The Chasm in my Chest

Once again I find myself being swallowed up by the darkness which feels ten times darker since I had been recovering so well and so swiftly only a month ago.  I have begun to ride on crests of panic and troughs of depression and all the while I can’t believe I am back here again.

I suppose it was being home that really contributed to the relapse. Being back in a place that hasn’t changed even though I have, where people aren’t sure who you are anymore so they treat you the same as before. All of a sudden old thought patterns and behaviours begin to reassert themselves and they take hold. It was the endless spiralling thoughts that were the worst. It was like it was a year ago and all I could think about was the relationship I had been in and then panic and desperation began to eat away at my new confidence. The endless stream of negative thinking reasserted itself and try though I might, I couldn’t disrupt it.

Part of the problem was that the support I had built for myself was thousands of miles away. I was able to go to some CrossFit boxes nearby and for those hour long sessions, the thoughts stopped and it was again just me and the WOD. Outside of the box it all started up again as though I had only pushed the pause button.

When I returned to uni it was only for a few days and I left again to travel around Scandinavia and Europe. My days were filled with all the things that make me happy. Exploring different cities, seeing new places, meeting and speaking with people, trying new foods, practicing other languages, and navigating new terrain. The days were perfect. I didn’t feel alone enveloped with the happiness of each new experience. But then the day would inevitably give way to night and I would make my way back to my room and then I would be alone. The stark contrast to the fulfilment I had during the day with the emptiness that came at night was like a punch in the stomach.

I tried explaining the feeling of intense emptiness to a friend.

“It’s like a giant chasm is in my chest. It’s like that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where he is standing on the edge of that huge bottomless pit. It’s like that pit is in my chest, it’s empty and it’s physically very painful.”

When I finally came back to uni and I had nothing to look forward to but a research paper and the uncertain future. I crashed. I had two days until my therapy appointment and I felt like I couldn’t handle the extremes in thoughts. It was in that moment that I reached out to some friends on Facebook. It was like sending an SOS from a sinking ship. I was lucky to receive some immediate responses and encouragement; enough to spur me on to begin work on a PhD proposal and to make it through to my appointment.

As I sat there, crying and revealing past trauma that I had only just begun to recognise, the progress I had made over May and June felt like a joke my mind had played on me. It was as though I hadn’t been getting better at all. My frustrations with personal relationships exploded several times and I realised how angry I’ve been feeling. Angry because how I am today is the result of emotional abuse and the psychological trauma of an assault.

This isn’t who I was supposed to be.

My therapist couldn’t give me definitive answers; he couldn’t give me specific tasks that would get me on the right path to finding a meaningful relationship with someone. I was adamant. If I didn’t feel like I was making progress, I wouldn’t be able to function. I needed to feel like I was doing something to get better. He gave me some things to work on and though that should have been my last appointment, I made another for the following week.

It seems that we really are the sum of our experiences. Our interactions with others shape our thoughts and feelings and they have the power to cause immense pleasure or debilitating suffering. In the darkest moments it is often difficult to remember the light. It seems that the whole world has always been dark and always will be. I find it almost impossible to remember what I felt like only a month ago. I find it difficult to remember what my days felt like while I was in Europe. It’s only the intense isolation I seem to be capable of recalling. Depression truly is a bastard. It robs you of your good memories. It tries to destroy them. Soon you don’t even feel like fighting it anymore. And I think for today, I need to just accept a defeat. I am hopeful that tomorrow will bring the light again. 

Confidence Building

For the first time I think ever, I have begun to feel comfortable in my own skin. I’m not sure what to attribute this to. Is it CrossFit, CBT, becoming more vocal about causes I care about, being successful in grad school? Are these the causes or the results of this new feeling? I wonder if it can be a simple as cause and effect. Perhaps it’s a far more organic process.

I think it may have started with CrossFit. After six months I have begun to see and feel the physical changes that come with being fit. I have more energy, I’m stronger, and I feel successful because of the progress I have made. Becoming part of a community outside of grad school has also helped immensely. I think too often it is easy to become wrapped up in the small bubble of academia and you begin to forget about the wider world. As I have been able to attend classes more regularly, I feel like my progress has accelerated and I have felt even better. When I’m there, I am able to focus on just what I am doing. I have no thoughts about the next assignment, finding a job, or my personal relationships. It’s me and the WOD.

