I don’t know what I was thinking

I don’t know what I was thinking.

I thought that I missed my home.  But home has changed, nothing is how it was.  This is not what I wanted nor expected.

I was so excited to come stay here again.  I thought I missed some slice of comfort that I can now see is long gone.

I hate living without my love.  Life just is not the same without him in it.  I can’t wait to see him in a few days.  Quite honestly, it’s the only thing holding me together right now.

I cried all day and all night the first few days I was here.  I think I may have missed the “idea” of “home” and some MAJOR alone time but the reality does not feel as good as the idea initially did.

Part of me wants to be here, I miss my mom and I wanted to take advantage of spending some time with her.  But she too, is different.  Which is fine, that’s life, people change, I am just not used to this new mom I am experiencing.  But then again, maybe it’s me.  I have been actively doing this EMDR Therapy for over a year now and I am just now realizing as I am typing this; it’s not home or mom that has changed, it’s me.  I have changed and I now know that I cannot flourish in this environment.  Too bad it took me bringing back 2 and a half van loads of stuff and partially setting myself up a room to realize that.

I am so grateful that I can see this change and make the decisions I need to make for me. Which is what I thought I was doing, but I was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

I feel like my younger-selves had too much control of the the bus for a few weeks there.  They steered me in a direction that, sure, 10 years ago may have been a solid option, but here, today, in 2017 I am not so sure that this is the right way for my life-bus to be driving.  Now that I am back [home] I see how much better I was getting away.  I mistook (my own personal) anger and confusion as a sign that I need to go and completely dismissed that I am in therapy and that my disassociate tendencies have been playing tricks on me.

I am not the same person I was 3 years ago and I may never be the same.  The need to accept that.  I can’t go back.  I can’t get the years and all the mistakes back.  I can’t right all my wrongs and I need to stop trying to fit myself into who I think I am or who I was.  I am who I am and that is okay.  My heart wants something different now.  I know that there may be a lot of mom lectures in my near future but I need to remember what I want and that I need to stay true to myself now.  I am a full fledged adult.  I hope she realizes I am trying to do what is best for me and it’s okay if she disagrees.  It’s not her call to make anymore.

I feel like a lunatic.  I thought this is what I wanted and as soon as I got here my heart sank.  I tried desperately to not led the dread set in but it indeed bombarded me like a punch to the face.  I love him and I don’t want to live over a half hour away.  I don’t sleep the same without him next to me, I don’t feel like myself, and I have next to no appetite.  I thought living separately was just what I needed.  I don’t really know what I was thinking.  I isolate myself more here.  I get agitated faster here.  I am more prone to anxiety here.  There’s too many damn cats here.  I can’t go anywhere because there is no where to walk to, I am too low on gas to get to town [unnecessarily] and I don’t know what I would go to town for right now anyways.

A few more days.  I have already promised myself  to take myself and my cat back for at least the weekend this coming Friday.  I am so excited for Friday I don’t even know if I will sleep the night before.  I have already started pre-packing.

I just want to go back.  I can’t wait to go back.  I need to go back.

Going Nowhere

My brain is tired.  I can’t focus.  I almost can’t even think.

I have been TRYING all day to streamline my 2 google accounts to one.  I have been trying to synchronize and change my contact email from my personal to a business account.  It is not going well.  But it could be worse.

I do not want 2 google accounts.  The first one I created way back when I had no idea what I was doing.  I had no concept or idea of branding really and now that I do I am so frustrated that I am unable to change some things and/or I do not understand how to or what I am even trying to do at times.

Ugh.  For now I think I am stuck working between 2 accounts.  I am afraid of having an “accident” and losing all my YouTube stuff.  I have thought about starting over.  I am still thinking of starting over but I don’t want to lose my screen name or come up with a new one.  Unless of course something clever just comes to me…. You never know.  Could happen.

Google is making me crazy.  All I want to do is change my main email address.  Why WHY must it be so hard.  All day.  I have spent ALL DAY working on this and I think I am done.  I may have even effed up my adsense account along the way.  Good grief. I need to stop thinking about this conundrum.

I feel like I am trying to get somewhere and I am getting nowhere.  I am going nowhere.  Except in circles.  I am going in circles.

Perhaps after I sleep on it I will be able to think with a clearer mind.

