After Life

Moved to tears. Feeling feelings in depths I didn't know existed. Watching another man's pain after he's lost something that meant the world to him. Seeing him wrestle. Seeing him fall. Seeing him hurt others in his pain. Seeing him begin to find life again. Then fall again and cause more pain to others. Feeling his feelings, hurting with him, yet finding myself so caught up in the story that I can't help but cry for joy when he finds the slightest bit of hope and beauty and happiness. 

He feels helpless and hopeless. He feels like there's no reason to go on. And if he does, he can live however the f*** he wants. It's not important who he hurts in the process. 

But that's not where the story ends. No. We get to watch as he struggles. As he finds friendship in the most unlikely of places. As he finds himself smiling despite himself. We get to see the care of humanity as others care deeply for him even though he hasn't done the least bit for them. 

We see the shift in him. The shift that happens over time, filled with relapses and pain. But the shift that means there's more. That means it's not all hopeless.
Watching him rediscover that hope, that spark, that desire to live. Seeing him realize he's been an ass. Watching him become aware that others struggle, too, that we never know someone's story until we invest the time to listen and be. Listening to him express appreciation for those who never gave up on him. To see the power in his first steps to healing. And to see the impact that has on those who love him. 

"Hope is everything"

I haven't been this moved to tears by a show for as long as I can remember. He's in so much pain. And his story is so powerful that it's planting sobs deep inside my throat that are surging their way to the surface. Tears streaming down my face. But why? I'm not really sure. 

I just know that there is so much life in this show. So much pain. So much beauty. So much hopelessness that's illuminated by the slightest spark of hope. There's laughter and heartache. There's levels of emotion I don't even have words to adequately express. All I know is that life can be so ugly and so hard and feel so hopeless. But happiness is not completely out of reach. Healing isn't impossible. Joy isn't forsaken. 

I don't even have words for how deeply this is moving me. It's reaching into the depths of my being and awakening something that I wasn't even aware of. Powerfully touching the depths of my soul, resulting in a flood of emotions rushing out through my eyes.

Maybe it's because I relate to it. Maybe because they just did a good job writing and making it. Maybe it's because life really is this dynamic ride filled with change and pain and redemption. 

Maybe, just maybe, there is life to be lived in the midst of the kingdom coming. 

Storms

Storms can ruin our hopes and plans, sometimes even causing destruction and pain.
But it seems that growth and new life always seem to come after the rain.

Running Thoughts

My job isn't exactly a walk in the park.
But I've recently realized that it's not as impossible as I felt up till now.
It's more like an easy to medium run.
But before I was carrying an 80lb rucksack that kept getting heavier with the increasing stressors and crises and uncertainty. But I didn't realize I was carrying the rucksack.
I just thought I was weak, that the weight was a part of my body.
You see, I had a distorted view of reality.
So what you saw as easy and that I was unnecessarily freaking out, I saw as a race I could never win.
Each thing weighed me down more, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move forward.
Maybe you saw the rucksack and tried to tell me to take it off, but I saw it as a part of my own being. Therefore I couldn't understand when you tried to help, I just thought I had to fix myself.
I saw the burden I was becoming for those of you who were walking or jogging with apparent ease. My complaining and wet blanket of an aura was cramping your style. I saw that but felt hopeless.
I was barely surviving.
Then, when I had a that conversation, it was the first time I had the realization that maybe the extra 100 lbs wasn't normal. Maybe it didn't need to be there. Wasn't inherently a part of me. That was the first time in a long time that my twisted reality came momentarily into a blurry focus.
I had to get the rucksack off.
But I didn't know how.
I didn't have the strength or tools to take it off myself.
I searched for someone who could help, but my mobility during the crisis made that a difficult order to fill. I just desperately wanted help. Now I could more clearly see the toll it was taking on relationships, but I felt helpless. Hopeless. It seemed I'd never get it off. Even if I left my job, I'd just be carrying it on with me to the next one.
No, I needed to be free from the extra burden, to find my lost self, to be lucky and free again as I uncovered the me underneath.
So after bouncing around, crying out for help, I finally found some. I started the journey of learning to take it off, throw off the weight and be lucky and free. Medication. Therapy. Prioritizing healing, investing time in me. Meditation, reading, exploring contemplation. Seeing the cognitive distortions that contributed to building the weight I had internalized as something wrong with me.
After several weeks of hard work, surrendering this healing work to a God who is able, I think I'm learning to taste a life where I am capable of running.
The rucksack is gone.
Yes, I've got to relearn proper form, retrain my back to practice proper posture, get back in shape and  learn exercises to help prevent it from reappearing, but now I can finally look back and see the reality of the situation.
No wonder it seemed impossible.
No wonder dread and discouragement followed me like a lost puppy.
I didn't realize it until recently, but that wasn't the real me. I had become one with the extra weight, coming to resent and hate who I had become. Feeling incapable of doing anything under the sun. It weighed me down and deeply affected those closest around.
And for that I'm so sorry.
But now, I'm relearning to be lucky and free.