I started CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) a month or so ago. I’ll admit that I was dubious as first. I’ve done therapy before and I found it less than useful. I remember speaking for an hour about how awful I felt just to have the therapist say at the end, well I think you’re making progress see you next week. Progress? I would raise my eyebrow a la Skeptical Spock and walk out of the room. This has been different. CBT works on identifying thought and behavioural patterns. Once you are aware of these patterns you can begin to work on changing them. As a highly achievement oriented individual, having assignments and goal posts has helped me a lot. I think it has also appealed to my analytical and problem solving nature. Knowing where my patterns came from, what they are, and having tools to combat them has given me much more confidence in my ability to break them.

It was through CBT that I was able to identify just when, where, and why I began to suffer from depression. Turns out it had very little to do with me. It wasn’t because I was bad, awful, or broken. It was because I have had some truly terrible people in my life who told me I was those things. I started to believe them and VOILA! Depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and self-destructive cycling. Realising this has made me want to fight against elements in society that promote negative feelings especially against women. (The origins of my problem are rooted in being on the receiving end of some misogynistic rhetoric and actions.) I recently wrote an article describing the types of misogyny and sexual violence faced by women at my university replete with tips on how to stop that kind of thing in its tracks. I also took part in a study on a similar topic. Feeling that I am helping to change hearts and minds has again given me much more confidence and more than that, it has given me a goal. (Remember that achievement oriented thing?)

Even in my darkest moments this past year, I still managed to pull myself through enough to continue to achieve high marks in grad school. When I first started, I desperately wanted to achieve a first. It was the goal I set for myself and somehow I have managed to stay on track. For someone who used to believe she was quite stupid, I’d say this is a pretty great thing. I, like a lot of my friends suffer from imposter syndrome. When I first was accepted at university, I really thought that they had sent me the wrong email and that in a week or so I’d be getting a correction through the post. Then when I got here, I felt like I was probably out of my depth, that I was, well, an imposter. I think I’ve managed to shake that feeling finally. I’m not here because of a mistake; I’m here because I deserve to be here.

The confidence I’ve gained over the past month has been really amazing. I can’t point to one thing I’ve done or read to say, “That’s it. That’s when I had the epiphany!” I think it has all been a process. I vowed total all-out war on depression and anxiety and so far that holistic approach seems to be working. I’m smart enough to know I’ll still have setbacks and that those days will be tough. Those are the days that I’m going to make sure I get to the box for a WOD, or the days where I take a really long hike through some beautiful countryside, or the days when I take a look through the CBT exercises I’ve done, or the days when I read one of my favourite books, look at my marks, or write another article. I guess the point is, I’m not going to lose hope again. I’ve got too many reasons not to. 

Finding the Wall

I was speaking to one of my closest friends over Google Hangouts about trying to confront the anxiety and bouts of depression I have fought with for the past thirteen years. Even as I type that word “thirteen” I cannot quite comprehend the true length of time I have been engaged in this battle. It’s a battle that has not gone without casualties. I have lost people who I absolutely adored but who could not understand the daily struggle I was going through. I also have battle scars. They are invisible and visible; mental and emotional damage that I have tried to suppress beneath a practiced layer of positivity and affirmation just as I have on occasion hidden the physical scars beneath a layer of make-up. It is a very real fight this war against myself. So as I mentioned the new tactics I was now employing he startled me by suggesting I begin writing a blog about overcoming anxiety. There are few occasions when I am truly stunned. I was truly stunned. I couldn’t imagine how my story was any different from the thousands of those fighting their own wars. I let the suggestion settle into my thoughts where it steadily ate away at my doubts. Then this morning I began to feel the first pangs of a panic attack, something I had gone without for about three weeks when it occurred to me: write. Write, write, write. And so I began to write this. My first blog entry for Finding the Wall.

I suppose I should explain the title of this blog. As part of my total war on anxiety and depression, I began doing CrossFit five months ago. I was never one to work out in any sense before then; walking to and from lectures was more than enough physical exertion for me. A friend managed to convince me to give it at least two weeks and I was hooked after one class. There is a movement in CrossFit called Hand Stand Press Ups. It’s very much how you would imagine it. You do a handstand against the wall and then do press ups, your head touching the mat then your arms extending fully. I hate being upside down. It’s uncomfortable and I don’t feel in control of my body. The biggest problem I have had though was what my coach kept referring to as finding the wall. You have to go for the handstand and find the wall with your legs and trust that it will be there. The trouble is I don’t trust that it is there. I am put off by the uncertainty of whether or not it is there. I am put off by the uncertainty that if I ever do find the wall, I won’t be able to support my weight with my arms or that I won’t know what to do once I’m there. Uncertainty. That’s really what anxiety is all about. It’s about not knowing and that not knowing then eats at you. It erodes your confidence, your stability, and you’re left with that painful hollow stomach feeling.

I haven’t found the wall yet; not in CrossFit and not in life but I am determined to do it. This is my journey to the wall.