Category: Love, Your Brain

There is Always a Choice

GenevieveLeave a comment

TW: self-harm and suicide

I wrote this in my hospital journal towards the end of my stay. A few days ago, I published a post about self-compassion. The two seem to go together, in my mind.

drawing of landscape with tree and river and words about self-compassionThere is always a choice. Two therapists have told me this independently. It took a little while for the meaning to sink in after the first therapist said it. I had gone a few weeks without self-harm at that point, and I still felt utterly controlled by it. The question of whether to do it or not didn’t seem like a choice; it seemed like an inevitability. Over time, the less trapped by it I felt, and the more sense that statement made. Although the choice of whether to self-harm might have been stacked in favor of doing it, the choice to take steps to change that was still mine.

I relapsed and eventually ended up here, in the hospital. On the surface, I’m likely to view all of that as a failure. However, I didn’t make the wrong choice. I experienced the symptoms of wanting to self-harm and having suicidal thoughts. I made the choice to be honest and to go to the hospital. I’m making choices every day to participate in groups and to work towards stability.

Was cutting a choice? Yes, but it’s about more than that. It’s about larger choices. When my disorder makes resisting those urges and thoughts too difficult, agency over my life as a whole is still mine. I can decide to work towards taking back control in all areas, however slowly I have to do that. It’s about the choices I make to be honest with my loved ones, to go to therapy, and to take my medication, that will affect my recovery from an illness that makes me want to hurt myself, that makes me want to disappear, that tells me that I don’t matter.

I do matter. I choose to work towards self-love.

There is always a choice.

Love,

Your brain

Acceptance, Self-Compassion, and Growth

GenevieveLeave a comment

The other day, my therapist gave me a handout on self-compassion. My “assignment” is to read through it and make some notes on what stands out to me. Since she reads my blog, (Hi, J!) why not expand my notes into an entire post?

A Definition of Self-Compassion

Self-compassion has to do with accepting that we are not infallible and treating ourselves gently when we’re suffering. Just like you’d extend understanding and compassionate support to someone else, we can strive to do the same for ourselves. As humans, we’re going to make mistakes; our imperfections are not only part of what make us unique, but their existence is also a common element shared among all humans. The handout encourages readers to stop fighting against the reality that we are imperfect beings.

Here’s my initial reaction to that bit of advice: but if I stop fighting it, I’ll stop improving. 

Growth

drawing of woman surrounded by plant growth

I worry that if I stop fighting the reality that I’m going to make mistakes, I’ll end up stagnating. If you also hold this belief, I wonder if we can change it by convincing ourselves that the components of success don’t necessarily include criticism and harsh judgment. You can like yourself and still be motivated to grow and improve. (This is what the Dialectics in DBT is all about; two seemingly opposed things can be valid at the same time. It’s about finding the middle ground.) Not to mention, you don’t need to beat yourself up for your mistakes in order to learn from them.

Acceptance vs. Resignation

At the heart of it lies another DBT concept, the difference between acceptance and resignation. Acceptance is the ability to recognize and come to terms with the reality of a situation. It leaves room for you to change it. Resignation doesn’t. When you’re resigned to something, it’s like putting blinders on. You see the reality of what’s in front of you, but not the opportunities to your left and right. With acceptance, you can understand that something is the way it is and still take steps to change it.

Depression’s Symptoms

Here’s where I run into trouble. Depression comes with behavioral symptoms that can get in the way of my productivity. When I sleep too much, for example, it somehow feels easier to be hard on myself than to accept that my illness causes these symptoms. Why? Probably because it gives me a sense of control. If I take responsibility for things that are out of my control, I don’t have to face that they are, in fact, out of my control. It scares me to feel like a victim of my illness. I’d rather be hard on myself for something that’s not my fault than relinquish my (false) sense of control over my actions. I think the key issue is that I’m not distinguishing between acceptance and resignation. I can accept that depression causes me to experience symptoms. If I accept that (not resign myself to it), then there are actions I can take to combat those symptoms, and practicing self-compassion will be easier.