April 24. I'm learning.

Accelerated Resolution Therapy. ART. Cognitive Behavior Therapy. CBT. Medication. Meditation. Reading and workbooks. Reflection and long walks. Savoring and good talks. Letting go of perfection. Allowing myself to be human. These are a few of the things that have been recently bringing me healing.

I'm my own worst critic. I have unrealistically high standards for myself, and at my worst, I project those onto others as well. I generally absorb all of the blame, thinking everything is my fault and I need to do better in this exhausting game. I move so fast through life, moving cities and countries quite often, never really allowing roots to grow or the ground to soften. I have so many experiences that have subconsciously shaped me, but I haven't taken the time to process them and see their reality.

I'm learning to slow down.
To breathe.
To be present in the moment and recognize the beauty.

I'm learning that it's not always my fault. That yes, of course there are things I could've done differently, but instead of beating myself up for that, I can use those as opportunities for growth. I'm learning that sometimes the environment and situation has more of an impact on relationships that I'd like to admit. I'm realizing that my stress boxes have been maxed out, and anyone else in my situation would probably also be breaking down. I'm realizing that mental health is so important and so vital to health in other areas of life. I'm realizing that it's okay to take time for yourself. To invest in yourself so that you can be a better friend and help for others down the road. I'm learning that I don't have to have it all figured out right now. That change is an inevitable part of life, and it's not necessarily a bad thing.

April 24. Hope.

It's been three weeks since I finally started getting the help I so desperately needed. Originally embarassed and ashamed by my possible need for medication, I'm beginning to realize that it's okay. It's okay to ask for help. To come to the realization that I can't do it myself. It's okay to recognize that my brain chemicals might have been out of whack and medication and therapy could help get it back on track. While I was on antidepressants at the tail end of college, I got off them a couple years ago, thinking I was in a more stable place and didn't need them any more. Maybe I was right, maybe my thinking was premature, but I went to grad school and entered survival-mode, so I couldn't really tell anymore. But then this job started, and I started to experience something I had never felt before. Panic, anxiety, but I thought it was just stress and I needed to try harder to care less and be lucky and free. But I couldn't shake the thoughts, and it started affecting all aspects of my life, causing relationships to suffer and my soul start to die. I was ashamed that I was struggling, for my job looked so easy on paper. I shouldn't be feeling like I do, just try harder, it should be fun, what's wrong with me? Those were a few of the thoughts that prevented me from sleep.

I kept thinking it would get better with time. They always say a teachers first year with kids is super difficult, right? But I knew something was off, I just didn't have words for it. I had never even considered mental health or anxiety could be at the root of it. I just knew that I had become someone I didn't like, obsessing about work, breaking down often, feeling hopeless and helpless to do anything about it. I could see how it was affecting other aspects of my life, but I had no idea what to do since all my efforts just ended in greater discouragement and frustration with the ever worsening situation. Then I had a conversation.
Someone suggested a name.
And that suggestion started the process that led me to feel a little more sane.
Anxiety. It sounds like anxiety. I'd never thought of that. I had always imagined it to be only made up of panic attacks (which I had had several but just wrote it off as the stress getting to me).
So I started looking into what that really means. And I started trying to get help, but the displacement from the crisis made that quite the challenge. Eventually, I had another conversation that allowed me to see that there was hope. Things didn't always have to be like this. I just didn't know how to get there. Later, after returning to the States, still unable to go back to my own place, I had my first session of therapy. I've never been to therapy before, maybe because of stigma or finances or lack of opportunity, but I knew I couldn't get better by myself. My own will is strong, but didn't have the tools or wisdom to more itself along. That session was affirming, but the lady said the first step was to get on medication. The vicious loop of obsessive thoughts and anxiety and depression had to be broken to enable therapy and other work to be done successfully. Not knowing any different, I thought that's what I had to do, so I started the long search for a doctor in the frustrating American healthcare system. After hours of calling, I finally got through. They referred me elsewhere, and I went to a clinic to walk-in and get another appointment scheduled. A week later, I had that telehealth meeting and they prescribed medication. I was still ashamed and embarrassed to have "given in" to taking medication, but the desperation made me swallow my twisted interpretation of the situation and swallow the meds.
And wow, I'm so glad I did.
I know there are varying outlooks on antidepressants and meds for anxiety and other mental health issues, and I'll admit, I still struggle with the stigma that quietly floats around them. But I know chemical imbalances in the brain runs in my family, and I've heard that it can help stabilize you to start working through the underlying issues that add to the struggle. It's been three weeks since I started the medication, and I think the combination of that and two kinds of therapy has made a huge difference in my situation. I laugh again. I can find joy. I see beauty as I walk in the woods and sit by the creek. Meditation has also been key. I've also spent a great deal of time journaling, reading, processing that which I've been in too much of a process for the last 8 years. I've realized things I never consciously realized before. I bought an anxious thoughts workbook and have been working through that as well, and I'm deeply humbled and thankful for the seeming effects of this combination of help.
Last week was the first time in over half a year that I didn't feel anxiety on Sunday when thinking about the week ahead. My classes went alright, one was even a disaster, and I didn't freak out or break down like how things in the past were. The feeling of hope and positivity has become so foreign to me, it feels so weird, but so good to have it back. I'm terrified it's all a fluke and the anxiety will come back with a vengeance, but I will keep moving forward, giving myself room to feel and relax, recognizing that with every two steps forward, sometimes comes one step back.

