My Mindset Changed, but not my Anxiety (trying to fix 10+ years of “not good enough” mentality)

So this post is going to cover two separate, but related (in the fact that it involves me)  topics. One is sports (yay sports!) and the other is boys (yay boys!). I’m going to start off with sports, coming off of my final first indoor track meet and currently travelling to another meet.

I am afraid to compete.

I don’t mean the concept of competing, or even right before competing. I’m talking about how I feel fear in the moment of actually competing.

Last week, when I was called “on deck” (meaning I’m the next competitor)  I started to notice some nerves kick in. But that’s nothing new, everyone gets nerves, no matter how prepared you feel you are.

The difference was that every time  I stepped inside the ring (to do shot put), it was like this panic would seize my throat.

In a split second, all I could feel, is pressure. Just this overwhelming sense of pressure. Not nerves, this tsunami of crippling fear.

Like a mini panic attack.

And as quickly as I threw, all I felt was a wave a disappointment.

For the past week I’ve been trying to pin point what exactly the fuck is going on. And I think I understand. Maybe (The brain is hell weird guys).

I get anxious competing. Almost crippling anxiety. Like when people get extreme stage fright and freeze,  that’s me in the ring.

And now I’m sitting here feeling anxious about my anxiety. Now this is something I know I have had since High School, but this is getting to a new point.

The difference is that I understand what is going on, and I know not to get worked up because my anxiety just creates irrational thoughts.

Yet, that does not stop the feelings. I hate this more, because there are no thoughts. I am in the moment, it just so happens that the moment is filling me with this sense of screaming and being frozen at the same time.

And I honestly don’t know what to do, because it’s not an irrational thoughts, it’s an unspoken feeling.

I’ve been telling myself that I should just try to enjoy myself and have fun this season. I have bad hands, knees, and a questionable shoulder. I am the ONLY thrower (men and women’s teams), so I need to stay chill or else this will become I really depressing season. I’ve come to terms that the athlete I imagined I would be when I was a freshman, is no where near the athlete I am now. I am realistic.

But I’m learning the hard way that a year of therapy and mindfulness does not erase 10+ years of “kill or be killed” mentality.

Because no matter how much I tell myself “it doesn’t matter”, I’ve been conditioned to believe how I perform on a meet is the only way to validate my place on the team, validate my existence as an athlete.

It is so hard to fucking break away from that mindset.

It hurts cause I feel like I’m in this weird space of leadership on the team, especially when it comes to mental health. This current mentality I have makes it hard for me to say to teammates, “Listen, get the help you need. It’ll make you better.” when inside I’m just like, “Yeah, when I’m about to throw I feel like I’m going to vomit and break down into tears at the same time.”

All hope is not lost, though. I am optimistic that just like my panic attacks, the more I am exposed to certain feelings, the more I will be able to overcome them.

I am seeing my therapist in a couple of weeks, so this is something we’ll discuss and I can leave with some context to help me out.

I also need to get a refill on my anti-depressants because maybe my drugs can ease my feelings of impending doom. Lol.

Now moving on to boys (yay boys!).

First off, I hate when people try to tell you your feelings about someone else. Especially, when you never really trust your own feelings .

So needless to say, when it comes to this guys I don’t trust any emotions that I have, and your girl is not trying to catch feelings. (If these feelings try me, they will catch these hands).

But when I think of this guy, I think about what I want in life. Understanding and stability (and by understanding, I mean a strong understanding of meme culture. Cause if you wanna be my lover,  you gotta get with my dank memes.)

[I’m sorry about these jokes, I’m just nervous].

I’m a little bit confused of this situation, because there’s also Cthulhu guy (from previous posts). And I like him,  but it’s hard cause we don’t see each other and essentially are waiting until we both graduate before trying anything.

Due to some recent events some friends of mine are trying to explain that there is something between me and this guy friend of mine. I mean maybe, I don’t know, I don’t think so. I mostly see us as really good friends. Ever since we’ve known each other he’s been with me through thick and thin. (I can see a group of my friends reading that last line and just loudly saying, “MHMMM.”)

And so what if when I first met him I had a small crush? I was a sophomore and he was a junior, cut your girl some slack.