I have a therapy appointment tomorrow.  I both dread it and look forward to it all at the same time.  I look forward to getting out of the house and having some me-time but I hate that I have to spend it talking about my problems and my younger-jaded-selves.  I hate that I have to worry about parking every time I am there.  City parking is a nightmare and costs an arm and a leg for a measly hour or 2.

My mind is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

I hate the night before therapy days.  I always feel slightly all-over-the-place.  I want to go but I don’t want to go, I want to be finished, I want to be whole and happy and back to me again.  I had no idea it would take this long and I wonder if I will ever find me again.  Sometimes I feel like she is there and other times I feel like she is no longer me, and I am no longer her.  The days I can feel her are the better days.  The days that I feel as if I am no longer her are the days I feel the loneliest and the darkest.

I feel like a shell.

I feel like I am invisible.

I feel as though I might just take an adivan and go to bed.

Goodnight, always hoping for a good morning.

I just started Typing (and this came out)

I am sad.  Again.  The kind of sad that keeps me in bed all day, sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying.  The kind of sad that prevents me from eating or bathing because I just don’t care.

I had a pretty good weekend and Monday wasn’t that bad either.  I filmed for my channel iCarlaVlogs and even re-edited some old vlogs to put up because I felt they were actually really good and I did want to share them.

As far as I know I have a microblading appointment tomorrow morning that I WAS over-the-moon about.  Now I am worried that I screwed up the date or something (I have already send a confirmation text to my eyebrow professional).  I am also worried that I won’t have the $300 to pay for it.  I had some money saved but for some (STUPID) reason I thought I would be paying $200.  It’s funny to me how this all seemed so “do-able” yesterday, last week, even 2 months ago and NOW I am feeling like the walls are closing in.  The walls of disappointment are closing in on me and I wonder why I ever thought I could or should try to improve my appearance and ultimately, my self esteem.

Am I just a boob for wanting to try to make myself feel better ? And for thinking about YouTube again?  It always comes back to YouTube.  I thought I could improve my self esteem whilst also saving for and acquiring some better tools – lights, that DLSR I have wanted for 2 years now, that cool background I can’t stop thinking about.  I want to make videos and I LOVE making videos but that little yet loud voice of negativity stops me in my tracks every time.

I don’t even know why I listen to that little voice.  It’s not like it has been all that helpful.  I started making videos for a reason.  I wanted to be able to see my journey and I also wanted to start documenting more of my life so that I can look back at it in the years to come.  Show my [future] kids who I was before them, remind myself of the bittersweet journey through therapy and life, what did we look like? What were we doing? I also wanted to potentially reach out to anyone who may be dealing with the same thing(s) or even similar thing(s) that I am, let’s form a positive metal health community.  Let’s talk about it and share our experiences.

PHEW.  My eyebrow professional JUST text me back.  I do indeed have an appointment tomorrow, I did not miss anything.  WHAT A RELIEF.  Now I just have to locate the rest of the funds I need.  Ok.  Ya.  That makes me feel a little better.  I was beginning to picture myself not going anywhere tomorrow and having to stare at my terrible brows for who the hec knows how long.  Perhaps it’s because it seems too good to be true.  Maybe that is what my WHOLE problem is.

I am not really used to things working out well in life.  I kinda taught myself that whole disappoint-from-the-start (s0 you are never surprised when you are inevitably disappointed) sometime around 7th grade.  I can surmise that it came from many years of disappointments.  As a kid (and even into adulthood) I was not allowed to partake in any after school activities or clubs.  I was yelled at a lot especially if I tried to express my feelings, I feel like I was always in trouble for something even though looking back I really didn’t do anything wrong.  My mom just was not a happy camper back then, she had good reason but it still doesn’t excuse her lack of emotional presence and overall encouragement.  I spent half my weekends here, in Tiny Town, Canada but I spent the other half with my Dad, wherever he would be.  Newmarket, Toronto, Sharon, Woodbridge, I have stayed in all of these towns for various lengths of time.  This was my escape.  My escape into a more positive world where it seemed anything was possible.

My Dad and my grandparents supported my creativity and always encouraged me to be myself.  They never made me feel bad about being me.  When I would return home to Tiny Town (p.s. this is my made up name for my “town”),  I always felt like I was leaving something behind.  In a sense I guess I was.  I was leaving my true self behind.  My true self was safe with them.  Back in Tiny Town I would put my shield up and hide inside myself.  Things I wanted to do or create, places I wanted to go, all seemed so unattainable sitting in my bedroom in our old farmhouse.  I suppose one day I just gave up.  Before becoming a teenager I gave up.  So sick of getting excited for something only to be crippled with disappointment.  It happened ALL THE TIME.  So I said f*ck it.  I got you beat.  I will just stop expecting anything therefore I can stop feeling so shitty when nothing happens.

