Top 5 Ways to Get Through a Bad Situation (Without Making It Worse)

There’s a lot of information out there about preventative measures for relapse into a mental health crisis. There are also great resources on what to do in a crisis situation. But what do you do when you’re just having a really hard time? What if you’re feeling completely overwhelmed, but you’re not posing any threat of serious harm to yourself or others?

I’ve learned a lot in the past few months about distress tolerance skills. These tips and tricks have been immensely helpful for me in my recovery. Tonight, I’d like to share with you my Top Five skills for dealing with negative, overwhelming emotions.

NUMBER ONE

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If you’ve been following my story, you know that I live with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Included in the PTSD gift basket are things like dissociation, panic attacks, and flash backs. Each of these events are about as fun as getting your tooth drilled without Novocain (this happened to me once at the hands of a very incompetent dentist, so I feel justified in making the comparison). You may have heard of different variations on this particular grounding technique, but my favorite method is this: look around the room you’re in and pick a color. Now, find five different shades of that color, or, if you can’t find different shades, just find five different objects of that color. Once you’ve done this, find five things you can touch. If you can, physically reach out to objects around you. Are they hard or soft? Are they smooth or rough? Are they warmer or colder than your hand? Etc. If you cannot manage to reach out, consider things you can feel without moving. What does the fabric of your shirt feel like against your shoulders? If you’re sitting – what does the chair or couch or bench feel like against your thighs and back? If you’re standing, what does the floor feel like against the soles of your shoes? How does your hair feel against your ear or neck? And so on until you’ve hit five. Finally, what are five things you can hear? This one really helps bring me back to the present, because you have to really focus to find five unique sounds. It can be challenging, and it may take a few minutes of intense listening, but I have yet to be in a place that I could not, with concentration, find five different noises. If you are still not grounded after going through these steps, repeat. In my experience, this is nearly 100% effective when I need to get back to the present and back to my center ASAP.

NUMBER TWO

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Sometimes, you’re so overwhelmed by your emotions tolerating them feels impossible. Everything starts to close in and your anxiety or depression seems to be consuming your entire being. When I’m really overwhelmed with depression, it feels like there’s a gaping hole in the middle of my chest and everything “good” about me is seeping out. It physically hurts. When I’m overwhelmed with anxiety, it seems as though the entire world is folding in on me and it’s suffocating. How can you sit with such intense emotions? Often, the mere thought of being “in your body” anymore seems impossible. You almost wish you could just crack your rib cage open and shrug off your skin and muscles for a few minutes to get some relief. These intense feelings tempt many of us to revert to old, unhealthy, maladaptive coping techniques, such as: self injury, binge eating, or substance abuse. In these moments, sometimes the best thing you can do is remember that the discomfort is temporary and find some way to distract yourself until the intensity of the feelings decreases a bit. It’s important to note that there is a difference between distraction and avoidance. Avoidance is complete neglect of your feelings, unwillingness to get curious about the causes of your distress, and, in the long run, it is not conducive to mental wellness. Distraction, on the other hand, can provide a healthy, temporary reprieve from those feelings until the intensity has diminished enough for you to sit with them and consider what may have triggered you. I’ve found it very helpful to keep a list of easy-access distraction techniques on me at all times. I keep mine in my smartphone, but I have friends who carry theirs on actual pieces of paper in their wallets. Some people I know also have a list posted somewhere in their house. Whatever method you feel will work best for you is the one you should use. When you’re not in distress, compile a list of short distraction activities you can utilize. My list includes playing a few rounds of Galaga or Tetris on my phone (10-15 minutes maximum), doing dishes, playing the “Wikipedia game” (pick two completely unrelated topics, start at one, and click links in each article to see how few clicks you need to get from the first topic to the second), and going outside for 5 minutes of fresh air and a change of scenery. Your distraction list will be unique to you, but it’s important to choose activities that will take a short time to complete to decrease the intensity of what you’re feeling until you can face it and deal with it. Choose things that you enjoy; choose things that will help clear your head.