But since that dumb crush he’s become a really great friend, and I’m lucky that he’s actually one of the good guys.

That’s rare in itself because I normally surround myself with assholes, just like me.

But yeah feelings.

(I also realize that by discussing this within the context of a blog instead of I don’t know, ACTUALLY TALKING TO SAID DUDE, I am again revealing how bad I am talking about emotions and feelings.)

Do I like him?

Yeah, I wouldn’t want to spend time with him if I didn’t. That was dumb question, next.

Do you like him like that?

Did you just need read the first half of my post dedicated to that fact that I feel fear when I’m competing? I am clearly not in the right mental/emotional state to answer that question.

Well you said you couldn’t imagine you life without him.

I mean I say the same thing about Khan, but I’m not going to sleep with my cat.

But don’t even get me started on my Cthulhu,

And it’s shit like this is why I’m single.

I don’t know. I shouldn’t have emotions.

See you all next week.

Featured post

An Open Letter To My Friend Rehabbing Her Own Mind (and to other people coming to terms with their own mental illness)

First off,  welcome to the club chica!

The Isle of Misfit Toys.

The “Crazies.”

The “I don’t know what wrong with me.”

The “I can’t make my words match my mind.”

The “What’s wrong with me?”

The “Why can’t I make the thoughts go away?”

The “Why do I feel like this?”

The “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!?” club.

I welcome you with open arms, understanding that the most important step, is the first step.

Let’s be honest.

You don’t really know how this happened, right?

One moment, you’re at the top of your game. All the parts are fitting into the right spot. Things are good, you are good. Your coaches and teammates are so proud of you.

Then, boom. Self-implosion.

And you have no idea what’s wrong, but you think you can athlete your way out of it.

Toughen up, prep harder, work on your craft, try to push it to the side.

And it works.

For a little.

But the ticks keep piling up, don’t they? Small things, unnoticeable things.

Then, boom.

Now you know something is wrong. You’ve done this a hundred times. It’s second nature.  You know what you need to do.

So why can’t you, just do it?

If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone.

If your muscle is strained, you rest it. You do rehab. You strengthen it. You try to keep tabs on it before it becomes a nagging problem again.

But your mind? That’s when things get really disorientating.

Coming to terms is always the hardest.

Athletes despise the term, “weakness“. Weakness separates the winners from the losers. That is what your brain is right now, weak. If you weren’t weak, you wouldn’t have these issues.

If this sounds familiar, you are not alone.

Let me tell you, my friend, you are not weak. Do you get how incredibly brave you are?

Because by admitting you need help and trying to get it, you are so fucking brave.

You are STRONG because you allow yourself to be vulnerable.

You are STRONG because against the stigma, you are trying to better yourself in ways you’ve never had to before.

And like any rehab, it’s going to take some time. It’s going to be some good days, and some bad days. And a lot of days that are going to fucking suck before they get better.

Remember, you’re not getting better to compete in the next match. You’re getting better for this crazy game called life, which you’ll have to deal with long after the last time you compete.

The act of becoming mentally healthier is not a sprint, it’s not even a marathon. It’s a cross fit competition after doing a Triathlon where people are constantly throwing varying sized rocks at you.

But you can do this.

Cause you’re a collegiate athlete, and if anyone can embrace the struggle, it’s you.

I can empathize with how scary everything may seem.

But it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.  Even if you just become okay, with not being okay.

I believe in you, but most importantly, I’m so fucking proud of you.

And I’m here to support you.

Even if it feels like no one else is with you. I’m with you.

You are not alone in this. 

Mental illness does not mean mental weakness.

When you need to decide that enough, is enough.

Having the Hall and Oates of mental illnesses seems like a sitcom.

Anxiety means caring too much, at an unhealthy level. Depression means not caring at all.

Having these two, at the same time, is a concoction of fucked up-ness.

For me, anxiety tends to divvy up my life.

As an athlete, I want to be the best athlete that I can be. Freshman year I came to UNCW wanting the school records in shot put and discus. Sophomore year, I still wanted them. Junior year, I was contemplating quitting the team because of issues with my body, and certain aspect of my training. I was also disheartened because I felt like I was no where near where I needed to be to get those school records.

