The Year of L's

They always say growth isn't comfortable. Maturing isn't easy. Unlearning patterns of behavior and thought processes that provide comfort in the chaos isn't for the faint of heart.

Awakening the power within you doesn't come without a price. That price is your old self.

This year has without a doubt been full of the lowest of lows and the highest of highs. Pure bliss.....and utter heartbreak. 

I was gutted this year. Stripped of everything. I reached a place where I didn't even recognize myself. No joy, desire, excitement. Everything felt like the slowest walk through the deepest fog. Yet at the same time everything felt like my first time beating Super Mario Bros........total ecstasy. 

I've spent a long time living in a negative space. In my own head.....angry, bitter, resentful, sad. Alone. Often times afraid of my own darkness. Being accountable and realizing you've reached a new depth of darkness is difficult. I try so hard to keep everything together. Turn on the smile, even when its forced, because "fake it 'til you make it" has been my go-to since I was a teenager. It's comfortable. I don't want people to know I need help.....or that I don't have everything under control. My need for control over every aspect of my life (operating out of a fear of losing control and ending back in the hospital) is the NUMBER ONE CAUSE of my self-induced anxiety. Realizing this rocked my shit. Like wrecked my entire existence.

I'm the problem. I'm my OWN fucking problem. My overthinking and overanalyzing has crippled me beyond recognition. Absolutely no one holds me back but myself.......and this was a hard pill to swallow.

This year, for me, was the epitome of  "The Year of L's". 

I lost my abuelo. The one man in this entire universe that made me feel safe. His quiet demeanor was surface. His love, excitement, admiration, respect, kindness, and genuine way of saying so much with so little, shined like the brightest light in the sky. It is carried in my heart forever. I'm the luckiest in the world......I'm one of the chosen few to carry the Aguilera blood in my veins. Knowing he is with me, flowing inside of me, living forever in my heart, brings me all the comfort I could ever need. Te extraño mi viejo. Para siempre.

There are so many health issues I've been dealing with I could spend a whole ass day waiting at the DMV telling you about it. Don't worry....I'll spare you. Let's just say your girl has it covered (per usual). I've decided to call this chapter of my life: I'm a Work In Progress but standing firmly on my own two feet.

My house flooded. Like dead ass flooded. Ripped out floors, missing drywall, 50 fans & dehumidifiers running 24-7 to remedy the water damage flooded. Over a month living with my sister and brother-in-law (thank you again guys lol) while my mom watched my dogs (forever grateful to you mom) flooded. Everything literally in shambles. My depression was already reaching a concerning point around this time.....but I literally didn't have time to deal with it, on top of everything else going on. 

When I finally moved back home, my house was a fucking trainwreck....but I was home. I spent almost 2 months in a pigsty. Boxes. Dust. Trash. Crap everywhere. I didn't even care. I had reached the low where I was still functional at work, but once home there was nothing left of me. Everything felt like it was caving in....but one day I decided to start doing one thing at a time. Cleaning one section a night. It's nowhere near "Jackie Clean", but it's getting there. My room is pretty much back to it's original state (with some tweaks and improvements). Tonight I finally cleaned the dishes in the sink (sitting since Noche Buena). Wiped down the counters. Organized a little. It made me feel accomplished. For the first time in months and months, I felt like MYSELF....and that was pretty dope.

My first baby.....my little love Milo crossed to Dog Heaven. My companion of over 12 years. It was sudden and unexpected...but I was surrounded (by literal fate) by my family. Their love and support helped make the transition of letting him go to the after slightly more manageable. I miss him daily. I've caught myself more than once rushing out and calling for him.....only to remember he isn't here anymore. I'm not waiting for him to slowlyyyyyyy shimmy his way back over to me before following me inside anymore. It feels like a knife jammed into an already hemorrhaging gape in my heart. 

Tonight I received the last Christmas gift from my sister (ironically enough we both purchased each other sentimental jewelry from the exact same company). She gifted me a ring that says "Milo" with a little heart and paw. A subtle daily reminder that my furry friend, like my abuelo, live forever in my memories and heart. Now when I look down, I'll always smile.  

This year wasn't without its share of L's......but it also had a lot of W's.

I spent the year growing. Laughing. Loving. Deepening in faith. Harnessing my inner power.

I got to experience so many firsts with my nephew/Godson. I got to see his little face change. Hear him find his laugh. See the twinkle of innocence (it's been a long time since I saw that). I got to experience the joy of seeing my sister and brother-in-law really grow into their role as "Mom & Dad"....and that has been magical. Laugh with friends and family. More importantly, fall more in love with myself.....and that has been the most beautiful part.

Yes my house flooded.....but it's finally MY OWN. So many memories haunted this house. As I walked back to my room tonight I just admired my space for the first time. Like truly fell in love with it. My dream floors. Bright, crisp, white walls. My blue accent wall. It was finally MY space......and while the flood was inconvenient and obnoxious......it washed away the ugliness that lingered.....the darkness I allowed myself to stay in. The negativity that grew to become my comfort. My safe space. The house feels bigger and brighter.....just like 2023 is about to be.