NUMBER THREE

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I’ve mentioned this one before, but I want to expand a little on it here, because it really is a wonderful tool! Whether you’re living with a mental health diagnosis or not, every single one of us gets overwhelmed from time to time. For some of us, it’s completing that big work project or research paper for school; for some of us, it’s getting out of bed or doing the laundry. Whatever the task at hand, if you’re feeling stuck, the 10 minute rule can help. It’s pretty self explanatory – you set a timer for ten minutes and work on whatever it is you need to work on until the timer goes off. If you’re seriously depressed and feel like you can’t get out of bed, set a timer for 10 minutes and walk around your apartment for that time. When the timer goes off, you can go back to bed if you feel so inclined. If you’re writing a paper for school, set the timer for ten minutes and write until it goes off. If you feel the need to, stop once the timer goes off. I say “if you feel the need to” because often times, I’ve found, action precedes motivation. Once you actually start moving around or start writing, you might find that you’ve gained some momentum to keep going. Or, you may be completely exhausted after the ten minutes. But either is fine! You’ve done something. In those ten minutes you are tolerating a task that you thought you absolutely could not do. And you can be proud of that!

NUMBER FOUR

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Mindfulness is invaluable. Truly. I don’t care what your diagnosis is, or if you even have one – in this rushed, consumer driven, plugged in, instant gratification culture of ours, mindfulness can save your life. Mindfulness takes many forms. You can mindfully eat an apple by focusing on the texture of the fruit on your teeth and lips and tongue, the flavor, the juice, the smell, and the crisp snap of each bite. You can mindfully take a walk by considering your feet against the ground, the feel of the air on your face and hands, the sounds of traffic or nature around you, and the way the sunlight reflects off your surroundings. Mindfulness is simply being present. Not considering the future or the past. Traditional mindfulness practice involves things like deep breathing and guided meditations, but practice is definitely not limited to these things. Some people prefer traditional mindfulness practice, and that’s fantastic! If you’re moving through a busy work day and need a few minutes of guided meditation on your lunch break, I’d recommend checking out the Headspace App, if you haven’t already. As a trauma survivor living with PTSD, though, I struggle with traditional mindfulness. Focusing on my body and breath tends to trigger a panic attack, and if I’m doing it with my eyes closed, I’m in for a full-blown flashback. So, I’ve needed to get creative in my mindfulness practice. Doing the 5-5-5 technique mentioned above when I am not triggered is great mindfulness practice, and, it keeps the method fresh in my mind for easy access when I really do need it! Choosing to walk away from my phone to engage with my daughter, focusing solely on whatever game she wants to play, the details, the characters, and the inevitable laughter, is mindfulness practice. Completely devoting my attention to learning to play a new song on my guitar is mindfulness practice. Photography is mindfulness practice, as you need to really take in your surroundings, consider the person or object you’re shooting, evaluate the lighting, and position yourself in relation to that person or object to best capture the message you wish to convey with the photo. Opportunities for moments of mindfulness are everywhere. And practicing mindfulness every day can really help you access those skills when you are feeling distressed.

NUMBER FIVE

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Self soothing is intrinsic in the fabric of our beings. Self soothing skills are some of the very first things we learn as tiny, brand new humans on this planet. When things are really bad, though, we have to remind ourselves to get back to the absolute basics. We need to feel warm, safe, secure, and comforted. My favorite self-soothing techniques are wrapping up in a heavy blanket or wearing a baggy hoodie that I can burrow into and away from whatever it is in my environment that is overwhelming me. I also like to light candles or burn incense with comforting scents. Sometimes, I will put on some music, either calming or songs that bring up good memories of time spent with friends and loved ones (I have a special playlist for these moments). Occasionally, I’ll take a very warm bath. I also like to snuggle my cats. Tactile. Real. Sense-based. Basic. These are the essence of self-soothing. These techniques are for the really bad moments. I use them most when I’ve just had a flashback and I’m grounded and present but need that extra level of feeling secure and comforted. I use them when I’ve just woken up from a terrible nightmare and I’m not ready to even attempt to go back to bed yet. I use them when that gaping hole of depression in my chest feels like it’s going to swallow me up entirely. I use them when anxiety is making the world collapse on me and I feel like I’m being crushed. Self-soothing is very literally about just holding on and riding the wave of intense emotion until it passes. No goal in mind afterward. Just getting through the moment as comfortably as you can.