Senior year, well I just wanted to be a great leader for this team. I wanted to be the leader I wish I had when I was an underclassmen. But recently (as of last night), I decided that I couldn’t maintain that goal anymore. I was becoming too stressed over the fact that in certain aspects I wasn’t an effective leader, I was just the nagging bitch on the team. Sure you can have the, I don’t care attitude that comes with calling people out, but when you realize that when the going gets tough, the people who berated you for “acting on your own” don’t back you up. People who you feel don’t respect you, even at face value. That gets to you.

When you’ve done so much behind closed doors, so many late night conversations, so many text messages, but to your face you just feel like an ornament. A poster that can be covered. That gets to you.

It gets really hard to sustain that type of leadership. When you feel like you’re no longer a teammate, but not a coach. It’s a hard place to live. You’re the one when people need something, but not the one when they just want fun. That gets to you.

I will never ask for thanks. I don’t do what I do for recognition. But respect, respect is something that has always been important to me. I was raised on respect. But when you feel like that without certain people to back you, you no longer have it. That gets to you.

It’s so hard to try to keep seeing the bigger picture of what you’re doing when you get to that place. That burned out place.

So I decided I needed to stop. I needed to get out of that mental space I am starting to reside in.

Essentially I’ve been pushed to a new place. A “fuck it, fuck ’em” place. A place where I get to be selfish and try to take care of myself.

I’m not some movie level leader. I’m just a normal person. A normal person who’s anxiety to make the team better when she leaves has caused some depression. A person who needs to take care of herself again.

And yet I’m still conflicted.

Doing athletic things cause me discomfort. My knees hurt when I practice/compete. My knees hurt when I just stand sometimes. My chest still hurts and my right hand swells up when I throw shot put.

When I throw shot put, I throw at my high school level. I make jokes about it, but it seriously is depressing. And I hate to admit it, but I honestly don’t really believe in myself right now. It feels like I’ve given up. I have given up. I’m missing some of my old school, can-do attitude. I thought that the mindset of not feeling like I deserve my place on my team, I thought I could supplement that place by being a great leader on my team. But not performing at the place I should be at, and feeling like I’m not that great leader, yeah, that gets to you.

And I understand that one day, I’ll look back and be proud of what I achieved on this team. That I’ll be proud of what I was able to do within the circumstances I had to go through. But right now, I just can’t.

I wish I could finish this post with some silver lining, but I honestly can’t think of one right now. And you can blame the depression for that.

I wish I could say I’m sorry for the unhappiness that is just pouring from the post, but I’m not. That’s life. And like a lot of people, I have to try and find a way to move forward.

I cannot control a lot of things in this life, but I can control how I react to them. The way I have reacted to them is not currently working (as you can see from this entire post), so once again, I have to reevaluate, adapt, and move forward.

Now I’m just trying to take the steps to take care of myself, again.

See you all later this week.

I’m not a professional, I’m just passionate (so dammit let me be passionate)

I really want to talk about my final first track meet which is coming up tomorrow, but instead I want to get some stuff off my chest.

It is painfully frustrating being essentially told, “Leave it to the professionals.”

To give some context, this past Sunday I did a presentation in front of my whole track team about the importance of having conversations about mental illnesses, and tips on how to have those conversations.

The reason I pushed to have this meeting was because I had personally had become involved in handful of mental health related situations with various teammates. Now while I will never push someone away and always be supportive, but after an incident that happened over this past Winter Break, I had begun to feel that even thought there are 40+ people on this team, when it came to mental health i was the person people were going to. This worried me for two reasons:

  1. I am graduating in May 2018 (a good portion of the situations I had become involved with involved younger teammates).
  2. I go through shit too, and honestly, didn’t want to feel like the team counselor.

So over Winter Break I was thinking and realized that the culture of how mental health on this team is handled needed to change. I reached out to the upperclassmen and mentioned to them how I believed the issue of mental illnesses on this team was something that needed to be addressed.

Thankfully, they were super supportive, as well as the coaches. My head coach and I worked on the presentation, and we went over it with the upperclassmen before I presented in front of the whole team. The meeting went over well (or as well as my anxiety fueled brain told me it went).

