1,020 stairs

I'm at the bottom of the outside edge of a crater staring up. In front of me are 1,020 steep and uneven stairs to get to the top of the crater's edge. The climb is almost completely vertical (at least it feels that way). The "stairs" are wooden boards shoved underneath an old railway track of some kind. They are not up to code. Some are wonky, some don't have any ground beneath them, and some of them force you to practically climb up them with your hands. This is my hike for the day: to make it up all of those steps, (and climb a little further) to get to a supposedly amazing viewpoint.

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(When) it's time to ask for help

In one week I will be taking a medical leave of absence and checking into an intensive outpatient psychiatric program. While I don't know all of the details of the program yet, I know that it involves various types of therapy sessions several days a week, and will last at least a month. This is hard for me to admit; it's hard for me to share. I have just as many preconceived notions about what this program will look like as you're probably having right now. (Movies involving hokey portrayals of group therapy sessions come to mind.) But, despite my preconceived notions, and despite the anxiety I have about participating in something like this, I know it's what I need to do. I know it's what I need to do if I have any chance of getting better.

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Why I'm going to stop trying to be a normal human

I had two big realizations recently. The first is this: all of this time that I've been living with mental illness, I was under the assumption that I would be cured someday. Cured of depression, anxiety, trichotillomania, and everything else I live with. I thought it was all just a sickness (like coming down with the flu), and if I found the right combination of medications and participated in the right combination of therapies, I would eventually be fixed and function like a normal human someday. But then, it hit me: what if I can't be cured? What if my mental illness is not like a sickness, but something inside me that is permanently broken—something that will always be a part of my life? What if I'm broken in a way that can't be completely fixed?

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Staying alive: prologue/epilogue

Last week I wrote about a recent bad depressive episode that I experienced. This week, I want to give some back-story, so you can have a little more insight into how I got there. I know, technically, prologues are supposed to go before the actual story but, for some reason, I felt like this is the order in which the story needed to be told. So, maybe it's an epilogue. I'm not entirely sure.

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Staying alive

I'm curled into a ball on the chair in the corner of my bedroom. I'm in my pajamas that I've worn for the past 24 hours. And, of course, I haven't showered in those past 24 hours. My eyes are puffy and my face is wet from the tears that I've been crying for no particular reason other than it hurts to be alive right now. I'm full of emotion: sadness, hopelessness, fear, anger, guilt; but, at the same time, I feel numb. I feel everything and nothing all at the same time. I am one flaming-hot mess.

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Hiding in plain sight: living with social anxiety, part two

Last week, I shared a bit about my scoial anxiety and a particular example of how it manifested while I was at a large gathering. But, my social anxiety doesn't just come up in these "typical" social situations, it comes up everywhere. When I'm feeling anxious, any situation where I'm around other humans can raise my anxiety: grocery shopping, the lunch room at work, or even walking down the street. When I feel anxious, people don't feel safe to me. And, since I live in a sizeable city, there are a lot of people around, which means I spend a lot of time afraid. On the "better" days, I'm afraid that the people I encounter will judge me or think that I'm stupid. On my worst days, I'm afraid that people will hurt me. It's completely irrational, but so hard to turn off. The following is a small slice of what it's like for me on a typical day when I'm feeling anxious.

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Hiding in plain sight: living with social anxiety, part one

I've been watching Call the Midwife lately on the Netflix and, as I was making my way through the first season's Christmas special, this quote from dear Chummy (my favorite character) jumped out at me. Although the subject matter was slightly different in the episode, I thought that this was a perfect description of my own struggles with social anxiety: dreading being noticed and fearing you aren't visible at all. This paradoxical feeling—the desire to be seen and not be seen at the same time—is the core of my social anxiety. Most days I live with this feeling wrapped so tightly around my chest, it feels like a boa constrictor hugging me from the inside.

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Mental illness comic round-up

There have been some awesome comics about mental illness that have popped up in my news feeds lately, so I thought I'd share them with you all. I share them because sometimes having visuals like these brings a new level of meaning or depth to a story (especially when dealing with a subject that is seemingly intangible). These comics have done that for me. Click on the images to see the comics in their entirety.

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