 

There you have it! My personal Top Five distress tolerance skills. What do you do to get through a bad situation without making it worse? Do you have any favorite grounding techniques, healthy distraction methods, motivational tricks (like the ten minute rule), mindfulness techniques, or self-soothing activities or items you like to use? If so, I’d love to hear your tips and tricks in the comment section below, on Twitter (@paradichotomy), or on Facebook!

On My Experiences With Our Screwed Up Mental Health System

This is not a jovial or lighthearted post. This is a venting post. I may even venture into ranting territory. I would like to apologize in advance for doing all of the complaining and none of the problem solving. I recognize that that can be non-productive. But I’ve got some issues with our mental health system which have been festering for months, now, and I really just need to give voice to my lived experiences. That said, should any readers have thoughts or suggestions to improve my current situation (or, what I’m sure, is the current situation of many more like me), please share them! And if anyone knows of any resources which may be helpful, send them my way and I’ll be sure to link them so that, hopefully, others in similar situations will be able to find some useful tools here. I’m feeling pretty out of options at the moment, myself.

I’ve been struggling to come up with an adequate metaphor for our mental health support system, and I still am. I can label it – consistently inconsistent, frustrating, slow, over-complicated, etc. But a really good metaphor? Maybe a maze. Yeah. A crazy-house-mirror-maze. Only the mirrors are shattered in some areas, so you’re gingerly tiptoeing on broken glass, trying to make your way out without getting lost or injured; trying to walk the line between self-advocacy and being perceived as “overly-demanding/rude/aggressive” (because these are “behaviors” which will get you put on hold, disconnected, or asked to “calm down” in a condescending, but slightly foreboding tone that promises you’ll be in trouble if you continue to “overreact” to the situation).

If you know me, you know that I’m all about being polite and patient. Sometimes to a fault. You also know that I know many case managers personally and professionally. I am currently one semester shy of my Bachelors in Social Work. I was literally studying to become a case manager. I’ve also been on the receiving end of “self-advocating clients” who were, truly, being belligerent and unreasonable more than one time. So, I am not speaking broadly about all case managers in this post. I have also carefully considered the facts of the situation and believe that my current frustration, anxiety, and general agitation are justified and valid, which is why I am sharing my thoughts and experiences with you now.

I have absolutely no desire to be disrespectful, or to make what is already an immensely difficult job harder by being a “problem client.” But I have, over the course of 5 months, been put through the wringer on several levels, and, as the Cold War Kids said, “Hang me out to dry, you’ve wrang me out too, too, too many times”.

I am currently diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Bipolar Affective Disorder (BPAD). I take medications to manage both diagnoses, and, in a perfect world, I would also be having sessions with a regular therapist once or twice weekly for further stabilization and management of my symptoms. But this is not a perfect world.

Here are the facts of the past five months of my life and my interactions with my primary doctor, the PHP and IOP programs I attended, the State of Vermont, and the crisis case manager I’ve been seeing at a local mental health organization until my insurance kicks in:

  • In early November, my life circumstances changed drastically, resulting in me living truly abuse free for the first time in…well… ever. And I was essentially hit in the face with 28 years of trauma and abuse. I developed severe PTSD symptoms.
  • In Mid-November, I did not sleep for 10 days straight. I did not eat. I lost 12 pounds in those 10 days. I was wired. I was having flashbacks and dissociative episodes like it was my job. I was depressed, but it was agitated depression. I could not sit still. I could not focus. I was making reckless and unhealthy choices. I was a complete and utter wreck. I went to Urgent Care on day 5 of no sleep, which happened to be a Friday. The PA I saw there was wonderful. She called the local mental health organization and was told by their crisis response that I’d be able to see the psychiatrist on Monday. She gave me a small RX of Lorazepam to help me sleep. Even with the Benzo, I did not sleep. I was doped up, but I was still wired and jittery.
  • Monday came. I was told I did not have an appointment with the psychiatrist, but the referral was in. All they could do for me was get me in to see a crisis counselor. The extent of the crisis counselor’s advice? “I get insomnia sometimes, too, and I count backward from 100 to sleep.” (I think I showed immense restraint in not yelling at her.)
  • I went back to Urgent Care that night. They told me if the Lorazepam wasn’t allowing me to sleep, there was nothing else they could do. They established an appointment with my PCP for mid-week.
  • I finally crashed on Wednesday night and slept. I crashed hard. I became very depressed, very low energy. This depression continued for a month. 
  • My PCP started me on a very low dose of Zoloft, and made another referral to the same psychiatrist.
  • I’ve been trying to get in to see this psychiatrist for 5 months, and I’m told it’s pretty much the only option available to me as psychiatrists in Vermont are difficult to come by.
  • Waiting on referrals, going to appointments only to be told I needed to wait longer, having my PCP assure me the referral was in and active while the mental health agency insisted it was not – these were all major contributing factors to me spending a week at inpatient.
  • After discharge from the inpatient unit, I spent the next month and a half in PHP and IOP. The case managers there promised me, up and down, that there was no way in hell they’d discharge me without adequate aftercare established, including therapy and psychiatry. Not only was I discharged without those appointments established, I was also discharged with no insurance and no means to maintain my medications.  
  • We only discovered that my insurance had lapsed on my second to last day of IOP. That was a Friday. I applied online for State insurance first thing Saturday morning. I called on Monday. I set up an appointment with Community Action to try to help get my application expedited. I tried so hard to be on top of my game and not be discouraged. The person I spoke to at Community Action, whose entire job is literally to help people get State Insurance, told me over the phone, “You’d be better off calling them directly. But have a book. And a phone that won’t run out of charge, because you’ll be on hold for a long time. I can’t see you in person until Friday, but I’ll set that appointment and if you don’t come, honestly, I’ll just be happy to get a break.” Verbatim. To me. Over the phone. I get burn-out, but how far past “done” do you need to be to say that to someone calling you for help? 
  • I called the State people, and I’m very pleased to report that that phone call was not nearly the hell the Community Action person made it sound like. I only read three sentences of my book before a real person answered. That real person, though, told me I was looking at an up to 30 day wait. Running out of medications with no money to get the final refills, no appointment to get further refills written, no therapy appointments set up, and nothing with the psychiatrist, either.
  • All of the back and forth and the apparent inability to communicate among my primary care doctor, the physician’s assistant I saw at Urgent Care, and the mental health agency for a referral to psychiatric services ended up costing me my career (and with it, my health insurance, which is creating the current stressors I’m facing) and my schooling, because, let’s be honest here:  if I had just been able to see someone back when all of this started, the more intensive interventions would have very likely been unnecessary and I would probably be writing this blog in my spare time between work and homework and mom-ing. (Ok, really, I probably wouldn’t have time for this blog. So, maybe that’s the silver lining.)
  • Today, the crisis coordination case manager I’ve been seeing in the interim until I can get established insurance and regular therapy sessions calmly told me I’m in serious jeopardy of not being able to maintain my medication routine until insurance kicks in, because of the out of pocket cost and because my primary doctor is unwilling to fill the types of psychiatric ‘scripts one needs to manage BPAD. In addition, insurance and all that aside, I can’t even get on the calendar to meet with the psychiatrist until I’ve met with my PCP and received a referral. A referral to the psychiatrist. You know, the very same referral that has, according to my PCP, been sent no less than three times already.
  • Today, I mentioned to my interim crisis case manager my concern that there may be a mixed-state episode in my near future based on what that’s looked like in the past (those 10 days without sleep, et. al.) and some current symptoms I’m experiencing: Screenshot_20170313-192328She responded by asking, “How did you even get a Bipolar diagnosis? That’s not Bipolar. I’ve worked with a lot of people with Bipolar and what you’re explaining isn’t Bipolar.” (How did I get diagnosed? By sitting down with a fucking psychiatrist and telling her exactly what I’m telling you, that’s how!)    
  • This interim counselor is not aware of this fact, but it took me a solid three weeks to even accept the Bipolar diagnosis. I was very resistant to it at first and did my fair share of pushing back against it before actually accepting the fact that the psychiatrist I was seeing through the PHP knew what she was talking about and was there to help me get well and stay well. So hearing the case manager (who, by the way, is NOT an MD and has spent a grand total of 75 minutes face-to-face time with me in the last 2 weeks) not only question the diagnosis, but essentially state flat out that I do not have BPAD was not only infuriating, but also incredibly invalidating of all of the work I’ve been doing toward accepting and attempting to manage the diagnosis.