I've been manifesting everything that is coming to me this upcoming year. I've done the work. Learned (and continue to learn) the lessons. Pulled myself out of the darkness.....the overbearing sense of dread and disdain, and made it out on the other side. I've been keeping my head low and grinding. Picking myself up after every blow, looking in the mirror (even when my reflection disgusted me), because it's what my soul needed. I had to spend this time in my own purgatory to finally face my own demons and short comings. 

Holding ourselves accountable has to be one of the hardest things we do...yet the most gratifying because from accountability can come change.

Looking back on 2022, I'm proud. Proud of the growth, the evolution, the change. It has brought me to my knees, yet God, my family, friends, and the promise of happier days kept me moving. 

The future is unknown. I have no idea what is ahead. What I do know is I'm not leaving 2022 as the same woman I entered it. For the first time in 36 years, the unknown doesn't scare me. 

I am Strong. Resilient. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Confident. Kind. Loving. Genuine. Respectful. I am comfortable in my skin and the place I am in in this moment of time. Excited to continue the pursuit of MY OWN happiness.

I finally hit the lowest of lows......and clawed my way back to the surface. I know wholeheartedly I was put here for a reason. To live. Love. Laugh. Enjoy, Stress less......and embrace more.

2023 is without a doubt the year of ME. And I'm thankful every fucking day for 2022. It beat me down, but didn't break me.

One day left. One more opportunity to sit and reconcile this past year. What/who made you happy? What/who brought you pain? A time to reflect on what you're leaving behind......and what you're carrying forward.

Travel light. 

No one likes paying to check a bag they don't even open on vacation 😉

"Most of the battle in life is about getting your mindset right. 90% of life is mental. Typically, we are our own worst enemy. The problem ISN'T the problem. Our REACTION to the problem is the problem." -James DiNicolantonio

Depression. A collection of entries.

11/3/21

I'll be logging my mood every few days....and maybe....just maybe.....one day I'll get the courage to post this because I feel people should know what depression is. What it looks like. How it masquerades around as something else. Well for me anyway. This is just my experience. Maybe some of you will relate....maybe some of you will read this and see things from a different perspective. Who fucking knows. All I know is writing is my safe space. So here we are.

We are always so shocked when we hear someone has committed suicide. Like how? What would bring them to that point?  FUCKING DEPRESSION BRO. The depression talks.......and its comments are deafening. It makes you believe things that aren't real........like this "feeling" is permanent. This will NEVER get better. There is NO hope. And coming from someone who is trying SO fucking hard to fight against that voice......I can completely understand why someone would do it. Because it's the only way to silence it. It seems like the only way to get peace.

I have no idea what depression is. I mean I've always known that to some degree I've been functionally depressed........for as long as I remember. I remember journaling in high school.....deep and dark shit. Yet I always chalked it up to emo teen angst and called it a day. But looking back......I think there has always been a dark cloud of depression that has followed me around. Something I've attempted to suppress for years. 

---Someone this happy would never be depressed.

---What could there be to be depressed about? Your life is so great.

---You're so blessed....you have everything going for you. How could you possibly be depressed?

Well here I am. In the middle of quite possibly the most severe depressive episode I've ever experienced. Life is always greener on the other side right? Isn't that what we do? Look at the perfectly curated Instagram pages of people we know and think WOW. How lucky they are. Well let me tell you. Social Media is the biggest lie we feed ourselves. 

I feel broken. Empty. Hollow. I don't even feel like myself anymore. I don't even really recognize myself anymore because I find happiness and solace in nothing. Nothing brings me joy. Most smiles aren't even genuine anymore because I'm just so fucking miserable.

I force myself to get up and take my meds. Oh yeah, I'm on an antidepressant now. Something I've never needed before. Maybe I should have been taking it all along? Why doesn't it help me feel better? Like I know the doctor said a couple weeks.......but like honestly. I'm MAD fucking depressed right now. I can't wait two fucking weeks or more. Who the hell created these anyway? Isn't the point of an antidepressant to help kick you out of the massive black hole you find yourself in?! How is it that it could take that long to work? Fucking dumb. Sorry for the rant......but I'm just fucking scattered right now.

Either way. I'm here. I'm BARELY fucking getting by. I'm holding onto whatever shred of hope I have left because I know that I truly love my life. I know how much I love my family and friends.....and laughter. It's what pushes me to get out of bed every single day......take the meds...shower.....get dressed.....go to work. I. HAVE. TO KEEP. PUSHING. Because no matter how shitty life can be........I fucking LOVE my life. I just don't fucking love my brain chemistry right now.

I've been in therapy twice a week now. My therapist says he's proud of me every time I choose to answer his calls for our sessions. Reminds me that bipolar depression ISN'T permanent. This is temporary. And while right now it seems as though the existential dread is all that surrounds me......I'll get out of this fog. He says a Bipolar depressive episode lasts 2-4 weeks. TWO TO FOUR fucking weeks? Of this? Of this emptiness? Of constantly crying? Of finding zero joy in life? Like how? I know I'm going to keep pushing......but fuck man. I need a shift to come soon. How is one expected to just RIDE OUT a depressive episode? Really? Cool Cool. Maybe tomorrow will be a better one.

