Why I love Frozen

A lot of people don’t like the movie, Frozen.  I think this is probably because they heard the songs too much and got sick of it.

I actually still love it.  I’ve never gotten tired of it.  But it’s not because it’s such an amazing movie that I’m obsessed with it.  No, it has a special place in my heart… because it tells my story.

When I was a child, I knew I was different.  I never fit in, not really, in any group.  I had an awkwardness to me, a darkness, a depth that was always several years ahead of my age.  I felt as if there was something wrong with me, that I was unacceptable.  I felt cursed.

I hid it, though.  I don’t know when I learned to hide it… I was always aware of the fact that the things in my head were not okay with other people.  That part of me was meant to stay hidden… then.

“Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you always have to be!  Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know…”

I hid my mental illness from everyone.  I pretended to be normal, good, acceptable to society.  But I felt dead inside.

My senior year of college, something awoke my emotions, and suddenly I felt EVERYTHING.  I felt pain, I felt joy, I felt loss, I felt love.  It was overwhelming.  But I also began drawing and painting what I was feeling.  I began creating.  Suddenly, my curse became a superpower.  I could feel deeply, and let myself feel.  I could love deeply, and it was okay.  I could cry, and shake, and paint pictures, and there was so much beauty in that.  I let loose.  I let go.

In the years since then, I went from one extreme to another.  I went from hiding my illness, to being obsessed over it and what I was able to do with it.  I separated myself from other people and focused only on myself.  But there was still this element of hiding.  I was separated from everyone else, and I enjoyed the security the walls I had build gave me.  I enjoyed the freedom I had to express myself.  One of the ways I expressed myself was through this blog.  I made beauty out of darkness.

But there was another element of protecting other people.  I was afraid to let people see my what was really going on.  I was afraid to hurt them.  I knew that my illness drove me to do things that hurt other people deeply.  I started to kill myself more times than I can count, each time stopping before it was too late, either because it hurt too much, or because I freaked out.  A suicide attempt can be defined as any action done with the intention of killing oneself, that fails to meet that goal.  According to that definition, I have attempted suicide dozens and dozens of times.  I knew that suicide, and also suicide attempts, hurt the people around me deeply.  I kept my walls up because I didn’t want to hurt them.

But people keep pressing through.  Even when they’re hurt, even when they harbor the scars and damage of past things I’ve done to them, they still seek me out.

Some people think that just talking to me should make me better.  Just telling me to stop will make me stop.  But it doesn’t work that way.

I finally froze someone’s heart.

I hurt them so deeply that I thought I had lost them forever.  I wanted to die more than ever.  One more failed attempt had pushed them over the edge, and they were hurt too deeply to be with me anymore.  They had to leave, to get away.

But here’s the thing… even though I lost one person, I still have others.  They haven’t given up on me.  They keep pushing towards me, even though I hurt them, even though each step closer brings them closer to the ultimate pain of grieving my death.  They keep pushing closer through the storm.

And when I crumble, broken because of the loss of one person, the darkness inside me brings out the sword… or anything I could use… to kill me, to kill myself.

But my army of supporters push through, and stop the blade, and it hurts them so much… it feels like I’ve lost them, too.

But little by little, the ice, the pain melts away, and all that is left is love.  Because love heals.  Love thaws.

It doesn’t fix everything.  I’m not all better.  I still struggle.  But I’ve found beauty in the fact that I can express myself, and also in the fact that I have friends and family who won’t give up on me.

This is why I love Frozen.  It gives me hope for my condition.  It gives me hope for life.

wishes

I am numb.

Standing in the rain, letting it fall on my face… cold.  The wind blows, whips my hair around.  I am alone.

Thunder is crashing around me… I’m half-wishing the lightning will hit me.

Maybe more than half-wishing.

Cold, shivering, shaking… but is it really from the cold?  I don’t know.

Every night is hard.  When will this end?  I don’t know what I want, what I need…  I keep trying, but sometimes I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.  For a while, I was making so much progress so fast… maybe it’s just leveling out to a more slow and steady pace.  But it is hard.

