Thought of the day:

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if something is a symptom of my mental illnesses or simply a personality trait.

Problem is, most of the time, I worry that if these “quirks” are part of my personality, they may  actually point to a personality disorder. That terrifies me.

No, I’m not self diagnosing. Trust me. In this case especially, I don’t want to! It’s just that I feel like these thoughts and feelings that I frequently have mean that I’m a bad person. I want so badly for them to simply be symptoms of my anxiety or depression, because that means they aren’t necessarily always going to be there. But I even on days when I am doing better, I still often experience them and that makes me think that they aren’t going to go away, ever.

When I first started researching personality disorders several months ago, I initially thought, hey, maybe I fit into this category! It seemed like a good thing at the time because it might give me an answer. I know now that I was just trying to figure out who I was. Trying to understand myself. I had to explore the possibility, even if I didn’t know what it might mean.

I did mention it to my doctor a shortly after and he assured me that I didn’t have a personality disorder. Which at that moment actually left me feel a bit defeated because, yet again, I thought I was close to finding the answer – to what question? I still don’t really know – but ended up feeling further away from it than ever.

I continued researching and never really did find whatever I was looking for. But along the way I have put together many puzzle pieces of my life. I’m still figuring my shit out, but I still often find myself struggling with understanding who I am and what I want out of life.

I love hearing inspiring stories like this. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel at least a small amount of hope. But each time I hear one, it also hurts a little bit. I feel a little bit jealous.

It sounds crazy to say I’m jealous, but when I’ve felt so shitty for so long, I just want it to all go away.

Then, at the exact same time it makes me feel even worse because I don’t know who I am. I am 28 years old and I have no idea who I am. I’ve been depressed and anxious for basically my entire life and I don’t know who I am without that in my life.

I’ve been struggling lately feeling like I have no place in this world. I want to feel like I have some sort of purpose, a reason why I’m here, but I don’t have a single clue what it is, or if a reason even exists. I feel like I have accomplished nothing of significance in my life so far, and I don’t see anything on the horizon, except more pain.

All I want is for my purpose to become clear so I feel like I actually have something to fight for.

Tuesday, February 23, 2016 – The first day in months where I’ve made it a full 8 hours straight off awake time, without yawning or struggling to focus on my work.

That night, sleep refused to come.

Even with the aid of a sleeping pill, the third prescription I’ve had to try and help me sleep, and the first one to actually give me a full day of wakefulness, I could not fall asleep. I was too awake.

I felt like I was going insane. I should be tired. I should be drowsy. I didn’t want to take a pill two nights in a row, but I just could not feel tired, so I did. It was another two and a half hours before I did actually fall asleep. That little pull usually makes me sleepy within minutes and I’m out soon after. Not this time.

It was a restless sleep. Covers thrown all over the bed. I couldn’t get comfortable.

My dog couldn’t handle it and ended up on the recliner chair that is on my room. Most nights he stays on my bed all night, unless he doesn’t start out there, which does happen. But every once in a while, on a night where I don’t get a good enough sleep, he ends up off the bed. My theory is that I must be kicking in the little bits of sleep I do get, or simply riding and turning so much that his side of the mattress is bouncing too much for him to sleep. I’ll never know did sure. He is a dog. A friggen cute one who loves unconditionally!

Wednesday, February 24, 2016 – It’s morning now. I’m exhausted. Both physically and mentally. I’m not sure what today is going to bring.

This article I just read on The Mighty is an excellent description of what having a BFRB is like: When Biting My Fingers Took Over My Mind

Whether mild or severe, anxiety triggering or triggered by anxiety, it is difficult to live with and not easy to get over. If we could stop simply because we wanted to, trust me, we would!

I know I have tried so many times to stop picking at blemishes, even the smallest ones, (dermatillomania) or plucking or pulling out any hair that looks even slightly out of place or like it doesn’t belong (trichotillomania). I’ve tried countless times.

I even try countless times to stop when I’m in a full blown picking/pulling session, my mind will be screaming, STOP IT, STOP IT NOW!, but I just can’t get my fingers away from my skin, or put down the tweezers, or stop my eyes from noticing that one other spot that I missed.

Long before I knew these were actual disorders, I thought that I just had this super weird habit and that no one else did this, and was so embarrassed by it that I never told a single person because they would think that I was crazy. But now I know differently. I’m not the only one!

For me, it is easier to hide, most of the time, because my target areas are generally covered by clothes. However, I do often target my face. I can’t go out with my face covered. I try to hide it with makeup, but the instant I notice a new pimple, whether I see it in the mirror in the bathroom at work or I just happened to touch my face while driving or sitting at the computer, it is all I can think about. Even when I’m NOT actually thinking about it, I’m touching it, trying to judge whether or not it will explode when I’m not looking or if it’s noticeable enough for the people around me to see it and think, eww, she has a pimple.