But I can’t say that. I can’t say any of it. I have to hold it back, because if I start to say these things, I’ll likely end up yelling them at this point and getting myself in trouble. Because when you’re meeting with or talking to these particular caseworkers, you’re not allowed to be upset. “Upset” is for Therapists. “Medication concerns” are for Psychiatrists. “Referral requests” are for Primary Doctors. Polite acceptance, it seems, is all the Case Managers with whom I’ve been working have room for. And I am so far beyond “polite acceptance”. I am frustrated. I am angry. I am saddened by the stated of things.

You’ve heard of jumping through hoops? I’m bouncing around among five different agencies/offices and perpetually being told to talk to someone at one of the other phone numbers. It’s like a line of people holding the hoops through which I must jump, but every time I jump through one, the fucking person holding that hoop just moves to the back of the line and waits for me to jump through again.

It feels, in many ways, like this system is designed to allow people to fall through the cracks. If I wasn’t a stubborn, persistent, determined, sometimes pain-in-the-ass person, I would have completely given up on this by now. As I write this, I am discouraged, yes. But I am also genuinely scared. I’m scared that I’m going to have to taper off the medications which are still not even at full theraputic value in my system yet. I’m scared about all of this waiting leading to a destabilization and possibly another hospitalization for me. I’m scared of the implications of all of this. I see the “cracks” for what they actually are: gaping holes. And I’m terrified of the fall.

And, to end, I’d like to acknowledge a few things about privilege. In some ways, yes, I am in a position of disadvantage in our society: I am a woman, I am currently a single mother with no income, I’m an abuse survivor, and I have substantial mental health diagnoses.

But, in many other ways, I am very privileged. I am white. I am a Natural Born U.S. Citizen. English is my primary (and only) language. I am perceived as a cis-gendered, straight person. I am educated. I have access the internet. I am literate. I have some knowledge of and familiarity with the system which I am attempting to navigate. I have a steady work history. I have a car and a license. Despite being unemployed, I am not at risk of homelessness. I have family and friends supporting me in many different ways.

All of these factors place me at a great advantage over others who are attempting to gain support and services through this same system, and if I’m having so much difficulty with it, please take a moment to consider how hard it must be for those who do not possess the same privileges.

Our system is broken. And with the current administration’s plans for the future state of health care in this country, it is at risk of becoming irreparable. We need to fix it. We need to fix it before it’s too late.

On the “Moments of Suck”

This post directly contradicts a rule with which I was raised – an implicit rule, a common rule, I think, in Irish American households (and maybe in other household, too.) “Don’t air your dirty laundry.” Well, I’m tossing that rule out the window tonight along with my “dirty laundry,” wheeling out the clothes line full of shirts and pants and underwear, stained and smelly, for all to see. I want to make a little note that if mentions of domestic violence trigger you, you may not want to read this.