I wish it would hail.

I want to feel pain.  I want to feel something.  Let loose the tension inside me.

Maybe things will change.  I hope they get better soon.

hope.

I want to die.

I want to cut.

I want to purge every awful thing I’ve eaten.

I want to curl up in a corner and hide from the world.

I want to give up, I want to give in.

I want to just stop.

But I won’t.  I won’t kill myself, or cut, or purge, or hide, or give up, give in, or stop.

I will keep on.

Because I have to.  I have to keep trying.

For the hope that someday, things will be better.

I am a fighter.

I’m a sucker for those personality quizzes on facebook.  Well really, any personality quizzes.  But those are the most convenient to take.  Anyway, over the past couple years, I’ve noticed a change in my strengths.  I used to be mainly compliant and helpful and caring, the kind of person who’s known for her sweetness.  People were so proud of me because I was responsible… I was good at taking care of people, mainly kids.

But I always felt trapped when that was all that showed.  I felt like a part of me was being held back, like it wasn’t acceptable.  I guess I was afraid to show it because I was afraid I’d be rejected for it.  Of course it came out in some ways… but those were all the results of pushing it down, so they were in big bursts.  And usually the big bursts did get rejected.  I’d fight with my siblings a lot… I think most of the fighting in my family when I was young revolved around me and one of my older sisters, or me and one of my brothers.  I got mad when someone crossed me and what I believed I deserved.  Then I’d get in trouble and feel guilty for being so passionate… so I repressed that part of me even more.

But lately, that part of me has come out again.  I am a fighter.  I fight for myself, for what I believe I deserve.  I fight for what I know is right.  I fight for recovery.  Every day in my head is a series of intense battles, and I’m constantly fighting against the darkness on the other side.  It’s funny… it comes out in all the personality tests.  I used to get the helper role all the time… but now I always get the fighter.

See, I am quiet and sweet and kind and helpful.  I care deeply about people, and I love taking care of them.  But there’s more to me than that.  I am also a fighter, passionate and fierce.  I am stubborn and proud, sure of what I want and what I don’t want.  I am learning who I am, and what I learn, I embrace.  It’s so weird, because it’s so different.  But those other parts of me that I grew up with… they weren’t wrong.  They don’t disappear now.  It’s just that now I not only care about people, I’m passionate about people.  I will fight for them.  I will fight against them, if they need it.  God knows I need people to fight against me sometimes to straighten me out when I’m all caught up in the darkness.  I still love to help out, and now I feel like I can help even more.  But I also am able to give myself the freedom to hang back and not help, if I think it might be too much for me.

I am a fighter, fierce and resilient.  The world may turn against me, but I will fight until there’s nothing left to fight.  I have to learn to replenish my reserves before I’m running on empty, but I am a fighter.

That’s why I’m still alive.

crazyminded

I’ve been without my antidepressants for three weeks.  They were supposed to come yesterday.  It’s somewhat amazing I’m still alive.

At least I know these ones work, because there’s such a huge difference without them.

My mind is crazy.  So many thoughts, so much darkness, all at once.  I had forgotten it could be this bad.  Bad days seem a lot worse when they continue into bad nights and bad weeks and maybe even a bad month.  And my mind goes so very quickly to assume the worst now, whereas before, it was a little easier to fight that.  A month ago, I was struggling.  I was struggling a lot.  I don’t know… maybe it was getting to be this bad then.  But that was more because I had stopped talking and being vulnerable with people.  I wasn’t letting anyone in, aside from my counselor.  And she could only do so much.

Now I am starting to talk to people again, but things are still bad.  Last night, it was all I could do to make myself care enough to not cut on my wrists.  That has been my limit… I’ve been cutting, but I won’t let myself do it there because it’s so dangerous, and because of the job I have.  But last night I almost didn’t care.  I was rationalizing it, thinking up excuses, thinking up ways I could cover it.  I got really close.