11/7/21

It's weird how depression is constant, fleeting, and overwhelming all at the same time. I have been trying to spend more time lately with my family in hopes it will help me shake this feeling. It sucks because in that moment of time I'm so happy, but at the same time all I can think about is how I know this isn't going to last. Like I know I'm having a nice time, but once they leave and I'm back alone with myself and my thoughts......it's just loneliness and darkness.

I changed my lock screen on my phone yesterday. It says "this is temporary". I'm trying to keep it as a constant reminder that in spite of how low I feel now....it's temporary. It doesn't fucking feel temporary. I think I've cried more in the last few weeks than I have in god knows how long. 

My dad came to visit me today. He knows I'm struggling really bad and need the company, love, and support more than ever. He asked me "what brings you joy"......and I didn't have an answer. I just burst into tears. The rational part of my brain knows the answer is my family and friends....being with the people I love.....yet right now, in this moment, nothing. Nothing brings me joy. I mean being with people brings me immense joy, yet once I'm back alone, the depression is overpowering. 

My therapist said Bipolar Depressive episodes last 2-4 weeks. I started my antidepressant on the 28th of October (I'm using this as my starting point since obviously I know I was depressed long before that....but it hit a severely low point at this time). That makes this week 2. Riding this wave has honestly been the worst experience of my life.......and to know that this is my life (the cycles of Bipolar), kinda sucks BUTTTTTT........I must say, I'm really fucking proud of myself. For allowing myself to be raw and real. For recognizing the feelings I've been experiencing and knowing something is off. Like me 15 years ago (when I was diagnosed) would have handled this SO differently......mainly because I didn't fully know myself then....and I sure as fuck wasn't comfortable talking about mental health or the struggles that come with it.

So week 2. It fucking sucks. I really just want to feel like myself again. But I'm not giving up. I'm not giving in. I'm going to keep pushing until I'm on the other side of this hump.

This is temporary. This is temporary. This is temporary.

I mean if you say Beetlejuice three times he appears.........so maybe if I keep saying it this never-ending despair will disappear? One can hope.

11/9/21

Met with my psychiatrist today. She said in the 15 years she has been my doctor she has never seen me this bad....and while that sucked to hear......she did compliment my appearance so that made me feel like my life hasn't gone to complete and utter shit. Hooray!

We are increasing my lithium level......in addition to the antidepressant. The hope is the extra boost will help get me out of this depression. She said it could take roughly 2 weeks for it to really start working. FUCKING GREAT. So you're telling me this antidepressant (which isn't doing shit....so there's that) is going to take a while for me to feel shit......and now this lithium increase isn't going to do shit for TWO FUCKING WEEKS???? Get the fuck out of here bro. How is it 2021 and it takes this long for your body to react to something? LIKE HOW? One would think something like an antidepressant (which obviously you're being prescribed because you need to get the fuck out of your depression) would work instantly. How is it a percocet could knock me the fuck out within an hour.....yet an antidepressant could take anywhere from 2-4 weeks to feel.......I'm lost.

Clearly I've reached the level of insane frustration. I'm frustrated because I don't feel better. Frustrated because "fake it til you make it" is fucking exhausting and I'm over it. I can't keep crying in public places because people keep looking at me strangely. I'm frustrated because I have nothing to blame this depression on. I'M. JUST. FUCKING. TIRED. Like that's it. I'm fucking tired.

I know this diagnosis isn't something I asked for.....and sure as fuck isn't what I signed up for. But fuck man. I've spent 11 years now thinking I had found the sweet spot of bipolar.....learned how to deal with the ebb and flow of it.....and it's like nope. Fuck you. Here's a giant fucking curve ball. Oh and by the way, the curve ball isn't pleasant and the idea of killing yourself will cross your mind often. Cooool.

Obviously I'm SO FAR from who I was at 19. Fresh into this diagnosis. I've learned and grown so much.....and I honestly thought I had the answers to dealing and coping with Bipolar....yet as I sit here, bawling, on the eve of my fucking birthday....I realize you can never think you know it all. Life always has so much more to teach us.

I keep telling myself God made this happen for a reason. He's thrown the extreme highs at me and I had to learn how to live life differently so that the mania wouldn't control me.....and I've been so successful. Hospitalization free for 11 fucking years (damn proud). And maybe I've never experienced such a fucking low because I wasn't mentally and emotionally ready to deal with it and maneuver through it. Honestly I'm grasping for straws of positivity at this point. Anything that keeps me focused on the end goal, which is making it out on the other fucking side. I just feel that dealing with this level of severe depression at any other point in my life could have, and possibly would have ended much differently for me. 

So for now, I have no answers. I have no fucking clue when I'll be feeling better and like myself again......but what I do know is that I fucking love my life, the people in it, and the amazing blessings that surround me. I'm just gonna focus on that and hold out hope that one day soon I'll wake up and actually recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. I fucking miss me. But maybe I need this.....not only to realize how strong I am....but to realize there are still so many valuable lessons to learn and life tools to collect.

This is temporary. This is temporary. This is temporary.

Tomorrow is just one day closer to the end of this fucking nightmare tunnel I'm navigating through. 

Tomorrow is a better day.