It took some time to get used to but by high school I was getting used to living in the land of don’t-expect-anything [positive].  By college I got so depressed thinking “what’s the point” that I dropped out of my Art & Design program a year and a half in.  This became on ongoing pattern for me. I would start something and inevitably it would cave because I would become so wrapped up in feeling like nothing-good-can-come-of-this.  It seemed anytime something positive would happen, Captain Negative was there to smash it.  That is what my mom turned into- Captain Negative.  I realize now it was a protective measure meant to inform and warn us but I got too stuck in the negative zone which mixed oh-so-well with not expecting much.

This problem has followed me into adulthood and ultimately prevent me from doing things-such as uploading videos or feeling that I deserve to fix my eyebrows (just quick examples).  And man am I sick of it.  I hate feeling this way.

I want to live.  I want to create.  I want to be me and not feel bad about it.

I need to be my own escape now.  My Dad is gone and my Grandma lives too far away to visit regularly.  I am an adult now.  I am no longer a child or a teenager.  I can and need to learn to support myself in a more positive way.  If something doesn’t work out SO WHAT?! It’s not the end of the world.  But it is a sad world, to live waiting to be disappointed.

 

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Thanks for the Music

I love music.  I love it so much that a good tune gives me goosebumps.  I love all kinds of different music too, a good song is a good song.

I have to thank my parents, in particular my Dad for all the music in my life.  My dad introduced me to Classic Rock long before I knew what it was.  He would make me tapes off his records so I could ride the [horrendous] school bus with tunes in my ear.  He bought me my first Sony Cassette Walkman which I used until I could not use it anymore.  He bought me my first CD Walkman in 7th grade.  It was one of those super-bright, super-awesome Panasonic anti-skip CD Walkmans.  I think I actually still have that one.  That puppy had me ‘jammin all through high school.  Thank god.  Without my music I may have gone insane.

I was a very shy and anxious child, teenager, and young adult.  I was also lucky enough to have been bullied since the first grade.  I don’t know what I did to invite the bullying.  I was always quiet and wanted nothing but some friends.  Somehow this made me different.

I wasn’t born here.  I was born in Newmarket, Ontario which is just north of Toronto.  I was born in the same hospital that I watched my father die in.

Newmarket was a lovely little town to [begin] growing up in.  I remember going to Grandma’s often, I remember Pre-School (and the sand in my mouth that I could NEVER seem to avoid no matter how far away I stayed away from that damn sandbox).  I remember trips to the Zoo and Canada’s Wonderland.  I remember being surrounded by love and care.  I also remember the night we left.

My parents never really got a long and by the time I was 3 it was long over.  My mom packed her Jeep up, put me in it, and drove for what seemed like forever into the darkness.  Little did I know I was headed straight for hell.

We moved 3 hours south to the Niagara Region.  I still remember arriving that night.  I knew instantly I hated it.  I hated the house.  I hated this new man I didn’t recognize.  Nothing felt right and after that night nothing was ever the same again.

My mom was too busy re-kindling a [bad] high school relationship to notice that I was falling deeper and deeper into despair.  I was a very lonely child.  I missed my father and my grandparents terribly.  I started to feel more like a burden, like I was more in the way then I was wanted.  All I wanted was a friend.  I made up a few imaginary ones.  They were nice, they always listened and never made me feel sad.  There was a time when my mother would not let my father see me.  To this day I don’t know if she even realizes how much that hurt both him and I.  She was becoming so blinded by her new boyfriend.

She married that boyfriend a few years later.  I was not a part of the wedding.  I got shipped off the the babysitters.  I was so confused and again, I did not get to see my father or stay with him.  My mom was busy planning her new life and I feel like my father and myself we just big problems she wanted to ignore.

When my (half) sisters came along I thought I would finally have some friends.  Someone to talk to and play with.  What I didn’t realize until they came home from the hospital is that they are babies and cannot talk to play yet.  I also learned that babies need a lot of attention from mom which meant even less attention for me.