And I’m so lonely.  So needy.  I find myself assuming that people don’t care… everyone, even those that I really know do care.  I want things from people that they’re not going to offer unless I tell them about it.  But I want them to think of it… which is such a huge part of the problem.  I’m not willing to let people get close enough to me that they know what I want, much less are willing to give it to me.  So they just don’t know how to love me.

But here’s the thing.  And I don’t know if this is a right now in this moment thing, or if it’s ongoing.  But I am longing to be wanted.  By a lot of people, I feel unwanted.  I know it’s because I’m insecure in myself.  I know it’s my fault.  But I just want people to reach out to me.  To pursue me, to ask, to keep asking, to push past my walls.  I know I push people away, that I don’t tell them much, and it’s just really frustrating to deal with me.  But within all my walls, I’m longing to get out.  I’m just so afraid that if I get out, if I show myself, I’ll be flat out rejected.  So I’d rather invite people in and wait for them to put the effort into pushing past the walls.  If they make it through, that means they really care.  That means they really want me.  So I can trust them.

But then, once they’re in, they get overwhelmed by meeting me all at once.  All my pain and problems presented to them at once… it’s too much.  So they back away.

And now I feel so alone.  I don’t know how to do this life thing.  All I want is to be loved and held and comforted and encouraged.  But I can’t get myself to ask for that, and of course people don’t know me well enough to do it without me asking.  Except maybe one or two people… but they’re not here right now, and I am alone.  I am alone and struggling so much to hold on.  I know things will be better once I get back on my meds, but even though I know that’s one of the main things contributing to this bout of depression, that doesn’t make the depression any less severe.

I’ve been crying almost every night.  I’ve been fighting so hard against the urges to cut and binge and purge, and it’s so hard to see the point.  I’m fighting for the sake of other people.  I don’t want them to be disappointed or hurt.  I haven’t killed myself because I don’t want to hurt people.  But when I think about me, just me… it’s all I want to do.  I don’t see the point of me being here.  I can’t carry on normal, healthy relationships with my friends.  I’m always barely surviving, and sometimes it seems like that’s all I’ll ever do.  I’ll never be truly happy and confident.  I’ll never be wanted, not really wanted.  People might want me to stay alive, but they don’t want to hang out with me.  They don’t want to hear how I’m doing.  They don’t want to sit with me.  They aren’t excited to see me.

I’m struggling, world.  I’m hurting and lonely and I feel like a burden that everyone would be glad to be rid of.  That’s what I said in the suicide letter I wrote at one point… and never deleted.  They’d all hurt at first, with the shock of it, but once that passed, they’d realize it was better that way, to have me gone.  No more worrying, no more dealing with my discontented, impossible to please, discouraging to be around self.  They’d all be better off without me.  They’d realize it’s true eventually.  And then they’d be glad, relieved that I had killed myself and ended it all.

Part of me wonders if any of this is wrong.  If I should even bother writing about it.  I’m writing it half-hoping that someone will say no, my life IS worth something, and I AM wanted.  Which is, of course, extremely passive aggressive.  But if I were to ask, they’d have to say it, because they’d feel bad if they didn’t.  I feel safer saying things here, because things are anonymous here, and so people don’t feel so much pressure.

Anyway.  That’s my rant.  The end.  I’m sorry.

darkness.

July 6

My depression is so strong lately.  I know it’s partly because I ran out of my meds over a week ago, but I won’t get the refills for at least a couple more days.  So I have to make it until then.

It’s just… it’s so hard.  I feel like I’m stuck in quicksand, slowly sinking.  The idea of suicide is becoming more and more appealing again.  I don’t know how many times I thought about it this weekend.  It was a lot.  Everything is hitting me at once… cutting, eating disorders, depression, suicide.  I’m fighting and fighting, and I haven’t had much of a break, and I want to give in so badly.  If I give in, I’ll have a break.  I actually keep thinking about hospitalization, because there I could actually sort some things out and be safe.  I’d have so much less to worry about.

I want to talk.  Why do nights have to be so hard?  Why do I have to be so awake?  I have a cold, and when I lie down, it’s hard to breathe.  So I am awake, and this is not a good time to be awake.  My mind is spinning in a downward spiral.  And I feel so alone.  Everyone else is asleep.