11/12/21

I celebrated my birthday two days ago. It was the first time in my life that I wasn't excited about celebrating my special day. I woke up crying. There was just zero part of me that wanted to get out of bed and deal with my day. This depression has been so gnarly, and so many people have no clue that I'm knee deep in this depression. I really didn't want to interact with others. I almost didn't get out of bed or leave my house......but I figured instead of making any decisions about the day, I would take it one moment at a time. I got up, took my meds, and showered. I figured since I was up I should just go to work and try to make the most of my day. Not gonna lie, I cried the whole way to work. 

The day was full of happiness, surprises, laughs, and tears. I can't lie and say that I was completely happy....I wasn't. I was so grateful for my family and friends that made me feel so loved and special.....but I wasn't able to shake the underlying cloud of darkness and sadness. It's SO fucking weird to feel happy and miserable at the same time. 

I was happy to not be alone....and in spite of the fact that I was down, I was SO happy that I made the decision to push forward. I was happy I made the choice to say no......I'm not going to stay in bed. I'm not going to spend this day alone. I'm not going to let my depression get the best of me. So glad I didn't. I needed the hugs and the love. 

The last couple of days have just been flat. Not as bad as the past few weeks have been, but not at my baseline. I'm hoping this is a good sign......I'm hoping this is the promise of better days ahead. Maybe my therapist was right. Maybe I'm entering the last leg. Maybe I'm getting out of the thick of it, but I'm not quite there yet. 

I'm tired. Like I feel emotionally exhausted. I don't even want to listen to remotely emotional music because I'm afraid it's going to throw me further into my emo Drake feels.

I'm staying in tonight. Just want to relax, rest, and end the night on a quiet note. Hoping that tomorrow will be better than today was. 

This is temporary.

11/14/21

Last night was the BEST night. I spent it surrounded by family. Every single person there.......was there to spend their night with me. And the warmth it brought to my heart is something I can't explain.

SO many people there had no idea. NO fucking clue that I've been trapped in this sadness and depression....but you know what the craziest part was? For the first time since this whole thing started......I felt happiness and joy. 

If my dad would have asked me in that moment "what brings you joy"...my answer would have been this. This night. These hugs. Belly laughs. Being surrounded by people who genuinely love the shit out of me.

That is what brought me joy.

Seeing the love and effort my family put into making my night so special. Down to the very last detail, not one T was left uncrossed. It was perfection.

It was what I needed.

Blessed. That's it. Tonight I felt blessed.

Every single day I get to wake up, even if I'm not in the best of moods, even if I'm stressed or down or whatever...........every single day is a blessing. And God straight super blessed my life because I get to share it with the dopest souls my heart has ever met.

This is temporary. This is temporary. This is temporary. 

11/19/21

The irritability and agitation I felt while taking the antidepressant has subsided (thank FUCKING God).

Today is a good day to have a good day.

I feel it. The end is near.

11/20/21

"You look like yourself today....and that makes me so happy" ---my sister said that to me today at lunch. It took everything in me to not breakdown at that table. It's been 30 days since I felt like myself (had to go back into my therapy notes to count that out). 25 days since I started the antidepressant. And 4 days off of it. 

This depression rocked my fucking existence in every way possible. It was the lowest of the low. Suicide crossed my mind several times.....but like I said, I could and would never. The thought of just not feeling the utter low I was drowning in made me feel something. At that point I just wanted to feel anything. 

I cried pretty much every single day. Every morning I woke up and just felt dread. Nothing brought joy. I literally just didn't feel anymore. I'm not going to lie......I feel so very blessed that this severe depression decided to surface at this stage of my life. I'm not quite sure I would have been able to make it to the other side had this been 10 years ago. I'm grateful for the knowledge I've gained throughout the years......the understanding and acceptance of myself. For me, no one else. The growth brought me to a place in life where I could see the changes. I was able to work through them better. I've gotta say, accountability is everything in this life. When you can look at yourself......like actually look at yourself and know this is something bigger than you, and you need to reach out for help, that's full fucking circle. I felt some shit shifting....so I reached out to my family. Then my doctor. Upped my therapy to twice a week. I just didn't want to fall further into the quicksand.

It's wild that my therapist said this episode could last 2-4 weeks. He wasn't fucking kidding. 

I feel so removed from the beginning of this post. It's like I'm in a completely different headspace and emotional place.

My therapist kept saying "that's the depression talking. You need to do the opposite". Depression DOES talk.......and I can completely understand how so many people hear nothing else......until they will do anything to just make the noise stop. This episode is the second to ever really alter and shift my thought process on life.

I just want to be happy. I want to spend my time with the people I love.....making memories and laughing until we cry. The way it feels to hug someone.....like really hug them...and have them hug you back is so amazing. When I look back on life I realize how much attention I paid to shit that literally doesn't even matter. So much time wasted on being too concerned about others. The only thing we can do in this life is enjoy the moments we have, and find the joy even in the dark.

So all in all, I'm thankful for this episode. Thankful God chose this test for me. Another opportunity to remind myself just how dedicated I am. Dedicated to always trying to level up, and fall more in love with myself. 

Whenever I would get deeply sad, I'd pull out by basket of cards and notes I've saved over the years. The card is my favorite part of the gift!! Think about it. Someone took their time sifting through cards until they found the PERFECT one. Then took the time out to write you something meaningful and special. A reminder of their love for you. I pull them out and read them when I'm sad. This episode they were HUGE FOR ME......mainly because they allowed me to feel (even for a second) the way I felt the first time I read their sweet card.