It wasn’t until the next following days I realized that the meeting went over better than I expected. I had heard from a handful of teammates, that the meeting helped encourage them to look into their own mental illness, and some others expressed how it was comforting to hear that the team was taking this serious.

So I’ve been wanting to give the option to do the presentation with other individual teams. The push back has been that since I’m not a professional counselor, psychologist, etc., it might come across wrong.That it may come across that I’m telling people information about mental illness as if I was a professionally. Or maybe as a graduating senior, it seem that I don’t have the proper training needed to handle a topic like this.

But I have never claimed to be a professional. I know that there are professionals. I see a professional once a month.

I do know though, that you can tell people to get help, and how to get said help, but if the environment doesn’t feel supported, if they don’t feel supported, then they will never get the help that they actually need.

And that’s where I come in.

I want to change the culture of mental illness in amateur athletics.

And I know I’ll be accepted much easier than some psychologist, because I live it. I live it now, every day, not 20+ years ago.

I want to open the door to encourage people to get help, not be the professional standing behind the door.

I want people to trust that I know what I’m doing. (I will mention that I’m not bashing anyone in the admin side of things, and in reality they have been more inviting than I could have imagined. It’s just I’m so used to hitting the ground running, so any little hump in the way makes me feel very inpatient. It also brings up insecurities of not being good enough, which does not reflect on anyone else but my own demons. )

But just because there’s a little push back doesn’t mean I’m going to back down, no. I will work harder, I will change the culture. I know I can do it.

Even if it’s with a handful of teammates, and the culture of my own team. I’ll take it because progress, no matter how “small” is still progress.

And anyone struggling to come to terms with or embrace your own mental illness, please remember this, and this is what I want to finish off with:

Mental illness does not mean mental weakness.

See you all in next week (I’m moving up from every two weeks).

I’m Back and Sadder than Ever (but managing it well)

HELLO EVERYONE.  I HAVE RISEN FROM THE DEPTHS OF DEPRESSION TO STAND ON MY PLATEAU OF GENERAL ANXIETY. AKA my stress induced hiatus is over and I am back and ready to rumble-type, on an actual consistent level.

So to start things off… 2017 can kiss my ass.

A quick recap of my past year:

A situation with a roommate left me in a financial cluster fuck.

A track season that ended with panic attacks, the night before and day of competing.

Working three jobs over the summer.

Eventually falling off the face of one job because of crumbling mental state.

Starting anxiety medication.

Having a bad reaction to some of said anxiety medication.

Getting my mental shit together.

Having a professor I had a close relationship with, pass away unexpectedly.

No longer having my mental shit together.

No longer having any of my shit together.

Suicidal thoughts.

Leaving school for a bit, to get my mental shit together (part 2).

Made it to Winter Break.

Realizing the last day of the year is the birthday of  said professor who passed away.

Drinking to try and make 2017 disappear faster.

Yeah, 2017 can kiss my ass.

There was one huge silver lining to 2017, which is I did my achieve my goal. Well, two.

One, being the unwritten goal of any suicide attempt survivor – not killing yourself that year.

Two, I had a goal of trying to help break the stigma of mental illness. This past year people I know have opened up about their own mental demons. Some of these people noted that I was part of the reason they were doing this, and for all the pain I went through, it was worth it knowing that by opening myself up, I helped normalize mental illness.

Don’t get me wrong, there are parts I really could’ve lived without, but character building I guess.

And my goal for 2018, other than not killing myself, is to help break this stigma down even more.

And it’s this goal which is giving me a little bit of anxiety (I say little in the same way that dog says it’s fine while sitting in a burning building).

More specifically, a couple of projects I am doing that revolve around mental health.

The more immediate one is a presentation I am doing with my coach. So this past semester some wild mental health related things have happened. No details, but I was involved, or shoved my way into a handful of situations and realized that my team needs to talk about mental health.

I talked to the seniors and my head coach and they were behind the idea 110%.

So my coach and I are working on a presentation for the team,  and it’s interesting because the work comes from the combination of someone who does not have a mental illness and someone who does.