It also meant there was more time for her “husband” to start playing with me.  By the time I was in Kindergarten I dreaded coming home.  I became a very terrified little girl.  I did not feel safe at home.  I never knew when he would come pluck me from my bed and take me to his to undress me and play with me for the night.  My mom would be out on some errand or with a sick sister at the hospital, he kept her busy enough so he could have me all alone.  This went on for years until one fateful July day in 1991 when I said something peculiar to my mom.  I must applaud that she did not waste one millisecond, she jumped into action immediately and called the Police.  I wasn’t even 8 years old yet.

I had to tell my story repeatedly to Police Officers, Investigators, and Family and Children’s Services.  It was all very frightening and embarrassing.  I did not know what he was doing was so wrong.  I hated it but I didn’t know.  I was just a child.

This incident turned my mom into a very angry, bitter, sleep deprived, and somewhat crazy woman.  Which is understandable, but she became more mean.  I was punished for any kind of emotional outburst.  I was made to feel bad for trying to express my feelings.  My mom was always yelling at me, thinking she was shaping me for the better when really she was yelling at a child who badly needed help.

By this time I was allowed to see my real father again.  It was glorious.  Through him I could escape.  Literally, mentally, and emotionally.  He took me away from this awful town on weekends.  We would go back to Newmarket where I felt safe and loved.  Nobody there made me feel bad about myself.  They encouraged me to be me, they told me I was their Princess, I felt wanted.  My grandma knit me sweaters that I would wear when my dad took me ice skating in the Winter.  In the summer Dad would take me to Wasaga Beach and we’d go camping by by Algonquin Park.  And there was always music.

We were Rockin’ everywhere we went.  We drove to Ottawa (7+ hours) to see my cousin play squash.  We drove the Trans-Canada Hwy East all the way to Cape Breton to see Grandma and Grandpa.  We flew West to Alberta for Christmas ’99/NYE 2000.  There was always music a long the way.  He introduced to me Nazareth, ACDC, The Doors, The Rolling Stones … the list is endless.  The music made me feel free.  It still does.

It wasn’t long before I had my own music collection which became my armour and my saviour.  When I was sad and lonely, music was there.  When I missed Dad our favourite albums were (and are) a trot down memory lane.  When I felt no one understood me, music did.  Music has been my friend since I was a child.  It is the only constant positive I have had though out my entire life.

A friend’s mom once told my mom “Carla idolizes Rock Stars”, as if there were cause for concern.  Yes, I do idolize Rock Stars but not because I desire to be them per se but because their talent and music has helped me immensely.  If not for the music I don’t know that I could have lived through the last few decades.  I cannot thank my father enough for the music.  He let my ears taste many different types of music and gave me the tools to listen.  I also cannot thank him enough for leaving me his stereo, he knew I wanted it and I do cherish it.  It is priceless to me for so many reasons.

As I continue to struggle music is here to comfort me.  To tell me that I am okay, I am not alone.  It makes me feel sublimely happy to hear a good tune loud and proud.  For a brief time I can forget all the sadness and negativity that I am trying to work through and just be me.

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My Dad died in July of 2013 from complications due to Pulminary Artery Disease.   He was 53. There are so many things I will never get to say especially THANK YOU.  Thank you Dad, for the music that will always be in my heart. 
  • FEATURED PHOTO is my own creation.  It’s a finished project from my Graphic Design Days, created for Typography class circa 2003.

The Fighter in Me

The fighter in me is tired.

I don’t want to fight anymore.

I feel as though I have been battling my entire life and I am sick of it.  I am sick of hiding my true self and my true feelings.  I am sick of being someone else just to please those around me.  I want to live my life.

I am sick of feeling bad about myself for wanting to be myself.  I am sick of the anxiety and depression eating away at me, always reminding me it’s there and that it can and WILL ruin anything and everything.  I am sick of feeling like “the little engine that can’t”.

I have been off of work (and on Disability because of my illness) for over 2 years now.  It’s almost up and it worries me.  Part of me wants an extension, part of me doesn’t.  Disability, though helpful, really sucks.  I seem to have the case-worker who never calls me back and doesn’t seem all that willing to help me.  I want to be helped.  I want to be better.  Why do I always get the shitty case worker?