That's what kept me going. The absolutely AMAZING and WONDERFUL feelings I get when I'm with the people I love. I knew that no matter how fucking low I felt......nothing was ever going to be worth never experiencing that feeling again soon.

SO cheers to alllll the fucking sensitive feels (I'm in my Swiftie feels tonight so leave me alone). I'm proud of myself for not giving up.....and you know what...you should too. Yeah you. The person reading this. You should be fucking PROUD of yourself. Life can be shit sometimes.....and even on the days you feel you have nothing together....and you feel the most alone......you still keep going. And I fucking love that.

Keep fucking going. 

The end of the tunnel is always closest when it feels the hardest.

"Pause and remember - you WILL make it to the other side of this hardship. One day you will look back with wiser eyes, understanding and gratitude. Hang in there" - Jennifer Young

What I LET you know Vs. The TRUTH

They always say there are three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth. Well that also pertains to life as well. There is ALWAYS what we choose to share, what we choose to leave out, and what we are ACTUALLY dealing with/processing/struggling with. 

It’s weird to say I’m a private person, or I don’t like putting my life on display, when I have a blog where I share VERY private and personal parts of myself……but this blog doesn’t give you access to all of me. My personal demons. My daily struggles. My heartbreak. My pain. This blog gives you access to what I ALLOW you to have access to….just like social media. 

There are so many daily struggles we all have….myself included. Sometimes my physical pain is so bad, I physically cannot get out of bed. Sometimes my depression is so bad, I don’t want to get out of bed. Life can honestly feel like a constant struggle. There have been countless times I have found myself asking God why? Why me? 

I post photos laughing with friends, enjoying moments with family, sharing funny videos……..yet there are so many times that behind those curated moments, I just feel alone, trapped and lost.  I feel anger, pain, sorrow. Wishing there would just be an end to the shit luck I'm having….wondering if ending things would be easier. People don’t see that. They don’t live in my mind or thoughts.  They don't know those parts of me. They only see what I allow them to see…….because life is easier that way. Keeping people at bay. Creating a barrier between the truth and what is shared…….almost in a sense to protect myself from becoming too vulnerable. 

It makes me sad to think that we live in a world where being vulnerable and exposing parts of ourselves is bad. It’s almost become something we strive for…never allowing people to see us for who we really are….because people can’t hurt what they don’t have access to. One thing I’m ALL too familiar with is the regret I've felt after opening myself up, becoming vulnerable, sharing parts of myself I keep private…only to end up hurt......but why should I feel hurt? Becoming vulnerable allows me to process, to reconcile, to move forward. I guess in that moment I don't see it like that. Or maybe it is because we are conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness.

We NEED vulnerability. We need to talk about what we feel and what we are going through. I think creating this blog allowed me to open myself up to people in a way I never dreamed I could. It has opened the door to so many amazing friendships, connections and conversations. My own vulnerability allowed me to realize we are FAR MORE ALIKE than we realize.

It’s interesting what being vulnerable does.....and even more interesting when we see others being vulnerable as well. It allows us to realize we are all HUMAN. We feel. We fuck up. We AREN’T perfect nor filtered. Pain, loss, grief, struggle…..they don’t discriminate. But sometimes dealing with them makes us feel so utterly alone…..when in reality a majority of us are all experiencing the same types of emotions and are missing that connection and opportunity to bond with someone because of our fear of vulnerability and being hurt.

Life is weird. It honestly makes no fucking sense. I’ll never fully grasp why things happen the way they do. What HAS helped me come to terms with and helped me accept the “WHY” is knowing at the end of the day we are ALL asking ourselves these same questions. We are ALL dealing with some form of pain/heartbreak/loss/etc. We are ALL dealing with something and we are ALL at some point or another, dealt shitty cards. We just don’t know it because we are only really getting access to a fraction of the truth……..the fraction people choose to share. 

So be kind to yourself…..and to others. Be gentle in your approach to life. Allow yourself to feel, and be vulnerable, even if in the end things don’t turn out the way you had hoped. And remember, next time you’re scrolling through IG or watching videos on TikTok or Snapchat…..this isn’t real life. This is what people WANT you to see. What people hand selected for you to know. There is so much more behind that. 

You aren’t alone. Don’t be afraid to let people know your truth. You would be SURPRISED at how many of us are all going through it……not talking about it……and could use a friend. So for those of you reading this that are going through shit I’d never know about because your social media is so perfect and cute…..get at me. I’d love to chat and provide a safe space for us to share, get shit out, process, and feel better.

"Vulnerability is the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it's also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging....of love" - Brene Brown

Diez

It's crazy how much can change in ten years. I'm a completely different person than I was ten years ago......mainly because I work at being a better version of myself every single day. I feel beyond blessed to be here.....ten years later....stronger and healthier than ever. I made a commitment to myself ten years ago to work harder....to put forth the effort...to place my mental health before all else......and it fucking paid off. I fucking made it.