When it comes to the empathy part of creating this presentation, that comes from me. I’ve been in the shoes, I know how I would have liked people to have treated me. (My journey of “coming out” with my mental health is not really a pleasant one, but it does have a good ending. This is something I’ll cover in a different post.)

Internally it feels like the presentation is sitting a little bit on my shoulders. With this subject matter, I am having a hard time deciphering if that thought is an irrational one. This is where the anxiety comes in, also because by holding the presentation I am for the first time experiencing what I want to do in life.  Talk to others about mental illness.

If this presentation goes well, I am going to try and do pitch something similar to the Student Athlete Advisory Council, or even with the athletic department.

And there are two fears I have and I want to break down my mindset on them.

  1. I  will do something during the presentation and people will lose interest.
  2. I am not prepared to do this.

The first fear, comes from something that my aunt told my when I was ten. She told me I talked too much. So when it comes to speaking I have a fear that I will ramble. I have fear that I will be perceived negatively for speaking a lot.

And being someone who does want to go into the speaking circuit where I would be the only one talking for a period of time, this is an ironic fear. But it’s there. Nothing will dissipate the fear, so I just tell it to shut up.

The second fear, ah the good old friend of fear of failure.  The fear that I am not qualified to talk about mental illness on a large scale. That small voice that always tells me that I’m not good enough for this or that. Even when I have the support from my teammates and my coaches that I am the one that is leading the path, it’s there, in the furthest corner of my mind. That I can always hear through the noise of the day, “You. Are. Not. Good. Enough.” And for this fear I just try to keep up this new mentality I have been working on, just being confident. If I am going to fail, I am going to fail confidently.

The annoying thoughts have been plaguing me a little bit, and I think it’s partially because I’m emotionally fatigued. I’ve been helping some people with mental health stuff, being supportive, but after this past year, I’m a little fatigued.

I will never not help someone when I see them, but things do get a little too heavy. I always understand my limitations, but that never stops the pain in my chest to see someone hurt. To see someone hurt because of an invisible disease they don’t understand yet. To see the path they’re on, the pain they are and will endure, and know at the end of the day you can elevate that pain.

And that’s something I’ve been coming to terms with. It’s hard being a shoulder to lean on, when you’re starting to fall to your knees. It’s hard being the strong one they need, because in some situations two negatives do not make a positive.

It’s trying, I get tired. But what keeps me going is the thought that if I wasn’t there for them, who would be?

I be the strong person they need, because dammit I am strong, even on my knees.

But like all things when it comes to mental health, it’s a long, hard road.

And that’s a road I’ll be rolling on through 2018.

And that’s how I’ll finish this post, cause it’s 12:30am (when I’m typing this) and my eyes are actually not focusing anymore.

Also from here on out posts will be every two weeks.

If you’re new here, hi, hello, my name is Alexis and I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and sometimes Depression.

This is my story.

My life as a sad blob.


Chapter 1: A Light Goes Out

On Sunday, August 27th, 2017, I saw a Facebook post on one of my professor’s pages. Her husband had made a status that she had an acute infection. I sent her an email and Facebook message, sending her well wishes of getting better and that I’ll see her next week for our meeting. I had an independent research study with her, we met every Monday and I had assumed that we probably wouldn’t be meeting the next day.

On Monday, August 28th, I went to track practice (I’m a thrower on the UNCW Women’s Track Team). It was a good practice, a really good practice. I was feeling good. I was able to sleep in because my professor and I didn’t have a meeting that morning.

After practice, I checked my phone to see I had missed a lot of text messages and a couple of phone calls. With my coach looking at me ( I was still in the shed) I mentioned how I was confused why everyone was asking me if I’ve checked my email. I had seen an email before practice, with my professor’s name in the subject line, but I just thought it was letting her students know that she was sick, and out for an undetermined time.

I have never been shot, but I imagine I now know how it feels, when I opened that email and read the first line that my professor had died early in the morning.

The world stopped.

My world stopped.

I couldn’t breath. It felt like my heart was constricting. It felt like my heart was suffocating me.

My coach knew my relationship with the professor and how close we were (in short she was my academic advisor, independent research supervisor, film department faculty committee member, and we had gone to movies together in the spring semester and over the summer.) He hugged me, and I remember hugging him back because I needed to hold something to keep me from crumbling.