When I was first off work and looking into Disability, I had to temporarily go on Welfare whilst I waited (over a YEAR!!!) for my Disability claim to be accepted and begin.  While on Welfare I had a case worker – a different one then I have now.  I went on Welfare to get Disability (this is what they tell you to do) so I could focus on getting better and become a strong member of society.  My first meeting with my Welfare case worker I was told to “go on medication and try harder”.  Thank you.  I NEVER thought of that! I haven’t already been over-medicated, over-worked, and out of options.  I was literally treated like dirt on this woman’s shoe.  This is what we get for trying to help ourselves???  To add insult to injury I had to pretty much tell this woman against my will that I had been victim of sexual abuse as a child, my mom is crazy (not literally speaking) and my dad is dead.  I will never forget driving home from that meeting.  I cried the entire way home.  I seriously considered slamming my beloved red Cavalier into a telephone pole.  End it.

I perservered and I indeed was accepted to receive Disability payments until early 2017.  Great! The bullshit is over.  WRONGO!!!  I literally have to chase down my case worker via telephone if I have so much as a simple question.  I have had to get my local MP involved because I felt as though I was being completely ignored.  Here I am, a few months later, being ignored AGAIN.  I have questions I need answers to.  I have been calling and leaving messages for over 2 weeks and have yet to receive a call back.  Now I know not every case worker is like this, I just seem to have this incredible luck.  I try to help myself and I get these assholes who make me feel like I have taken 2 to 12 steps back.  I went on disability to help myself.  Is that not what it is for?

I have been crying all afternoon and some of the night.  I feel like I have completely screwed myself with all of this.  In a few months I will be kicked off.  I no longer have my beloved car.  I had to sell it because I needed the money more at the time.  The confidence I was hoping to gain is non existent.  I find myself wondering why the hell I even bothered trying [to help myself].  The fear, anxiety, and depression still cripples me and I am so sick of it.  I am sick of it all.

Something needs to change.  The system sucks all the way around.  I know this from a lot of experiences.  It’s not right.  We tell our children “it will get better”.  Why are we lying to them?  How does it get better?  You become an adult where nothing gets better.  The bullying doesn’t end, it just appears in other places.  Grow a thicker skin? Fuck you.  Learn some compassion and have some understanding.  My brain is already against me.  I don’t need validation from assholes that it’s right.

When my dad died in 2013 I promised myself I would make my life what I wanted because life is too short not to.  I still believe that but I am tired.  I have spent over a decade making decisions based on fear and agoraphobia (and what my mother will say but that’s another story for another day…).  I am tired of the fear holding me back.  I am tired of being afraid. I don’t want to cry anymore.

I feel as though I am either giving up or just starting to move forward.  I am honestly not sure which it is.  I have not given up yet but if I can’t get this ball rolling I can’t promise I won’t [give up].  I can’t live the next 10+ years the way I lived the last 10+ years.  I can’t because I won’t make it if I do.

 

FOR THE LOVE OF OUTFITS

I have loved putting together outfits since as long as I can remember.  Even in Kindergarten I longed to be in control of my wardrobe.  I still remember some of the outfits my mom used to make me wear – the good, the bad, and the ugly.  We just don’t share the same taste in all facets of fashion.

In High School I spent my spares in the library mulling over any fashion magazine I could find.  Drinking in the style.  I would then sketch out outfits in my sketchbook, wether I had the item in my closet or not, if I had a cool outfit idea I had to sketch it out.  I was overjoyed when we learned a little bit of pattern making in 9th grade Home Ec. I was tickled pink to make my first pair of pants – a forest green pair of wide-leg track pants with an elastic waist (it was the late 90’s and I was having a “wide-leg” phase).  I learned to crochet too, creating scarves and accessories for myself.  I haven’t sewn any wear-ables in ages but I continue to crochet from time to time.

In College I took Art & Design as well as Makeup Artistry courses.  Though I enjoyed these programs and I was and am able to apply much of what I have learned to fashion it wasn’t my passion.  I had originally wanted to attend Ryerson University in Toronto for Fashion Design.  By the time it was time for me to go to College I could not fathom moving out as my anxiety had begun to take hold.  I don’t really regret it as I know myself and myself just couldn’t do it.  Perhaps I should have made myself try anyways but whatever, it is what it is.  I have found something that both brings me the joy and feeling of passion I have been searching for AS WELL AS helping me to keep my mind busy and off of the million and one anxious thoughts that swirl in my brain.

OUTFIT THERAPY.

When I am picking out outfits, planning videos, filming, and editing I feel good.  I can get lost in it and the hours fly by.  I feel content.  It makes me feel good about myself.  I don’t worry or overthink anything, I just do what my creative self feels like and it is fantastic.  I make videos out of the pure enjoyment of filming and editing and I don’t do it for anyone else but myself.  Yes, I share them to YouTube but inevitably I am doing them for me.  If you happen to watch and like them then that is an added BONUS :D.

