Letters to Myself @blinddeafandyoung - Tumblr Blog

Retiring

Dear me,

In the last 12 hours, I’ve accepted a job offer, started teacher training, and booked a vacation. Mood: 9. Hope: 9. Anxiety: 0.

Now that I’m slowly getting my life back together, I think it’s about time to put this whole blog business behind me. I’ve literally run out of shit to complain about, and all this writing before bed is wreaking havoc on my sleep hygiene.

Love,

#therapy

Blessed

Dear me,

It’s hard not to believe in divine timing on days like today. Although the details are still being worked out, I can confidently say that it’s only a matter of time before I return to the working world.

Mood: 7. Hope: 8. Anxiety: 2.

Looking forward to the next few days.

Love,

#therapy

Spirit Animal

Dear me,

Upon further review, it’s probably for the best that I’m not as sensitive anymore. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m comfortable with my newfound psychiatric neutrality, but I’m sure it’ll start growing on me.

It still blows my mind is that this is (apparently) normal. How does anyone even get anything done? Anxiety was my ultimate motivator, and now I feel like I’m one of those pandas you see in the zoo that just rolls around, eats bamboo, and hides in her cave whenever too many people come to visit.

Love,

P.S. I highly recommend google image searching the phrase ‘lazy panda.’

#therapy

Numb

Dear me,

I’ve noticed recently that my medication is making me a dull girl, and it’s terrifying me. What’s happening to my mind? Why can’t I feel anything?

Love,

#therapy

Accident-prone

Dear me,

I rear ended someone this afternoon.

Here’s to hoping tomorrow sucks less than today did.

Love,

#therapy

Tired

Dear me,

Do I really have to do this every night? Is it even helpful anymore?

Over the past few days, I’ve noticed my anxiety increase exponentially as the balance in my bank account approaches zero, and under these circumstances, nothing seems to be therapeutic anymore. I keep over thinking everything I write. I can’t focus long enough to get any reading done. Netflix has lost all its appeal.

All I want to do is stay in bed.

Exhausted,

#therapy

Schooled

Dear me,

One of my friends is applying to business schools right now, and as I helped review some of his application materials, I started fantasizing about my life as a Stanford GSB graduate. With a 6% acceptance rate, I doubt it’ll ever become more than a fantasy, but it got me thinking: is it worth it?

Before I can broach that question, there’s so much more I need to understand about myself. What do I want my legacy to be? What ambitions do I have for my career? What is my relationship with work?

The last question, especially given my current situation, is difficult to wrap my mind around, but I think I can boil it down to this: do I want to live to work or work to live? I have friends on both sides of the dichotomy, but what lifestyle appeals to me? Do I want to be a yoga teacher in Bali without a savings account or an ambitious enterprise leader of tomorrow?

I just finished Think on These Things by J. Krishnamurti, and I can’t help but imagine his response. He would roast me for even entertaining these hypotheticals.

“There is no end to education. It is not that you read a book, pass an examination, and finish with education. The whole of life, from the moment you are born to the moment you die, is the process of learning.”

One of these days, I’ll figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

Love,

#therapy

Help

Dear me,

It’s mind blowing that you’ve ever succeeded at anything given your disposition. Stubborn. Arrogant. Terrified of rejection. Have you ever thought about how much easier your life would be if you were better at asking for help?

I met a guy that I wanted to help me today, and thinking back on it, our conversation must’ve been so frustrating from his perspective. At no point did I directly ask him what he could do for me. I barely mustered the nerve to even talk about what I wanted for myself (semi-eloquently at best, might I add). And despite the fact that meeting was set-up for my benefit, I didn’t once try to take ownership of it. I just let him talk and built a rapport based on his direction.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m really charming in these situations, but productive? Shakes Magic 8 Ball. ‘Reply hazy. Try again.’

Maybe I’ve completely wasted another opportunity. Maybe, by some miracle, something will come of this! Maybe I’ll lose my mind thinking about all of the maybes that may be...

Love,

#therapy

Untitled

Dear me,

I have two interviews this week--the first tomorrow, the second on Thursday--and I honestly have no idea how to handle myself. I can’t think about anything else. I’m irritable. I’m uninspired. I can’t focus.

I guess I’m just over it.

Here’s to hoping this all comes to an end soon.

Love,

#therapy

3x10

Dear me,

I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person. I am a patient person.

I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace. I have inner peace.

I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition. I trust my intuition.

Love,

#therapy #self affirmation

Audit

Dear me,

One of the topics they really hammered home in group therapy was the importance of understanding our triggers and warning signs--what we do when we start slipping into depression, what causes our mania, and how we effectively cope. It must’ve been covered half a dozen times each week, but if we’re being honest, I don’t remember any of the specifics. Group therapy seems like such a distant memory.