Keep in mind I said “easier“. I’ll be honest, self-compassion is something I’m really struggling with. How can I hold myself accountable for working to get better without being judgmental when it’s not going to plan? It seems like a delicate balance, but my current strategy is not serving me in the way that I’d like. I guess it’s time to invest in a tightrope.

Are there times when you struggle with self-compassion? How do you remedy it? Share your tips in the comments!

Art as an Expression of Mental Health

GenevieveLeave a comment

I’ve loved making art for as long as I can remember. I used to draw the same picture of a dog on different pieces of paper and leave them scattered around the house as a not-so-subtle hint to my parents that their 5-year-old really wanted a puppy. I like to draw images that I want to remember; memories of pleasant things and places. But I also use art as an expression of mental health.

self portrait

Feelings are hard to articulate, but colors, shapes, and textures can carry meaning without the structural constraints of sentences. Creating an image can be a cathartic way to express feelings that also lets other people in on the experience. When I don’t know exactly what to make but I have an urge to make something, I start with choosing materials and just let my hand move freely. Something usually takes shape, but even if it doesn’t, I can always just scrap it and start over.

Part of what I love about art as a way to express mental health is that everyone can interpret it in their own way. As the artist, there’s something that it means to you, but you don’t even have to share that meaning with the people who see your art. And even if you do share it, people will still have an immediate reaction based on their own life circumstances and interpretation style.

The therapist I saw in college believed that there were no accidents in art, and would analyze my sketchbook while sitting next to me. While I’m sure there are some elements of my art that come from my subconscious, I don’t usually see the “accidental” parts of my art as meaningful.

That said, there were always parts of my art that my therapist pointed out as meaningful that I hadn’t noticed before. I could always come away with a better understanding of myself, or at least something new to think about. For example, the window mechanism in this piece is very detailed.

Thoughts

She suggested that detail might be an indicator that there was some hope of freedom or escape from the thoughts in the drawing. Whether that’s something that ended up in the drawing because some part of me believed there was hope, I’m not sure. But I can certainly take that sense of hope away from it, into my normal life. 

Art about mental health is not just an excellent way to express feelings, but it also starts a conversation. It can make people feel less alone in their experience, and it can help your loved ones understand your symptoms and how you feel. Sometimes, it even helps me understand where I’m at in regards to my own outlook. Sometimes a piece of art will take me by surprise at its dark overtones when I thought I was feeling ok. Other times, I’m pleasantly surprised to find that drawing a whimsical picture is exactly what I want to do.

whimsical-drawing-of-yellow-blue-and-pink-shapes

If you’re interested, you can follow my art Instagram @lumpdates

Medicine

Genevieve2 Comments

medicineIt’s nothing to be ashamed of I tell myself twice daily. What day is it? They all blend together. I open the third compartment, pour the pills into my palm, wait for a moment. Maybe this day will be the day. Maybe if I give the medicine a moment of silence; infuse it with my desperation before I let it fall down the dark well of my esophagus.

How many have I tried? Not enough that all hope is lost. How many have I tried? Enough that they call it “treatment resistant” depression. I call it drowning by degrees. Later, I open the third compartment, pour the pills into my palm, and wait a moment.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Love,

Your brain

On Being Vulnerable

GenevieveLeave a comment

They thanked me for my vulnerability, but it spilled out by accident, like beads of condensed sadness crammed into a too-small vessel. A wave comes, and while I sit among this circle of strangers, I cry. Nine sad faces avert their eyes. Is this circle a liferaft or a sinkhole?

In the distance, we see life as it should be- a mental ecosystem in balance. For six hours each day, we hover on the edges of the ring, tossing insecurities, worries, and vulnerabilities into the middle. We wait to see if they sink, but often, they float back to us. At three P.M., we depart; a snippet of normal routine, just long enough for our symptoms to impair us under the cover of darkness, then it’s back to the circle again. Soon, each of us will leave and swim to shore, but for now, we are lost at sea. All we can do is embrace our vulnerability and let it carry us towards one another.

