't care about what I have going on," or "If I show any weakness or, heaven forbid I cry in front of someone, I will be so mortified!" just get that junk out of your head. We've all cried in the bathroom or the break room, so there's nothing to be ashamed of. We've all got our shit to carry. And maybe, like me, you are thinking, "Fuck! I knew he had some bad stuff going on in his head, but I just didn't know what to do!" or "I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how!" Well, you aren't alone. There is a lot of that guilt thing going around. "He died because I was too worried about saving my own face, cuz I was too chicken to say anything?!" No, you are not alone. We've all got those crazy ass nasty thoughts going through our heads, but they ain't true."

Another One Bites the Dust

I am working in your place today. It feels uncomfortable. You should be here. This empty void can only be you. Your apron still hangs on the wall, your name on the hook. I get close to it and sniff. Maybe your scent lingers on it. I look around, wondering if anyone saw me creepily inhaling a coffee stained apron. But no, I wouldn't have recognized it anyway. We weren't like that- I'm a married woman! But even so, it's a part of you that I hope still clings to the green fabric. Someday your name will be replaced on the wall, and the apron will be washed and lost in a sea of identical ones. But for now, I hope it still hangs there for awhile- a visual reminder of your memory each time I pass it. There is your mailbox with your name on it. I peek inside, a tinge of guilt, as if I am invading your privacy. It's as if I need proof that you existed, something to hold on to. A dark thought clouds my mind, that with each passing moment and hour, you will drift further and further away. In time, other coworkers will come and go, until only a few who knew you will be left. As the workday progresses, new faces arrive. The cycle then starts all other again: break the news, more tears, pull yourself together, go to work. I'm hoping to fill every second with busyness, because I am afraid that if I have an idle moment, I will burst again into tears as thoughts of you creep back into my head. Finally, as the evening is coming to a close and the last customers are trickling out, I clean the tile floor. I suddenly remember this is the last memory I have of you- a few evenings ago, mopping the floor in companionable silence. Who knew that would be the last time I would ever see you. As I count the money in the drawer, I gaze at the counter around me, longing for a scrap of receipt paper with one of your doodles of a customer on it, but there is nothing. How many times have I tossed those scraps in the trash in the name of tidiness? I long to take it all back.

I had always seen a reflection of myself in you- depressed, anxious, hopeless, struggling, angry, sad. It was a world we both knew, but I never knew how to bridge that gap, to start the conversation that we both knew the struggle of mental illness. That maybe we could both feel a little less alone and hopeful knowing that we had each other. Although I know that your departure from this Earth is not my fault, I still wonder if one grain of sand could have tipped the scale. One kind word. And what if that one kind word was supposed to be from me and I failed? There is another part of me that envies you, now basking in a place where the suffering and pain no longer exists. Why not me? Did you have an unlucky roll of the dice which gave you a Y chromosome and therefore statistically more likely to be "successful" at taking your life? Is my survival also a roll of the dice? Am I lucky to be female? What did I do to deserve the support of family and friends? Access to good healthcare without bankrupting me? What do I have to offer by still being here? Not enough that I wouldn't trade my life for the chance at you having another one.

I find myself constantly fingering the semi-colon necklace a friend gave me as a gift. I am a survivor, and my life goes on. In this shadow of grief, I feel the need for that frequent reminder around my neck. I am a survivor, I am still here, and I need to keep going. Life keeps going. My story is not over.