Regardless, I started to notice some of my warning signs while inhaling tonight’s dinner. I hadn’t showered in days. I was inconsistently taking my vitamins. I passed out on the couch for a few hours after sleeping in until noon. You see, sleep is the ultimate tell-tale sign that something’s awry. Physically, I have no reason to be tired. Mentally, well, I’m not sure. I started doing a psychological audit.

Am I anxious? Always. Am I depressed? I don’t think so. Am I manic? Certainly not. I’m not sure what to make of my current state of affairs, but I feel like thinking about it will only make things worse.

Love,

#therapy

Bridges

Dear me,

I pray to God that good things actually come to those that wait. I mean, there are plenty of other proverbs that extol patience either directly or indirectly--for example, ‘haste makes waste’ or ‘don’t cross the bridge until you come to it,’ just to name a few.

But what if you see the bridge in the distance? Is it wrong to think about it? As long as you continue to put one foot in front of the other on your bridge-bound path, is this act of forethought considered in some way problematic? Does it take away from the authenticity or innocence of said crossing?

As I inch closer and closer to a job offer, I can feel my anxiety closing in on me like a noose. I know I can’t continue on my current path--that of an unemployed degenerate--but as I examine each of my metaphorical bridges in the distance, all I see is structural degradation and potential injury. When so many things have gone wrong in the last few months, it’d go against my personal evolution to sally forth without at least acknowledging the worst case scenario. I like to think I have a little more respect for Darwin than that.

But as long as we’re on the topic of proverbs, we might as well get biblical and blow my anxiety-ridden negative self-talk out of the water: “A person's wisdom yields patience; it is to one's glory to overlook an offense.” - Proverbs 19:11

Boom.

Wisdom --> patience --> anxiety-free contentment.

I hope you can appreciate that I used scripture to play my own Devil’s advocate. Clever, right? Not sure if I’ve breeched the illusive realm of wisdom, though. I personally think that’s a stretch, but this is where my therapist would tell me I’m not giving myself enough credit. After all, my Google search history includes Greek philosophers, Shakespeare’s appearance vs. reality dilemma, and a handful of book titles. Although I may or may not be wise, at least I’m trying to be better.

I feel like, at this point, if I continue to be anxious about the future of my employment, it’ll be out of sheer force of will. I know better. I want to be better. I just need to stop and think before that noose gets the best of me again.

Love,

#therapy

Symbolism

Dear me,

For someone that’s never cared for comparative literature courses, it’s surprising how much I love to look for the subtext in everyday situations. For instance, I was thinking late this afternoon that the storm might be symbolic of my recent emotional turmoil--heavy for a moment, but ultimately fleeting. More thunder than lightning. Not to be interpreted as a bold-faced cry for help without any merit, but rather a self-perpetuated string of negative thoughts without any subsequent action. (I like to think I’ve become a little more prudent at this point in my recovery.)

Another example: after I came home from seeing an old friend, I noticed that the trip meter on my car had reached exactly 5,000 miles, a nice round number, and I thought, with my upcoming interviews in mind, “What a perfect time to hit the reset button.” Then I googled what happened in the fifth millennium BC. Turns out, the invention of the wheel! Maybe I’ll be metaphorically reinventing the wheel in this next phase of my life? Or inventing it for the first time? There could be unprecedented innovation on my horizon! Who knows.

I’ve come to accept and inwardly embrace this as one of my quirks--finding meaning in the meaningless. It helps me see life as more than just a series of neutral to unfortunate events, a story without a moral, a fairytale without a knight in shining armor. Most importantly, it more often than not puts a smile on my face. However, when my psychosis got the best of me, the connections my brain made became my reality. Everything I saw meant something, and I was trying to piece together clues to solve some unknown riddle. Everyone I met was a foil to my own personality, like someone was trying to teach me the ultimate lesson in etiquette, humility, and trust.

As I’ve become more comfortable, I’ve started sharing some of the paranoid and fantastical thoughts that crossed my mind during that time. It hasn’t been easy, but I feel like certain people deserve an explanation as to why I acted so incredibly irrationally.

Still, there are some things I will take to my grave. Not because I think my friends wouldn’t understand, and certainly not because they’re unsympathetic, but because they’re too exhausting to explain or too painful to relive. As someone that’s always been painstakingly transparent, this has been one of the most difficult things for me to come to terms with.

Love,

#therapy #symbolism

Pride

Dear me,

When do you think you’re going to get over your not-so-subconscious superiority complex? What makes you think you’re so special? Was it the years of being told you were ‘talented and gifted’ in elementary school? What about all the leadership roles you had in high school? Or the honors courses you took in college? If people are a product of their environment, can you imagine what extended exposure to that kind of gratuitous praise does to someone psychologically? My therapists have their work cut out for them.