 

Last week, I was discharged from an 11 day stay in a psychiatric hospital. This week, I spent six hours every day in a partial hospitalization program. Since being admitted almost three weeks ago, I’ve received more messages of concern and support than I know how to process, and that’s a little bit scary.

A part of me is resistant to receiving so much love because it means that all of these people know about a part of my life that contains a good deal of shame. My instinct is to politely accept the well-wishes and then quietly close the door and never discuss it again. Unfortunately, being independent to a fault can get you in trouble. It can make you more likely to wait too long to ask for help, at which point, the situation has snowballed out of control and it’s a crisis. So, reach out to your loved ones. Ask for help and offer help. Being vulnerable is how we connect.

coloring-page-of-koi-fish-with-lao-tzu-quote-about-mindfulness

4 More Poems From a Mental Hospital

Genevieve2 Comments

I. Partway Up

The rising sun

seems stuck in its journey,

halted,

partway up

 

while I wake

and sleep,

wake,

and sleep.

 

Disoriented,

the only way to track the time

is by the shuffling

of nurses’ footsteps.

 

Tomorrow, I will rise

and, like the sun,

get stuck-

partway up.

 

II. Looking Out

Cafeteria skylights-

wide squares of sun

move slowly over patients

moving slowly.

 

I crane my head back

and watch a cloud

far, far above this place

dance from one window to the other

 

cotton candy arms spread wide

in a perfect arabesque

that soon diffuses-

and is gone.

 

III. What’s in a Mile?

It’s 24 steps

from the desk

to the door-

to the other is 31 more.

 

The door’s always locked,

but still,

I walk,

If I can keep going, I will.

 

Again and again,

lap after lap,

linoleum lines

as my only map.

 

I lost count

for a while,

but I know

that 21 laps is a mile

 

and it’s 24 steps

from the desk

to the door,

to the other is 31 more.

 

How long will it take

if I pick up my pace

for me and my mind

to embrace?

 

IV. Comparison

My first roommate

left her toothbrush

and some clothes

when she gained her freedom.

 

They put the clothes in a bag,

and then it was just the toothbrush,

small, etched heart on the back

staring up at me.

 

My second roommate

doesn’t notice

the evidence

of the first.

 

She cries in bed,

blanket pulled up over her eyes

while I tiptoe

around her.

 

When she packs up her things,

I wait for the third

hoping this time-

I’ll be the one to leave first.

coloring-page-with-marcus-aurelius-quote-about-looking-inward

4 Poems From a Mental Hospital

GenevieveLeave a comment

I. Constants

In the courtyard

turning inward-

each one of us

small spheres of loneliness.

 

We’re locked

-in our minds

-in our pain

-in our patient IDs

 

What do you do

when the treatment

feels worse

than the illness?

 

Stripped of everything

familiar,

except that constant-

depression.

 

II. Foggy

Should I ask for the nail clippers?

Small signs of time passing-

longer nails, body hair,

and that monthly reminder of womanhood.

 

Everything else blurs together-

groups, meals, and the patients

who come and go

before I can come back to myself.

 

Twice a day, the question

“are you thinking about wanting to be dead?”

Each time I reply,

I’m less sure of my answer.

 

III. Scrutinized

The nurses walk by every 15 minutes

and flip through their clipboards,

monitoring their charges

with small, inked notes.

 

Some of us deal with it

alone,

cocooning ourselves

inside our skulls.

 

Others direct it outward,

venting to anyone who will listen

in an attempt

to regain control.

 

Ever present: the choice to perform-

or be authentic.

Which will get me out

and which will get me better?

 

IV. Treatment

They say it’s not a punishment, being here-

and it’s not-

but my sputtering brain,

fighting to maintain pathology,

 

begs

to differ.