Ten years ago I was released from a county facility. My third hospitalization in four years. I was nowhere near healthy enough to be released....but the county really doesn't give a fuck about that. They just want to get you "well enough" to release you and clear a bed for another person. Being in the county was by far the WORST experience of my life. The people, the facility, everything about it was horrible. It was the longest stay of them all.......and I wasn't even done yet. After leaving the county I was admitted to another facility in Riverside. Even though I wanted nothing to do with being there, my family and friends felt it was best to voluntarily check myself in because they all knew I wasn't well enough to make rational decisions. I hated every second of being there. I checked myself out against medical advisement and quickly realized I had nowhere to go and no one that would take me in. At the time I remember being so fucking pissed because I couldn't believe that not one person would help me or let me stay with them.....but looking back I'm so glad they didn't. I needed to go back. I needed more time. I needed to get well.

I remember sleeping in my car in Downtown Riverside because no one would let me crash at their place. I tried to go back to the facility but they told me I would have to wait until the next morning to be admitted. I was so upset. I couldn't believe this is what my life had come to......sleeping in my fucking car on the street. No money. Nowhere to stay. I felt hopeless. I realized in this moment that I would never amount to anything if I didn't make my mental health my priority. I felt lost and alone. I could never be a daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, coworker.......I couldn't be reliable or accountable if I didn't make the effort to get well and stay well. It was in this moment that I realized I was the ONLY person who could control my life. My condition. My future. No matter how much my family and friends loved me......they couldn't save me from myself. From this condition. I was the only one that could make this right. Do things different. Be better.

I finally got my mind to stop racing enough to fall asleep. I was woken up by a knock on the window. I freaked out and looked over and it was my beautiful mom. She came to find me and come with me to the facility to check myself back in. I was there about a month before I was finally released. If you add that to the three weeks I spent in the county, it took about two months to fully recover. TWO months of my life gone. Maybe what my doctor said was right......every time you have a manic episode it takes the brain longer to recover......sometimes never coming back to where it was prior to the episode. When I was diagnosed in 2006, I was hospitalized about a week. In 2008, I was hospitalized about three weeks. This time....two months.

This episode was the worst of them all. More aggressive, violent, and combative. Less self-control. Mind racing faster than ever. I'm pretty sure the weed laced with PCP that I smoked earlier that day didn't help the situation at all.......but then again I didn't know it was laced with PCP until AFTER I was admitted to the county and had blood work done. I remember that day so well. All I wanted was to get my mind to stop. Eat some food. Sleep for hours. It was the TOTAL opposite. I ended up in handcuffs and was taken to the county by the police.

I couldn't understand how I wound up here again. Alone. Completely lost. Unaware of anything because I was so fucking gone mentally. As the days and weeks passed, the memories flooded back (just like they always do after an episode). I felt so ashamed. I was so upset with myself. I let myself fall back into this place. I didn't do what I needed to. I didn't put my mental health first. I refused to accept this was my reality. This facility isn't where I belonged. This isn't what my life is supposed to be.........but it would always come back to this place if I didn't make the effort. If I didn't fucking bust my ass to do things differently. I would always find myself beside myself.....locked away behind these hospital walls....if I didn't do things different. I was 23.....just graduated college.....and instead of being out, enjoying my life, I was here.....at the county.....getting punched in the face by another patient (feel free to refer back to that old blog post lol). I didn't even recognize myself anymore. Something HAD to give. Something HAD to change. It NEEDED to happen. This life was no life at all.

After I got out (the second time), I made a promise to myself. I was going to do everything in my power to do things different. To actually make a life for myself that I could be proud of. Finally control this disorder instead of letting it control me. Everything had to change. I moved. Changed my number. Walked away from "friendships". I use quotation marks because I realized I had used this term too loosely. I had given myself to people who really weren't my friends at all.......who quite frankly didn't give a shit about me. It was time to put myself and my mental health first. I made it a point to stop drinking all together. It was several years before I even allowed myself to consider having a drink again. I wanted to make sure I was mentally and emotionally stable.....that I was strong enough to deal with my issues and stressors head on.....instead of drinking to escape them. I made a commitment to be better.......not only for myself.....but for my family and friends. For my future. For the promise of a better life.

It hasn't been easy. A lot of shit has been thrown my way in the last ten years. Shit that tested me in every single way possible. While it's been a struggle.........it's also been the BEST ten years of my life. I've grown. Evolved. Changed in every way possible. I'm reliable. Dependable. Accountable. Confident. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I know myself inside and out. I'm in tune with my emotions (for the most part lol). I'm able to ride the waves with ease. I allow myself to listen to my head and my heart. Recognize the signs. Realize when I need to give myself room to breathe, process, and kick it into neutral. I've discovered the sweet spot when it comes to my medication. I never miss an appointment. Never miss a blood draw. Make sure to make it to therapy. I finally gave myself my place in life. Finally put myself and my health first. Finally realized I could only be the best version of myself for others if I was the strongest version of myself for MYSELF first.......and realizing this was the best thing that happened.

Ten fucking years. TEN FUCKING YEARS. No relapse. No hospitalization. Ten years. I can't help but cry as I type this because I honestly never thought I would make it here. I never, in my WILDEST dreams, thought I would ever get to this place. The place where being bipolar didn't define or control or rule me. It's so insane to look back at the last ten years........and know I've made it. I fucking MADE it......and I'm SO fucking proud.....and grateful....and thankful.