I have had a lot of shitty moments in my life. The moment when I was a child and found out my father wasn’t in my life because he was struggling with heroin addiction and in and out of jail. The moment my mom divorced my first step father. The moment I decided not to go on the every-other-weekend visits with my first step father because I felt out of place knowing that my brother was his biological kid and I wasn’t. The moment right after my mom married my second stepfather and he went outside on the porch for a cigarette and I followed him out and said, “So, you’re married to my mom now. Do I call you dad? Or do we stick with Tom?” and he replied, “I think Tom is good.” The moment I first realized I needed to take care of my younger brothers. The moments (and there were many) that I saw my mother sobbing in the kitchen and tried to comfort her. The moment I had a friend spend the night and I spent time before we were picked up from school explaining that my parents fought sometimes (every weekend, really) and that sometimes it was really intense, and she replied “I get it, my parents fight too.” The moment the relief from hearing that vanished as we sat playing up in my room and they screamed downstairs and her face turned white and she couldn’t even look at me as she said, “My parents don’t fight like that.” The moments that I sneaked into the kitchen when my mom and Tom were fighting to grab the knife block to make sure he couldn’t stab her if he got too mad. The moment I watched Tom tackle my mother to a sidewalk and beat her while holding my toddler brother and trying to prevent him from seeing what was happening. The moments right after that happened when we went to our church. The moments and days following that. (That event is a whole separate post, probably, we’ll leave it there for now.) The moments I sat in my room listening to every crash of dishes and every word screamed to figure out whether or not the police needed to be called. The moments I gave my brothers headphones and videos so that they didn’t have to listen to those fights. The moments neighbors did call the police and I heard my mom and Tom both insist that everything was fine. The moment my pediatrician pulled a social worker into my physical to ask me if I ever felt afraid or threatened in my home or if I ever saw anyone else afraid or threatened, and the ensuing moment in which I made a conscious decision to lie because I didn’t want to be taken away. The moment my lie didn’t matter and DCF said Tom needed to leave the house or else we would be taken away. The moment I angrily paced my living room telling my mom “They can’t break up our family. I’m 16. They can’t take me anywhere. I won’t let them. I’ll get emancipated if I need to.” The moments in time where my mom would decide to leave Tom and it would be my job to help get things packed up and keep the secret until we moved out. The moments they would reconcile and I would finally feel like “everything is good, we have a stable family” and almost immediately, it would seem, a huge fight would erupt and a separation would ensue again. The moment I returned from a weekend long Ultimate tournament in my senior year of high school to find a broken clothes rack and  a few shattered plates and I asked my little brother what had happened and he said, “Dad got mad.” The moment I told my Ultimate coach that I had to quit the team because it was too much to do weekend tournaments with all my senior year homework load, when really, it was because I knew I couldn’t leave my brothers alone to deal with Tom each weekend if he got pissed off. The moment I went to my paternal grandfather’s funeral having just recently connected with my father and his side of the family and the cruelty of only getting to meet Papa Tom when he was already in the late stages of Alzheimer’s and MS . The moment I realized I had an older brother who had known me as his baby sister for 3 years until I just disappeared when he was eight. The moment I realized I had a younger brother who didn’t even know I existed until he was much older.  The moment my mom truly decided, once and for all, to end her marriage and was on the phone asking me to support my brothers through the divorce and telling me all her fears and concerns and how she thought he was stalking her while I was at college 2 hours away and completely helpless and, honestly, dealing with my own conflicting feelings on the topic. The moment my husband intentionally slammed frying pans off the kitchen counter because he knew it would trigger me and then stood over me, a sobbing blob on the floor, screaming at me for being a weak bitch. The moment my husband shoved me against a wall and then told me I was “too sensitive” because of the environment in which I grew up and I “didn’t know what abuse was” due to that “over-sensitivity.” The moment I found out my Nana and Papa died. The moment I learned it was a murder-suicide and that my Papa, the man I loved and admired more than anyone on this entire planet had put a gun to my Nana’s head while she was eating a muffin and killed her before sitting down and turning the gun on himself and leaving it to my Uncle to find the bodies the next morning. The day I told my husband to leave. The moment I admitted myself to Dartmouth. The moment I was diagnosed Bipolar. The moment I learned I couldn’t keep my job…

That’s a snap-shot. There are more events, but I think I’ve successfully established that I’ve had my fair share of “Moments of Suck.” That’s what I like to call them. I’m not sure how else to classify them. They suck. They all suck. Plain and simple. Why list them out like this? Because I have been taught implicitly, and occasionally told explicitly, my entire life, to keep them to myself, and because of that, I have felt immense shame. I’ve been ashamed of myself and of my family. I’ve felt, inherently, that I am broken and worthless. I convinced myself very early on that all of this was a part of God’s plan and that I had no right to question it or to be angry about it. I’d been taught in school and church that God either allows things to happen to teach us a lesson or as a punishment for sin, and therefore, as a child, naturally assumed that that meant I deserved each and every one of these moments and had absolutely no right to complain about any of them: fertile ground for shame to grow.

