Tag Archives: psychotic break

Facebook Memories

If you’re on Facebook, you’re probably familiar with how Facebook likes to share memories, showing you pictures and status updates that you’ve posted on any given day in years past.  It is mostly really fun to see what was going on in your life.  I, personally, love seeing old pictures of my pets and my friends, and thinking about the fun nights I had over Facebook in law school (without Facebook, lawyers from the class of 2011 would not have made it).

But there are times when I don’t necessarily want to remember, Facebook.

On January 23, Facebook reminded me that it had been 3 years since my Gram passed away.  I had a good cry, I posted a sappy post, went on a walk to process my sad feelings and saw a hummingbird in the desert (which I’m currently convinced is my Gram’s way of saying hello these days).  It worked.  Remembering my Gram’s passing was bittersweet; full of missing her and wishing she could see me now, but remembering how much of her lives on in me.  Okay, so Facebook memories can remind me of my Gram any day.

I still wish I could be selective about what I’m reminded of, though.  Maybe Facebook could come up with a shitty life events filter or something.  Of course, it may not have even helped with this next one considering that I had intentionally, selectively, mostly forgotten about it.

On February 4, I was reminded that around this time in 2014, I had a second weird psychotic episode that I’ve hardly discussed with anyone, even though everyone basically saw it happen this time.  After quitting my job at the big law firm, going on my round-the-country road trip, and pouring every bit of myself into launching my new law firm at the end of 2013 and into the new year, I lost my mind again.  It was maybe a period of about 48-72 hours without sleep, endlessly searching the internet, convinced I had broken it, writing this crazy manifesto that I still can’t bear to read, and sending “coded” messages to all the friends on Facebook that I felt close to at the time.

Yep.  Facebook memories reminded me that I sent a bunch of psychotic messages to my friends.  Lovely!

I posted a status update blaming it on Facebook, which seems to have gone over okay with most of my friends (except maybe one).  But it was me.  I was only about a year and a half into recovery from my childhood trauma, burned out and running away from myself on my road trip, I came back and immediately poured myself into my work and avoiding everything rebelling, but then I caught up with myself again and lost my mind.  No wonder my business failed didn’t go so well the first time I tried it.  No wonder I could barely motivate myself to get off of the couch for months after.  I have so much shame about it, and Facebook reminded me.

Thankfully, Facebook also reminded me how much I have grown since.

I honestly feel like such a different person than I was those two years ago.   I have worked really hard in therapy to move beyond so many things and it is paying off in my life.  I not only AM lighter (if you didn’t read my post yesterday, though currently stuck in a stall, I am -105lbs now!), I FEEL lighter emotionally.  My spirit is freer these days because of all of my hard work.  I am freer.

I do still fear a return of the psychosis, though.  Even though this second time around was far milder and far less damaging, it still sucked; a lot.  I’m still incredibly embarrassed and and carrying some pretty intense shame because of both of the times that my brain short circuited.  If it happened twice, it can happen a third or fourth or fifth time.  I fear being permanently disabled by my mental health issues.  If my brain can fail me in such dramatic ways, how will I ever be able to be a successful human being like I want to?  What if I’m not cut out for being a lawyer?  What if I cannot actually be a business owner?  I could go on, but I don’t need to.

Definitely some things I need to talk about in therapy.  I have so many good things going on and, despite the bullshit thrown my way this year so far, I feel pretty good emotionally, so I hate to get too much back into the serious stuff.  Finally telling you is pretty helpful (and remarkable, especially since a year-old blog post about the same subject sits in my drafts), but I’m sure telling Sam will help me tie a little bow on this and put it up on a shelf.

No more shame, damnit!  Well, at least a little less shame for now.  Thank God for therapy this week!

He’s Getting Married

Good for him.  I’m happy for him, I really am.  I’m also really angry at him, and at myself.

After three years of persistent flirting, overcoming insecurities, and navigating busy (and opposite) schedules, the stars aligned and we came together.  He rolled down a hill, hit his head, and finally told me he was crazy about me.  We were inseparable after that.  About eight months in, we were in love.  At least I was.  I had only been in love like this once before and I couldn’t have been happier.  We were starting to talk seriously about the future.  Moving in, more?

I thought I had found the guy I was going to spend my foreseeable future with.  Then she went crazy and I started to lose my mind.

A couple of months later, when things were at their worst for me, he and I had a psychosis fueled meltdown before he disappeared.  I can’t blame him for it, though.  I was the one that had a psychotic break.  He didn’t handle it well, that’s for sure, but it’s unreasonable for me to expect that he would have handled that situation like a pro.. He did his best, but he was severely ill equipped.  I probably would have been too.

We reconciled about six months after the dust settled and we had a chance to really talk about things.  Trying to date again, even tentatively, wasn’t easy for either of us. Unfortunately, while my heart opened back up again, his feelings were gone.  My issues scared him away.

I scared him away.

Now he’s getting married.  Not to someone new, though.  He’s marrying someone he dated both before and after me – twice.  One of us was always runner up and it turns out it was always me.  My dysfunction, my anxiety and depression, my psychotic break, my general fucked-up-ness put me there.  I can’t lie.  It sucks.  Thankfully, I know he’s not right for me and that makes me feel a little better, but it’s still hard.

Him getting married really just reminds me of that shitty time in my life when I was powerless over my thoughts.  I feel foolish, even now, for how much of an ass I was.  I’m reminded yet again of the bottomless depression and terrifying anxiety.  It draws attention to the sheer effort  that it has taken me to make it back to this place, as fractured and tenuous as it is.  It reminds me that it could happen again and that I will do anything to prevent it.  It reminds me that I am alone again; that I have always been alone.