I want to kill myself.  I wish I could.  I wish I wouldn’t back out at the last second.  I wish it wouldn’t hurt so many people.  I wish I could just do it and be gone.  I wish.

I don’t see hope for me in my recovery.  Other people, yes, they’ll get through it.  They have the strength for it.  But me?  No.  All I can see right now is more and more anger and hatred against myself, because of acting out in unhealthy ways… or because of not doing it.  It makes me hate myself either way.  I’m weak, I’m cowardly, and I’m lazy.  I shouldn’t be in this place right now.

And what if people say they can’t help me?  What then?  That means I really am too screwed up, right?  That’s why I got kicked out of AFH.  That’s why I got dismissed from the eating disorder treatment center.  That’s why I got kicked out of school for a while.  I’m just too much, too messed up for people.  That’s why they don’t stay around.  I overwhelm them.  Then there are also the people who want to help, but who think I don’t want them to.  Like I don’t want them near me or something.

But that’s not it!  I push people away partly because I’m so sure they’re going to leave anyway, and so I don’t want to get too close to them, because then it will hurt even more when they leave.  I also push people away because I don’t want to hurt them or wear them out.  And I push people away because I’m not worthy of their attention.

I hate myself.  I want to die.  I want to kill myself.  I kept thinking of the ways I could do it this weekend… drowning in the lake, hanging, jumping out of the car when we’re going 75mph on the highway.  It never ends.  The thought is always there.  I want to die.  I really, really want to die.  Why can’t there just be some crazy accident that kills me and everyone else is fine?  I want to die.  Why do other people, who don’t want to die, have to die while I live?

This weekend, people were talking about the people that live on bases in Antarctica, and how they basically lost the ability to function during the months without the sun.  They couldn’t even do simple tasks.  Everyone was so shocked by this, that being away from sunlight for so long could do that to a person.  And I was thinking, that’s every day when you live with depression.  You get so lethargic, and it takes all the effort in you just to get out of bed and get ready for the day.  It’s awful.  I hate it.

I hate me.

I want to die.

I want to kill myself.

If only I could.

tomorrow

“You know you can still stay here, and live here, and not have to worry about traveling for birthdays and things like that.”  My mom’s voice was casual, but I knew there was deep emotion behind the words.  She’s my mom, and she wants me near her.  I know she loves me deeply.

That’s the hardest part about this move.  I know my family loves me so much, and they don’t understand how they can’t be enough for me.  I know it hurts them to have me leave, and there’s nothing I can do to take that hurt away.  And I love them too!  I’ll miss them so much.  We have healed somewhat in our relationship, and I feel more comfortable with them than I have in the past.

But I need to go.  The reasons I need to move still remain.  I need more support.

This is a scary new step, but I know it’s what I need to do.  I don’t know what will come of it.  I’m hoping for the best.  There’s always a chance it’ll get all screwed up… but I think that chance is small this time.  It will be hard starting over.  But it will be good.

I’m excited about living.  Based on all the practice runs I’ve spent there, I will really live while I’m there.  I’ll let my creative, emotional side out.  I’ll be crazy.  I’ll be loved.  I’ll climb trees and dance in the wind and laugh and play with little kids.  I’ll discipline myself to finish things, to learn and grow, to write and finish stories and books, to work toward publishing them, to sell my art, to stretch myself.

This is a fresh start, a new adventure.  I’m a little scared, but mostly excited.  Tomorrow it all begins.

Recovery

I don’t really know what to write here anymore.  I’m doing better most of the time.  I have bad days, but they’re just bad days, not bad weeks or months or years.  I had a bad week a little while ago, and it seemed so awful to last that long.  And I did get to a pretty dark place.  But then it was over.  I realized that maybe the reason it freaked me out so much is that it had been so long since I had a week of solid bad.

It’s like that, now.  I’m finally on antidepressants that are actually helping.  I’ve also worked through a lot of stuff, and I’m beginning to actually want to live.