These “Moments of Suck” are where developmental trauma comes from, my friend. It’s not a singular event. It’s not a moment in time. It’s a compilation of moments. Some scarier than others, but all, decidedly, Moments of SUCK. What do you do with these Moments of Suck? I’ve tried to do quite a bit  with them – I’ve tried to ignore them, I’ve tried to minimize them (“lots of people have endured much worse”), I’ve tried to trivialize them (“hey, shit happens, right?”), I’ve tried to numb them with alcohol (many, many nights with many, many bottles), I’ve tried to say, “Hey! I can use this shit to help other people! And if I can help enough of them, then maybe I can be ‘good’ enough to warrant an end to my own suffering.” I’ve rationalized it. I’ve written shitty poems about it thinking maybe I’d be the next Bukowski. I’ve justified it – remember the Barenaked Ladies song “The Old Apartment” and that one line “Why did you plaster over the hole I punched in the door?” That line was a lifesaver for me when I was a kid, because it normalized people getting angry and putting holes in the things and that made me feel a little less alone.

The only thing I haven’t truly done is felt it. In truth, I’ve spent my whole life pushing it all away, shoving it so deep down that any anger I feel is automatically labeled “bad” and “dangerous” because, in my experience, anger is dangerous. Hell, mild irritation is dangerous because it can lead to anger at the flip of a switch and anger and violence are synonyms in my fucked up brain. Any sadness I felt was automatically pathetic and unjustified – evidence of what a “weak bitch” I really was. I’ve overcompensated, taking a job in a difficult group home with clients prone to violent outbursts to prove to myself that I was not weak, to prove to everyone else that I could handle threats without breaking, and because it was familiar to me. I was feeding that inner child that needed to be around dangerous situations so that she could make them safe. Abuse is, and has been, my comfort zone. For as long as I can remember, managing a crisis has been my strength. Detach, be cool, do what needs to be done. That’s been my MO my entire life. But no more.

Now, I’m in a situation where I literally am incapable of detaching. I get hit with flashbacks and panic attacks almost daily. (This is improving slowly, but it’s still a fairly frequent issue.) I still have nightmares almost every night. My brain is screaming at me “We have to deal with this. You have to feel this. It’s eating you alive and we have to get ahead of it!” 

And that’s a huge part of what I’m working on now. What do you do with the Moments of Suck? You’ve got to dig in deep. Because they fester. They get infected. And that infection spreads and contaminates every aspect of your life. Until you cut away the rotten flesh and flush the wound and let the air hit it, it can’t even begin to heal. But I’ll tell you what, that surgery is a painful one. There’s no anesthetic; there’s no quick fix. And sometimes, it’s just you staring at the gauze trying to build up the courage to take the bandage off, and re-flush, and re-tape this gaping hole in your body. And you have to take careful steps not to get it infected again. This can mean pulling away from some people that you really care about, it can mean setting boundaries you’ve never set in your life, it can mean doing things that make you feel like a terrible human being. But it has to be done if you ever want to heal – no, really, if you want to survive. Because one way or another, that infection will kill you if you don’t get it take care of it.  But you can get it take care of it. You can heal. It’s work – it’s a lot of hard work. But it can happen. This is what I am learning, and slowly but surely, I am healing. If you’ve endured trauma, I hope that there is a little kernel of something resembling encouragement and hope in this post. I know that sometimes the Moments of Suck can seem to pile so high you can’t see past them, but there is something beyond them. I promise.