I fight the urge to actually pop it because I know it will bleed and/or turn into a huge red bump. No matter how hard I try, eventually it will get popped. No matter how much I know I shouldn’t and how much I fight the urge, it will happen. Whether in aware I’m doing it or not, it will happen. I often don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s already happening.

That is only part of the daily battle of having a BFRB.

How do you tell someone that the things they say to you hurt, when you know that logically they shouldn’t hurt and they weren’t intended to hurt, yet you feel the hurt nonetheless?

How do you explain to someone that when you’re alone, you cry for no reason at all, except that you feel like the entire universe is against you?

How do you tell someone that you hate yourself, yhink very little of yourself, that you are a failure at life, and are worthless and that all these things cause you to wish you could just die so you don’t have to deal with any of it ever again?

How do you explain that you feel like you have absolutely no control over your life? And that feeling this way causes you terrible emotional pain and anxiety?

How do you explain to someone that you intentionally, repeatedly cut yourself or that you compulsively pick at your skin or pull out hair from your body, because you never found any other outlet or a healthy way to handle or process all the overwhelming emotions you feel every friggen day?

How do you tell someone that you have been struggling for so long that you don’t even know who you are as a person?

How do you say that you wish someone had told you years ago that something was wrong and that you needed help, but no one ever did, so you went on, suffering in silence for far longer than anyone should?

How do you explain that telling you not to worry about something only makes you worry more about it? Telling you to get over it, only makes it harder to move on?

How do you tell someone that you just want to be alone, but at the same time you don’t want to be alone at all? You want to spend time with them, but you don’t want to put in the effort because you think they’re just going to leave you eventually anyway, or realize that you suck and aren’t worth being their friend. You want them to invite you out because you’re too scared to invite them out because you’re worried they’ll think you’re too clingy.

How can you feel like you have no friends at all, even though you know you do? You feel constantly alone. You feel like no one asks you to hang out when you want them to, but you can’t work up the nerve to ask them first. People tell you they’re there for you if you need to talk, but you feel like they’re just saying that because that’s the nice thing to do, and they don’t actually really care about you.

friends and build relationships with people when you know they’re just going to leave you? It’s happened so many times before, and nothing has changed, so it is going to happen again.

When someone says things like, “oh, I know this person who you’d get along with. You should be friends.” How do you explain that that is the most uncomfortable and anxiety inducing thing in the world? Set me up to meet this person in an intimate setting, where we’re forced to get to know each other. And what if they’re wrong? You won’t get along. Now you’re in this super awkward position where you feel like you have to be friends with this person that you don’t have anything in common with and you really don’t like them. If they’d just let us meet in a relaxed setting, where they didn’t introduce them as “someone you would like” then it would be so much easier. You figure out naturally whether or not you even sort of like each other, and if not, it doesn’t matter. No harm done.

Why am I alone? I’ll always be alone. No one actually likes me, even if they say they do. They don’t mean it.

Am I the toxic friend? Is everyone leaving me because I’m a terrible person and don’t treat people well? Or am I pushing them away, without realizing I’m doing it, because I don’t think that I’m worth their time and energy?

I know that this is just my depression talking (and my anxiety too) and that all these things are totally irrational and stupid. Depression is excellent at deceiving its victims into believing terrible things, including that it (the depression) doesn’t actually even exist. That’s what it does. Depression lies.

All the questions above are things I struggle with daily. And that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

I noted in my last post that I’ve been finding that good days seem to be followed by a bad day, and in many cases, several bad days.

So, after my last post….

I had trouble falling asleep that night. I was wide awake. Which seemed weird because I had gotten up earlier that morning, than I have been the past few weeks.

Then the next morning, I couldn’t get myself out of bed. I just wanted to sleep. I did eventually get up and had breakfast, but I didn’t shower until after noon.

I broke down in tears several times while showering and then doing my hair, feeling worthless and like I’ve failed at life because I wanted to have two good days in a row and couldn’t do it.

I knew I needed to do something with my day, so I texted a friend who lives nearby and we made plans to do something that evening.

We took our dogs out for a walk around the park near her apartment, got some ice cream, and walked down by the boat docks. Then we went back and hung out at her place for a bit.

So I felt better, not excellent, but better, by the end of the evening.

Woke up this morning, feeling kind of crappy again, but I had to take the dogs to the groomers at 11 and I had an appointment with my doctor at 2, so I had to get up.

Spent some time between dropping off the dogs and my appointment working on a website that I’m doing on a volunteer basis. Made some progress on something I’d been struggling to figure out with that, which felt good.

Picked up the dogs on my way home from my appointment, and then sat in the family room painting my nails until my mom got home.

I’m kind of back to my sort of mid-range level of mood at the moment. Not super shitty, but not really happy either.

We’ll see how tomorrow goes, I guess…