I felt something I would never wish upon my worst enemy. I would take any physical torture over what I felt in that moment. My heart broke. I broke. My entire body felt numb except my heart. It was like a white, hot searing pain spreading across my chest. A tension that made it impossible to talk. My tears were the only words I needed to show what I was feeling.

Three people saw me at my most vulnerable. I’m thankful for my teammate for being next to me as I called my friend Kaitlin. She was the first one I called because the two of us had been close with Dr. Frank. I can still hear myself, breaking down during that call.

My heart died a little that day.

My soul died a little that day.

I remember the exact spot I was when I made that phone call. I look at that spot every time I go to track practice. I think of Dr. Frank whenever I walk into the track shed. I think of her whenever I have practice now, especially on Mondays.

It will be coming up to a month since her passing.

Since then, I’ve gone through a roller coaster of emotions. Some I was expecting, but most I was not.

And I realized that after a week and a half people tend to stop talking about their grief.

They stop talking about their pain, openly.

So I decided to start this series.

I’ll probably have a couple of “chapters” this week to catch up to where I currently am emotionally and mentally.

My hope is to give words to feelings that others may be going through.

To help friends and family get a glimpse as to what someone going through immense grief could be feeling.

This has been Chapter 1 of Mourning Online.

(This Featured Image is a screen grab of  a Facebook conversation between Dr. Frank and myself.)



My Fear of Failure Created my Successes, and Fueled my Anxiety.

No one tells you the pressure that comes with being successful.

No one tells you how pressure can cause you to resent your successes.

No one tells you the downside to being a student athlete on any type of scholarship.

My anxiety resulted in my successes, but it wasn’t until within the past year that I really came to terms with the fact that my fear of not being successful fueled my anxiety.

In previous posts I have mentioned I am on the track team.

I also am super involved with different organizations, jobs, etc. I would go more into it, but I’m just going to post a photo of my resume because I don’t really like talking about myself in that sense.

One of the reasons I’ve done so much stuff before the age of 21 is because growing up my parents did a great job instilling in a great work ethic. My father would tell me, “Work hard, play later,” or the one phrase that has stuck with me to this day is, “As a POC you’ll have to work twice as hard to get anywhere, but as a woman, you’ll have to work three times as hard.”

And I took those thoughts and ran with them.

I always had good grades and did extra-curricular activities, but it wasn’t until I started getting good at throwing that I saw the dark side to success.

After I won my first state championship it all changed.

I wasn’t Alexis Dickerson anymore. I was Alexis Dickerson NCHSAA 3A State Champion.

My family was so proud. I was the first person on my mother’s side to win a state championship. There were talks of scholarships. My future looked good.

I was used to the pressure. I had always felt like the “Totem” cousin, niece, nephew on both sides. Not in a “I’m better” mindset just my parents instilled such a good work ethic (and the fear of god of doing something wrong) that I became an overachiever.

Then after I won my second state championship all hell broke loose.

I was the first person on both sides to have won back to back state championships. I was the first person to receive an athletic scholarship. I was the first person to go to school for film.

I was told by family members that they hope their kids follow in my footsteps of success. I had family members tell me they’re so proud of me. They’d tell me of the downfalls of my older cousins and that “I was special,” “I’m going to do something,” “I’m going to carry on the family name with success.”

I was everything they’d dreamed me to be.

And then I went to college and I was a small fish in the ocean.

So I decided to join clubs, work, practice, take 18 hour semesters, and volunteer at any chance.

I put my heart and soul into doing what people told me I needed to do to be successful.

And at every family gathering my college life would pop up, and everyone was so happy to hear I was a student athlete. They were so proud, especially when they found out I had made the Dean’s List as well.

I was this mystical unicorn to my family.

And I hated talking about it every fucking moment.

That pressure gets to you.

Especially as a student athlete.

I constantly make the joke that UNCW owns my body for four years, until I graduate. What I didn’t realize that by using my Freshman year to get involved with the on and off campus community the school now owned my image as well.

Even to this day I sometimes get tired, but I have a job to be a role model, especially since I’m a student athlete.