I told myself that if I could make it to ten years without a hospitalization, I would get a tattoo to commemorate such a HUGE accomplishment (well to me it is anyway). I know what I want.....I've known for ten years. I'm itching and I'm ready. Something to carry with me always. A reminder......that no matter what....I am fully capable of accomplishing anything I set myself out to accomplish. And that is pretty fucking rad. Knowing I can count on myself.....that my friends and family can depend on me. I can look in the mirror and be happy with who I see looking back....I never thought I would ever get here.....and I'm so grateful to be in this place. I worked so fucking hard to get here......and the feeling is so overwhelming. But a good overwhelming. Such a GREAT feeling.

I hit rock bottom. I hit the lowest of the low. I was completely lost. I didn't even recognize myself anymore. I was devastated to see what had become of my life....and the worst part of it all was knowing I brought myself to this place. I had no one to blame for what my life had become but myself......and that was the hardest pill to swallow. I knew it was time. Time to change. Time to take control. Time to make shit right.

A lot can change in a decade. I look back on the last ten years and I am so thankful. So grateful. So FUCKING blessed. Blessed to have lived this life. To have paved this road for myself. To be able to look at everything I have accomplished and know I FUCKING DID THIS. I built this. I made this happen for myself. Like whoa. I fucking did this.

I couldn't have made it without my family and the friends that have become family. I can never repay everyone for the unwavering love, support, laughs, and the swift kick in the ass when necessary. Each of you have one way or another (whether you realize it or not), played SUCH a huge role in helping me achieve this milestone. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart......and you know who you are. I love you. I FUCKING LOVE YOU.

So cheers to ten. Ten years of growth and evolution. Ten years of hard work. Ten years of coming full circle. I can't fucking believe I made it.......but I fucking made it.

Cheers to the next ten. May they be even better than the last.

FINALLY HOME!!!

So I was finally released from the hospital on Thursday. Being in the hospital for 6 days was the most taxing experience of my life.

The surgery itself went very well. The DR (which is the most amazing doctor on earth) did an amazing job. She really focused on my problem areas without removing an excessive amount of skin. The wounds are left open, meant to heal from the inside out. Once fully healed, it will be scarred skin, but the HS will not come back into those areas any longer!!!!!!!!

The areas I had done were the biggest problem areas for me....that being the groin, thigh, and buttocks area. As you can imagine these areas are sensitive AF, and not easy to deal with post-op for a variety of reasons (think pee/poop).

Friday and Saturday were ok. Painful as fuck, but I was managing with the help of Norco (which eventually got bumped up to Percocet because......well duh).

Sunday was by far the WORST day of my life. When I went to use the restroom, I sat down on the toilet as best I could and felt a rip. The next thing I knew there was blood EVERYWHERE. I mean GUSHING EVERYWHERE. I panicked and started bawling, asking for the nurse. When the nurse came and saw the fucking bloodbath she panicked too. We got me onto the bed and she was able to apply pressure to keep the bleeding from continuing. Luckily my surgeon wasn't too far and she rushed over to assess the issue. Turns out it was an arterial bleed from a main artery and I was bleeding out quickly. My Dr legit SEWED ME SHUT ON THE SPOT. No anesthesia. No pain meds. No time to think.....obviously because this main artery was just gushing blood everywhere. Not sure how I didn't pass out. Not sure how I managed to lay there and not scream as she sewed me back together. But yeah......that happened.

The rest of the week was pretty much smooth sailing from there. I had a wound vac applied which is amazing. A wound vac helps you heal 5 times faster. One of my wounds is beyond deep, making me a perfect candidate for the vac.

Now you have to understand, these wounds aren't small or superficial. They are very deep. The skin was cut and removed down to the fat. So basically picture someone taking an ice cream scooper and scooping out chunks of my skin. Not sure if that is TMI....but this whole blog is TMI so fuck it haha

I finally got released to go home which has been AMAZING. There is nothing like having your own bed.....your own stuff....my dogs which I missed like crazy. I have my very own wound vac here at home now which means I'll be healing in no time!!! I'm under the care of home health. They come to change wound dressings and check on my wound vac. My family has also learned how to change out my dressings and they themselves have been helping me too!! So not only are my mom and sister attorneys, but they are nurses too lol!!

I want to take a quick second to give so many thanks to my family.

My mom. Who slept in the most uncomfortable chair every night with me. Woke up at all hours to help me. Held me when I cried. Brought me Starbucks every single morning. Advocated for me when I was too weak to do it for myself. She made me laugh. Provided support. She is my EVERYTHING. Without her I don't know what I would have done.

My sister. Kathy is my rock. She has helped bandage me up when I couldn't reach certain areas before my surgery. She came every single day after work......and continues to hold down the office while my mom and I have been gone. She always made sure to bring me the best snacks!!! Since being home she has been my on call 24/7 nurse.....going as far as to set alarms to wake up in the middle of the night to make sure I take my pain meds and don't lapse. She even helped the Nurse apply my wound vac today!!! I am proud of the kind and caring woman Kathy is....and so lucky to have her as my sister.

My dad. Who drove from Huntington Beach every single day. Who brought me Portos (which I love) daily....making sure we had all the delish goodies. He has helped me financially with this entire process and has provided lots of love and laughs and endless support.