My Mind. Late April

The sheer amount of events and movement in the last few months is enough to make anyone crazy, not counting the depth of anxiety, the heaviness of depression, and now a recent break-up. I'm slowly beginning to see that while there may be some chemicals off in my brain and some distorted thoughts constantly fighting for control, it's not hopeless. It's not entirely my fault, I'm not irreparable, I'm not a burden to the world. Although I have seldomly felt it in the past, I now am learning that the current of joy and life has been there all along, just stopped up and weighed down by my mind and situation.

April 8, the day after.

It's easy to look back and become discouraged. To see all the things I did wrong, all the ways I was wrong. All the things I could've done better or said better or not said at all. It's easy to heap blame and frustration on myself for all this. And maybe rightly so. I haven't felt like me for half a year. Longer maybe. Yet someone came into my life and wanted to walk alongside me. At first I was hesitant. I knew I had issues and things I had to work through. But they said we could walk together and see what became of it. Finally I decided to take that step, that difficult step, into trusting another, letting him in, walking together. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I needed to work through my issues, but that was the risk I chose to take. I let him in, terrified he'd walk away as soon as he saw who I had become, he'd realize his mistake and be done. But he didn't.
He held my hand.
Held me up when I felt as though I couldn't stand.
He listened and he asked questions, encouraged and challenged me, kept trying to remind me of what was important and to stop worrying.
I'd like to think I was an encouragement and challenged him, too, to become a better person and pursue that which is true. But I'm not sure if I did, at least anymore. Maybe all I did was deplete his energy and patience stores. Either way, I loved spending time with this man. We laughed, we climbed mountains, walking hand in hand. There were moments of time when I felt like myself again with him, he brought great joy and hope to the situation. He wasn't perfect, not by any means, but as I trusted him more I began to know what love really means. Even in my shaky mental health state, I learned what it meant to put the needs and wants of another first. I never said I was very good at this, but I began to learn what it meant to love and work at it regardless. I gave him the trust knife, leaning more and more on him, but to the point that I was crippling and hindering him. From his dreams. From his goals. My dependency and broken mental and physical state were preventing him, and maybe me, from being whole. In the midst of this coronavirus situation, things just got worse. What was supposed to be a beautifully freeing vacation turned into the most stressful and anxiety-inducing situation (but I didn't even have words at the time to express that my struggle was with mental health). In a country I knew so little about, no computer or materials to meet the demands of my job, so much uncertainty for both of us, one able to handle it much better than the other, the stress and crumbling mental health just caused our relationship to suffer and drove whatever negative was building between us to further. I was depending on him way too much, controlled by my anxiety and stress from my stupid job. I had a schedule and responsibilities, they didn't have many, unless they chose to add other work to these. Our schedules opposite, me exhausted from the stress, all in an unfamiliar country with a mounting crisis back home in China, I was becoming a burden for those that I was with. The mental health deteriorating, I was becoming a mess. But I also finally realized that this was a mental health situation, that it didn't have to be like this. I could get help and/or medication.