I started this blog because I needed an outlet.  I needed somewhere that my voice could be heard and listened to, even if I didn’t have the courage to speak aloud to my closest friends and family.  Journaling tended to frustrate me, because it was like writing to a wall.  Sometimes it was good to get the stuff out, but I needed someone, anyone, on the other end, listening.  I needed to share my pain.  It was in sharing that I began to find healing.  So… windwhisperings.  All the thoughts and dreams and tremblings I had whispered to the wind, alone and unheard up to that point, except by God and the wind itself.  It helped so much to write about pain and loneliness and quirkiness and addictions and realize I wasn’t alone.  All the likes, comments, and follows were the beginning of the affirmation and empathy I needed.

I think all my closest friends know about this blog, now.  I’ve used it at times to show what I’m feeling and going through, when I can’t put it all into audible words.  Somehow the written word is safer to the suffering mind than stumbling, stuttering conversation.  There were times when I couldn’t trust myself to get the words out, before crying shut them off.  So I shared a post or two from here.  Windwhisperings became a bridge that helped me to begin communicating and being vulnerable.

Vulnerability sucks.  It is truly one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced.  It’s like not only shedding your clothes to expose yourself in all your flaws and beauty… it’s ripping your skin off to show what’s underneath.  But when I was vulnerable, I found strength.  I exposed myself to dear friends and found that I was not judged or mocked or rejected.  I was loved and accepted and forgiven.  They validated my pain, and they validated me.  They treated me like an equal.  They respected me.  They even told me over and over again that because of what I’d been through and faced, I could be such a help and inspiration to others who struggle.  They helped me keep going.

There was one night at the residential treatment place, where I showed my wrist to a woman I loved and respected very much, when I had just cut it that day.  She was one of those people that I was almost completely sure of her love.  But I wasn’t sure she’d still love me then.  It took all the strength in me and I don’t know how many tries before I finally got the words out.  I couldn’t look her in the eye as I asked if she still loved me.

She did.  And does.

Vulnerability opened me up to healing.  I had to expose myself to possible rejection and pain to expose myself to possible acceptance and healing.  It was, and is, terrifying.  But I do it.

I am healing.  Of course I’m not all better… I’ve still got a LONG way to go.  But I’ve also come a long way already, and that encourages me.

I don’t feel like killing myself every day.  I don’t plan it out in detail anymore.

I actually want to do things, now.  I want to get up and move and make things and get stuff done.

Small rejections and disappointments don’t devastate me anymore.  They’re awful, and I still tend to handle them in unhealthy ways, but they don’t destroy me to the point where I have to start at square one again.  I can maybe start at square two.  🙂

I can point to so many victories that I’ve made over the past month or two.  Victories over self hate, purging, cutting, suicide, shutting down.

As many times as I fall, I know now that I can get up again, and that, I think, makes it a bit easier.

 

Maybe I don’t need to use this blog as an outlet so much anymore.  Or at least, maybe that won’t be its sole purpose.  Maybe I will write about the things I’m learning and growing in.  Maybe it can be an encouragement to others on their journeys through recovery.

Of course, now that I say that, I’ll probably use it as an outlet more than ever.  Haha.  But if that’s what I need it for, so be it.  It doesn’t change the fact that I really am doing so much better these days.  I am thankful for how I’ve grown through this, and excited to see how I grow more.

Love to you all, friends!

heart of mine…

Oh heart of mine, why can’t you just be okay?

But no.  My heart is lonely, doubting, and telling me nothing’s even close to okay.

Something hit me yesterday, in counseling.  My family has moved on.  They don’t need me anymore.  I used to be the little girl who would do little things to cheer people up, to help them be okay.  I put myself in this place where I built up so many standards that I could never reach… so much pressure that I could never ease.  I was the one who could bring the smiles back.  I was the one who could lighten the load.  I was the one who people could depend on to listen.  My family depended on me, to a degree, for those things.  Or at least I believed they did.