I feel proud of myself when I see what I have created.  And I love knowing that one day, when I am not here, my videos will be, or that in 10, 20, 30+ years I can look back at myself “in living colour” and remember that fragment of time.  A fragment of time where I am just lost in the moment of doing what I love.  I am not sad, depressed, anxious, or angry.  I am happy, content, and ambitious.

I plan to continue filming and blogging because it makes me feel like the person I want to be.  For those who read, watch, follow, and subscribe I thank you SO MUCH for sharing an interest in me and my journey.  I appreciate your support more then you will ever know.

fortheloveofoutfits2Fortheloveofoutfits

CLICK HERE TO CHECK OUT MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL. The link will open in a new window or tab for your viewing pleasure.

I don’t really know why I continue to be drawn to the YouTube community.  Every time I try to stop or I think I am absolutely, 110% done with it I end up picking up my camera again.  Every time I pick up that camera from the moment I turn it on I am engaged and focused on something that I love.

I love filming.  I love editing.  I love learning about filming and editing.  I love learning new things.  I love music and being able to put music in my videos.  It is fun and it brings back a feeling I had forgot I could have.

Quotable Quotes | Led Zeppelin

quotable quotes 2

“Standing on a hill in my mountain of

dreams telling myself it’s not as hard,

hard, hard as it seems”.

~ Led Zeppelin | Going to California

Ain’t that the truth.  For me anyways.

Even now I feel as thought I am standing on a hill, a very small one, in my mountain of dreams.  I keep telling myself it is not as hard as it seems.  Life is not as hard as it seems.  I keep thinking and hoping that if I work hard and keep going that I will reach the mountain.  I will reach my dreams.

I do not know how I will get there but at this point in time I am trying not to concern myself with the how.  The how will come.  At this point I need to worry about me, my metal health, and getting through therapy so I can live my life to its fullest.  There are many little hills to stand on before reaching my mountain.  I must reach them all so to ensure that I will be ready, willing, and capable when I reach my dreams.

My dreams are not huge.  Really.  I just want to be happy.  I want to love and be loved.  I want to work and make enough money to live off.  I don’t want to be constantly worried that something bad is going to happen.  I want to move out of my mothers basement into a place that is ours (by boyfriends &mine).  I can’t wait to feel what it is like to wake up and not feel as thought I am mentally and creatively suffocated.  To wake up and begin my day without running into triggers before I have even had my morning tea.  These triggers range from anxiety, depression, and panic – sometimes all 3 at the same time which makes for quite the EXPLOSIVE morning let me tell you.  It’s also exhausting and embarrassing but I can’t help it sometimes.

My bud can only bloom so far under these conditions.  It will only reach a certain point before it will stop and stall.  I feel like I am already beginning to stall.  At this point (July 2016) I wanted to be further along in not only therapy but in life as well.  I have been off [from work] for 3 years now, I had hoped these years would have been more productive, on my part, creatively.

I want(ed) to do more about mental health and the issues and stigma that surrounds it.  I wanted to create an example, a documentation, a smiling face that says “hey! it’s ok! You are not your Mental Illness! You can do this!”.  I want(ed) to create a community of care where we can share our plights and talk them over.  Help each other out and lift each others spirits in a positive and non-judgemental environment.  If you are in therapy we can encourage each other to keep at it – sometimes therapy is great and sometimes it sucks.  If your not in therapy for whatever reason that is cool too, maybe you have your own way of coping and that is awesome.  I am not here to preach therapy but I would like to promote positivity, talk about mental health, and ultimately learn to love and accept myself.

My mom has often said “go with what you know”.  After battling PTSD over half my life I feel that it is something I know very well.  I know what it’s like to be misdiagnosed and medicated (ahem … overmedicated).  I know what it’s like to not be able to go to work or school because you are so anxious or depressed you simply cannot get out of bed NEVER MIND leave the house.  I know what it’s like to feel like you are crazy because the “norms” just can’t understand what is wrong.  Therapy. Oh my lanta do I know therapy.  I’m on my 3rd therapist now, so far she has stuck but we have had some fraying moments.

I know a lot about dealing with anxiety and depression and I don’t know what else to do with all of my information except share it.  Share my story, share my journey, for not only you, the reader, but for myself to look back on when I [presumably] reach that damn mountain.