From that point on, I've been reaching out, trying to get help. Searching, reaching, calling out for help. The first step was going to Germany to be with someone I loved and someone who loved me. Being with Emmalee was a breath of fresh air, in her beautiful house, with rolling hills all around, it was a slight escape from the anxiety that was incessantly following me around. No, it didn't go away, but there was a conversation that gave me hope that it wouldn't always be this way. But there was already distance beginning to build between the guy I loved and I, and I feared I brought that on myself by leaving. Then the time came when I had to make another choice about where to go and what to do in the midst of the development of the crisis.

I suck at making decisions, it's been a pattern of my life, so why should this be any different? I couldn't bear to go back to being a burden on them in a foreign land where the anxiety never seemed to end. But I didn't know where to go, how long this would last, or when I could go home. So, in a way out of obligation to my family, I went back to Indiana just in time for my mom's birthday. I don't know whether that was a good call or not, but I do know it increased the distance, all aspects, between me and the guy I'd fallen in love with. It felt like he didn't care and was quite content to be lucky and free to do whatever he wanted in the country he was in. That was incredibly hard for me to swallow because I usually show my love by doing everything I can to be with those I care about. He was content and safe where he was, but for some reason I kept pressing, longing to be reunited, walk the journey to healing together. I would've gone there if they would've let me in, but they closed their borders, so I couldn't and maybe that's for the best. But I felt alone, away from all my friends, back at my parents, which carries its own challenges and wins. I kept trying to get help, contacting counselors and doctors, trying to figure out how to get myself better and making those moves. The healthcare system in the US really doesn't make it easy. So many people unable to make appointments or a 3 month waitlist. I kept trying, contacting more and more, finally got in to see a telehealth doctor. Anxiety, depression, maybe the obsessive part of OCD, whatever it is, I think I'm on the long, slow road to healing. Thanks to the suggestion from the guy, I've found a couple people, professionals, who will walk by my side.

Just when that happened, my worst fears came true, and the one I love opted to move on. To give up. To walk away. I wasn't healthy and it was deeply affecting our relationship. I wasn't pushing him forward like I longed to do. I was holding him back with the obligation he felt waiting around and watching my mental health melt. I think he didn't know how to help, and my obsessive work thoughts, spiritual confusion, and anxiety were driving him away. So he ended things with me. He wanted to be free. To make his decisions without the burden of me-waiting around in the hopes I'd get healthy. But also because he feels it's better for me to walk this road myself, without him. Maybe he's right. Maybe he's wrong. I don't know.

But even when he's given up and walked away, I'm going forward to find the lucky and free me. Yes, it sucks, it hurts very deeply to know you weren't enough, to know your issues drove away someone you love, right when you're taking the first steps to recovery. It sucks to know you were holding someone back, that he felt obligated to be my stability and then grew to resent that. It hurts to know the bright spot in your chaotic life saw you as an unhealthy relationship. You didn't push him to his goals, you didn't make decisions but expected him to, you didn't get him off his butt enough like his brother and friends do. It hurts to be told by your best friend that you may never see him again. Maybe down the road we'll meet again, when I'm healthy and lucky and free again.
The reality is, I know I'm not whole. I know you deserve better, to be with someone healthy and confident who can hold you up as well. I think care more deeply about you than anyone before, which is frankly very scary and frustrating. But maybe that means the best thing to do is let go.
I do want you to be happy.

Yes, part of me hurts because losing a best friend when you need support the most is like being kicked when you're down. But I know I can't ask you to just wait around.
You have an exciting future, so many opportunities, as much as I want to go on this adventure with you, to walk into the future hand in hand, you deserve better.
So no, I'm not walking forward FOR you, although I do secretly hope there'll be another chance when I'm really me and you're you. But you've made it clear not to count on that. You've got other things you want to do. I'm sorry I held you back, didn't love you as well as I wanted to, and was a burden to you. I don't know how you got ahold of my heart so quick, but I let it happen, so now this is the price I pay for it.

I'm a broken person, wandering and lost, looking for healing and purpose in this great big world. I know I'd rather walk this road hand in hand, but it looks like now I'm going at it alone. But you better believe I'm going to go hard.
I want to get better, reach a place of peace.
I will fight for joy in the midst of this kick in the teeth.
Maybe this is something I have to do alone. I don't know. But even when others give up on me or judge me, I will move forward.
I will fight to be lucky and free.

I know something for certain. Getting better is my top priority. Finding joy and peace.

I'm on my own.