The worst part? It took a full blown mental breakdown to realize anything was wrong with my personality. Up until that point, I chalked it up to confidence--and who doesn’t think confidence is a positive characteristic, am I right?

While I was still gainfully employed, a world in which I was actually arrogant, not confident, and maybe--just maybe--even a little bit of an asshole to be around was completely outside of my realm of comprehension.

Funny what 11 months of being alone with your thoughts will do to your perspective.

Fortunately, I truly believe this experience has made me a better person--more compassionate, sensitive, and (dare I say it) humble. The other day, I even applied for not one, but two admin jobs, and that was a big fucking deal for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never looked down on anyone in those roles, but I also never saw that as my future, temporary or otherwise. I was too proud.

Speaking of being alone with my thoughts, the more I think about it, pride is one of those concepts that looks better on paper--like that Chinese guy that wanted to go to dental school that I never dated. Sure, you don’t want to discount any of your personal achievements, and there’s a baseline of self-esteem that needs to be maintained as a functioning member of society, but being proud? Wearing your pride as a badge of self-validation for everyone to see? No one benefits from that.

Love,

#therapy

Thick in the Middle

Dear me,

My mood’s improved to a 6, but I’m still not pleased about my medication-induced weight gain. It’s been a vicious cycle lately; I’m lazy because I eat and I eat because I’m lazy. Maybe I’m hypothyroid?

In related news, my doctor changed my prescription when I saw her today. Hopefully that’ll curb my emotional binge eating. Not to mention I became a vegan 48 hours ago, so that should help too... Maybe? If anyone’s going to get fat eating broccoli and hummus, it would fucking be me. Ugh. (I might actually be onto something with this thyroid thing.)

This is where my friends would assure me that I look the same, but as someone that spends more time than she’d like to admit checking herself out half naked in front of a mirror, I can confidently say that those friends are wrong. I do not look the same. GTFO if you seriously think you know my body better than I do.

Maybe that’s a little harsh. My friends are great. They just don’t have the best track record.

I dealt with similar weight issues my entire life, and if you’ve ever spent any considerable amount of time around me, I’ve probably told you about one or two of those episodes--like the time I was a freshman in the dorms. I lost 15lbs fall term and had gained 30lbs by the end of school year. Everyone told me I looked the same then, too. What about the time I ballooned up to 165lbs, 30lbs over my ideal weight? No one said anything then either.

The fact of the matter is I’ve never thought I was good enough or thin enough, and my insecurities run so deep that external validation alone isn’t going to improve the situation. This is something I need to come to peace with on my own terms.

If you have any ideas on how I can do that--maybe a list of positive affirmations or self-esteem boosting mantras--I’m all ears.

If you’re going to tell me how thin or thick or ‘healthy’ I look, save your breath. I only want the truth, and I know the only places I can get it are on the scale or in front of a mirror.

Love,

#therapy #self love #fat kid

Small Victories

Dear me,

Today, we celebrated a string of small victories. We put our eyebrows on and went to dim sum, applied for some (hopefully attainable) jobs, and even went for a run. Motivation is higher than its been in weeks and not a single tear was shed.

Maybe, just maybe, the tides are turning.

We can only hope.

Love,

#therapy

Perspective

Dear me,

Things could be a lot worse than they are. For starters, I could be homeless, hungry, and completely abandoned. Sometimes I lose perspective of that when I’m alone with my thoughts for too long. This afternoon was one of those times.

I was crying in bed when my mom walked in. Clearing seeing how upset I was, she tried to cheer me up with a distraction and gently asked if I wanted to run some errands with her. I was puffy and covered in snot; I didn’t want to go anywhere.

That’s when she sat down next to me and got very real.

My mom was born in 1950--one year after Mao Zedong founded the People’s Republic of China and seven years before he launched the Great Leap Forward. (If you don’t know anything about either of these events, please visit www.google.com and educate yourself.)

By the time she was a teenager, she was sent to work in the fields outside Guangzhou as a part of some other government scheme. The timing coincides with the Cultural Revolution, but it’s unclear if the events were related.

The translation gets a little dicey--and this wasn’t the first time she’d told me about her experience as a young woman growing up in Mao’s China--but it still made me feel like a little bitch for crying over my relatively trivial job hunt. Granted, a lot of my self-worth was wrapped up in my career, but this woman survived years of famine, violent class struggles, and unreal working conditions to get where she is today. As my dear friend Maslow might say, “There are levels to this shit.” (Did I just make a psychology joke?)

There’s no doubt in my mind that my mom is a product of early Communist propaganda, but when she tells me to keep trying and to do it with a smile on my face, I’m going to listen.

Love,

#therapy #mao zedong

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