I have worked so hard to be known on campus, that I have an image to uptake. I can’t fuck up. I would disappoint so many people.

But the pressure gets real.

I’ve been told that people wish I was the standard.

But I can barely handle my own standard.

And that fear gets to you.

That fear of failure that caused you to overachieve in high school now reduces you to tears because you feel like you’re letting people down if you don’t succeed.

I would have days that I wouldn’t want to get out of bed, but I would get out of bed and go to practice and class.

I didn’t have the right to not go to a meeting because that wouldn’t look good.

I couldn’t show how low I felt because that would hurt my image.

So I’d keep pushing myself to work harder and do better.

Until I’d break down into tears at night, when I knew I was by myself.

And after years I’m finally getting myself together mentally.

I’m finally figuring out who I am without my awards.

I’m finally learning to let go of my fear of failure.

I’m finally learning to live my life how my father tells me, “Everything that happens, helps build character.”

I’m finally learning to live my life how my mother tells me, “When one door closes, another window opens.” (I originally thought this was a English-is-not-her first language mistake, but she explained she definitively meant that I would have to climb through a window because life is still hard.)

I still stumble and fall on my face and let my anxiety take over, but I’m trying really hard to be myself and not what everyone wants me to be.

P.S. – To Guy (from the last post). I’m sorry. I wasn’t tactful and I apologize. I was frustrated and decided to be me and be upfront, and forget that that doesn’t work well with other people.

Feelings suck when you don’t trust them.

I honestly don’t have anything crazy to talk about.

I mean I feel like everything has been on the up and up in this ol’ gals life. My meds have settled down with making my face numb (that was a thing) and I have been eating regularly.  I’ve started working out again and I don’t feel like bashing my own skull in.

So I’m going to talk about something I’m a little hesitant about, mostly because it involves bringing another person into the conversation. Someone who happens to be a boy.

A boy.

That I have feelings for?

The story of our date is one that will probably be my go to favorite “how did you meet” story.

Long story short, I met a guy by pretending to be Cthulhu (essentially a sea monster) on Tinder (a “dating” social media app).

Anyway, I met the guy (who I’ll refer to as Guy since I’m not sure if he’ll read this or not) and I felt like we hit it off really well.

Now Guy and I have been talking for quite some time and we would hang out more (or I believe we would), but Guy’s wisdom teeth decided to show up and screw up his mouth. So he’s been out of it and our (my) work schedules make it hard to see each other. And these are obstacles that really do my brain in.

Having anxiety makes talking to a guy for a long period is a struggle at times. The lack of stability, especially in the early stages really does me in because I’m always worried about not coming off as “crazy”. Communication is a huge thing for me, so when there is a lack of communication the irrational thoughts kick in. Like bust through the door, S.W.A.T. team style.

“Why hasn’t he texted back?”

“Maybe he’s ghosting.”

“Don’t text him again. He didn’t respond to the last one.”

“Don’t send that text, you seem like you’re being clingy.”

“He doesn’t need to talk to you everyday.”

“Why does he hang out with his friends but never seems into hanging out with you.”

“You don’t know what’s going through his mind.”

“He could easily message back.”

“He doesn’t like you.”

“Jump ship while you can.”

“Why are you putting so much energy into this, it’s not the same for him.”

“Don’t listen to the thoughts in your head.”

“Do you even like him, or just the idea of him?”

“Why doesn’t he want to see you?”

“Why hasn’t he texted back?”

Now I completely understand his teeth have decided to come in like a wrecking ball, but my irrational thoughts don’t care. And it’s these thoughts that make it hard for me to really want relationships. Now I love the idea of relationships, but the only thing that calms those thoughts is stability (or in this case, going steady.) But obviously that doesn’t make sense for someone you’ve seen a couple of times even though you text and etc a lot.

No one wants to be forced into a relationship and like great bread, it takes time.

But I’m scared.

I’ve been burned before. I’ve put effort into a road only to find out it was a one way street.

But I like this guy and I’m trying really hard to tell the thoughts to shut up. I’m trying really hard to not fall into my own trap and try to smother Guy. I don’t want to come off as crazy. I don’t want to be seen as a mental case.