It has been a comfort to be needed.  Not only in my family, but in friendships and other relationships.  I like taking care of people.  I like knowing that I can offer something that is greatly appreciated.  But yesterday… I realized that my family doesn’t need me anymore.  They’ve learned to get those needs met in other ways.  Maybe that’s how it always was… maybe they never needed me at all.  But  now… I am sad.  I’m glad they’re communicating with each other better, and they’re laughing together and connecting on so many things… but I don’t fit in with that anymore.  We don’t connect on much anymore.

I guess it hit home in the fact that I didn’t mourn my grandma’s death like everyone else is.  I wasn’t close to her at all; I haven’t seen her in several years.  Whereas everyone else has seen her at least once every year.  They’re all sad… I feel nothing.  I am so much of an outsider in this.

I’ve been gone so much of the past few years.  My family has grown away from me, shared experiences without me, and… they don’t need me anymore.  And now I’m leaving again, and it’s going to get worse.  I have felt like the black sheep for so long, but the feeling is more intensely clear now.  It’s like I’m not even a part of the family.  I know it doesn’t help that I’m moving away again… but the reasons I’m moving haven’t changed.  That still needs to happen.  It’s just… I’m sad.  My family doesn’t need me anymore.  While that’s good… does it mean they’re going to drop me completely?  Will they invest in a relationship with me?  Or will they let it all fade away?  Do they want me?  Or do they just want what I offer?

So I am sad.  My heart is sad, doubting, and scared.  I want to crawl into a hole and die.  I want to cut and binge and purge and everything.  I feel like I am only a burden to my family.  Maybe they would be better off without me.  Maybe everything is better this way.

I want someone to hold me, to tell me it’s gonna be okay.  This is hard.  It hurts.  My stupid heart.

Sadnesses

I wish sadness was acceptable everywhere.  There are some sadnesses that are so beautiful… I want to share them.  Some sadnesses are noble and brave; others are solemn and still.  Some sadnesses are wild and fierce, and they grab hold of you with such unshakable power that you cannot help but scream.

Yes, there are some that are selfish and petty.  But there are so many others!  And to ignore them or write them all off as nothing is simply wrong.

I have seen… and heard… people react as they found out they had lost a loved one.  It is often pure agony that they express.  I am helpless to fix the situation… I cannot bring their family members back.  I cannot take the pain away.  There is little to nothing I can do in the way of comfort.  The pain will not leave, no matter what I do or say.  I can offer my support and love, and stay with them through the pain, but the pain will not lessen because of anything I do.  It will only dull with time.

Depression is a sadness that lingers.  It is not usually as intense as fresh loss… but it is often related to loss of some sort nonetheless.  Loss of hope, loss of friends, loss of opportunity, loss of joy.  Depression often occurs after the death of a loved one.  But it is a different sort of sadness.

Depression doesn’t just go away with time.  Grieving is natural.  Everyone grieves in their own way, and some take more time than others, but depression cannot be eased by grief.  It lingers beyond with a paralyzing strength that takes over the desire to work, clean, eat, and move.  It steals the idea that someone could even do any of those things.  It makes even the simplest tasks seem like enormous impossibilities.  It wearies the body, so that sleep sounds nicer than anything else in the world.  But it robs sleep of its natural restfulness.

I am learning that depression may be something I may never get rid of.  It lingers still, even with meds that help.  I have dark days and darker nights, even though overall, I am doing better.  I still want to kill myself sometimes.  My mind still slides easily down that path.  Maybe these are things that will continue to get better as I continue to work on my thinking patterns and changing how I see the world and myself.  As the old paths become no longer so smooth with constant use, maybe my thoughts won’t go down them so quickly and easily.  But for now, oh, depression is still so strong.

It lingers.  Even with my chemicals more balanced out, I want to sleep all the time.  I don’t have much motivation or energy for anything, and it’s hard to enjoy things for very long.

This is why I still need help.  This is why I’m still in recovery.  My sadness is still so major.  I need help to not give up so easily.  I need help to keep hoping, to keep trying, and not want to die so much.

Some sadnesses are harder than others.  I think that depression might be one of them.