And it’s so hard and time consuming. I have to double check every thought I have. I have to check every feeling or emotion when it comes to this situation. I have to go over everything I send him to make sure I don’t seem like I’m being crazy. Constantly switching between a “I don’t a give damn what he thinks.” and “Oh I hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy.” mentality.

This is not about playing a mental game with Guy, but with myself. Because when it comes to my feelings, my mind likes to play a lot of cruel jokes on me so I’ve learned to be twice as cautious. And this caution means I tend to not make a lot of effort when it comes to meeting guys because it takes a lot out of me.

And as much as I want to be super upfront about my mental health and be honest of what’s going on in my head, I understand there’s still a stigma against being so open about mental health and it may turn people off.

But Guy hasn’t gone completely MIA, yet.

So maybe that’s a good sign.


I don’t think he’s read the blog yet.



I thought about killing myself today.

Today I was driving down the road. I noticed the sky was super clear and decided I was going to go to the beach tonight.

I like clear days because that means clear nights, and clear nights mean you can see the stars when you go out to the beach. (I love going to the beach at night; it’s my favorite place to go to just try and get away from everything for a moment.)

It was after this thought that I remembered a scene from the trailer of Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk (2017) where one of the soldiers walks into his own watery grave (insert Homer Simpson yelling “NERRRRRRRRRRRRRD!”). And for a moment, I thought of doing the same as the soldier.

I thought of going to the beach, walking up and then swimming out into the ocean. Swimming until my body gave out and I would just give up. I imagined the split second of what I would feel when the final burst of not wanting to not die kicked in, and then realized I didn’t care.

Now, this wasn’t the first time I thought about killing myself this week.

Thankfully, I’m in a place where I know I won’t actually commit suicide even if it’s just because I have too many responsibilities to just chuck it all away. I’m currently cat sitting for this woman who lost her husband last year. These cats are part of her recovery, so it would be disrespectful to kill myself and let the cats fend for themselves. I have a cat. I love him, and I would feel ashamed if I killed myself and he actually felt grief because I would never walk up the stairs to my bedroom again.

I have parents who love me and I’m afraid that to some degree, they would feel some guilt over something they had no control over.

There are people who have looked at me for inspiration to get through shit in their lives because they believe (for some unknown reason) that I have my life together.

There’s too much riding on me staying alive.

Yet, a couple nights ago I thought about what would happen if I downed the rest of my bottle of Trazodone. I was recently prescribed it to help me sleep, and for a moment I wondered would the whole bottle help me sleep forever.

And lately I feel like I’ve been a liar. I’ve been putting on jokes, and witty comments. Talking like normal as to not raise suspicion among the people around me. Telling bits and pieces, but never the whole of what’s really going on. I don’t want to seem like a downer. I don’t want people to reach out to me because they’re worried. I don’t want to feel like people are hanging out with me because they feel sorry for me.

But there are moments when I’m by myself and I want to scrape and crawl my way into my brain. I want the irrational insecurities and fears in my head to go away so badly I just want to rip my skin off. These medications I’m on help stop my body physically reacting to my anxiety, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts that are pounding louder and louder. I have to keep closing doors on them, but after a while I realize that I’m alone. I’m by myself and I can still hear them. They creep through the drafts and whisper doubt into my head. I try to close my eyes and cover my ears but then it’s like they start yelling at me. I feel like screaming to block them out, but every time I open my mouth it feels like I’m being choked from the inside. So I curl into a ball inside my own mind and hope the thoughts get bored and go away.

Yet they never do. Or if they do, not for long.

I haven’t really told my friends that I’m really struggling right now. I haven’t told my parents. I don’t like the idea of talking about the topic of my mental health with a guy I like. I haven’t told my job. I haven’t told my coaches.

And here I am, telling the entire world. I guess I’m feeling ballsy tonight.

So instead of going to a friend’s 21st birthday, I’m going to the beach tonight.

But don’t worry, I won’t kill myself.

Because I’m okay. Not really, but I’m working on it.

P.S. Also I’m using this photo because I feel like if I did commit suicide they would use this photo with the caption, “Why?” or “How could this have happened?” Also because I think it’s funny that I’m dressed as an elf, while having an elf attached to my scarf.

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