And lastly, to my friends and family. All of you help keep me strong. Each one of you.....with your texts, messages, visits, gifts, flowers, laughs. All of it. Without such a strong and loving support system, there is no way I would be as strong as I am....tackling this condition head on.

I'll be updating about my recovery. The dr says I'm looking at 2-3 months of recovery time. Strength, love, and endless support will keep me battling!! Until next time.

"Life is tough, my darling....but so are you" -Stephanie Bennett-Henry

Post-Op Magic

So I'm currently sitting in my bed at the hospital. It's day 5 post-op. It's so crazy to sit here knowing everything that has gone on in the last 5 days. I mean I did like almost die Sunday (not even joking in the slightest). But I guess an explanation is owed as to how I got here. What exactly brought me to the hospital bed.

Hidradenitis Suppurativa.

When I was about 15, I noticed these small bumps under my armpits. No idea what they were, I did what any rational being would do....I picked at them. Eventually the bumps grew larger and larger. At one point I remember one bursting and puss coming out. Disgusting right? Well of course I decided in that moment to keep this weird little "issue" of mine a secret. It was embarrassing to look at. I would wear long sleeve shirts so no one would see these bumps forming.

As the bumps began to grow in size and number, I started to get worried. I remember going to my PTP and she said it was "body acne". I remember arguing with her because I knew what acne looked like, and this wasn't it. She confirmed it was, handed me a prescription for acne body wash, and sent me on my way. Keep in mind this continued for years. Fast forward to my mid twenties. I now have these bumps all over my underarms, stomach, breasts, and they were slowly spreading to my groin, thighs, and buttocks.

I had been to countless doctors and dermatologists....none of which had any diagnosis for my problem....continuing to call it "body acne". You can't even begin to understand how frustrating it is to have someone say this issue is because "you don't shower enough". Get the fuck out of here. I must have tried every single body wash, ointment, cream, wipe, gel, steroid, and antibiotic available on the market that were being prescribed to me....none of which did shit to help.

As you all know, I have been taking Lithium for over 13 years. With Lithium comes monthly Lithium level checks via blood work. In about 2015, my psychiatrist noticed by white blood cell count was higher than normal, which we just chalked up to me being sick/getting over being sick. Time and time again following that initial test result, my white blood cell count continued to come back elevated. After a year of dealing with the elevated count, my primary treating physician sent me to City of Hope for additional testing for fear that maybe I had cancer.  While at City of Hope, I met a specialist who diagnosed me with Hidradenitis Suppurativa. 2016.

I've been dealing with this condition since 2001......no name, no diagnosis, just BACK ACNE. 15 years later it finally had a name.

Once there was a name, I began researching like crazy. You can imagine how "shocked" I was to discovery it wasn't in fact BACK ACNE (cue MASSIVE eye roll and sarcastic laugh), but instead an autoimmune condition which surfaces in your sweaty or "stinky" glands. It had nothing to do with showering too much or too little. It won't resolve with ointments or antibiotics alone. It is far more complex than that. I quickly discovered the inflammatory foods I was consuming were causing these extremely large and painful boils filled with puss and blood. More often than not, these bumps made it impossible to walk without being in excruciating pain (I'll leave the details of my struggles for another post). The elevation of my white blood cells was due to my body thinking it was under attack and trying to fight off an infection, which was really just my body reacting to inflammatory foods as basic as dairy and tomatoes.

I became OBSESSED with research. I must have traveled down the rabbit hole and back 7 million times. I quickly learned that there is no cure for Hidradenitis Suppurativa, but with proper diet and a routine, you can live a healthy life with minimal flare ups. I also learned that once you reach Stage 3 of Hidradenitis Suppurativa (which I am), surgical intervention is the only solution. Good news about surgery is albeit the most painful thing I've EVER experienced, the flare up will never come back in the areas you've already removed!!!! IT DOES NOT COME BACK!!! Which means no constant pain, no explosive owies, no embarrassing blood and puss stains on my outfits.

It makes me so upset there isn't more out there about this condition....that people continue to suffer in silence....misdiagnosed.  I suffered for years before I finally had a name for the condition. Years before I was able to TAKE MY LIFE BACK. Years lost in an excruciatingly painful fog without answers.

I'll be posting more soon about my experiences in the hospital, along with more information about Hidradenitis Suppurativa. I'll also be sharing my near death bleed out experience soon. I'm off for now, the Percocet Fairy is knocking on my door LOL

"Keep your head up. God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers" - Unknown

Timing. Pt 2

So my last post was about timing. How you should never doubt the timing of your life. Well the craziest and most random thing happened to me last week.

I was out with my friend Sam at Panera.....which is OUR spot (something about that Plum Ginger Hibiscus tea gets me). While sitting on the patio, I noticed a man get off the bus in the middle of the street. Carrying papers.  A huge stack of them. White. Yellow. Pink. Then I saw it....the wrist band. That's when I realized this guy was probably just released from a hospital.

Anyone that knows me knows I'm vigilant. I can spot anyone at any time. I'm always mindful of my surroundings.....and I knew it was a matter of time before I came into contact with this man.

He walked up to our seating area, but not up to Sam and I......which I honestly thought he was going to. A minute or two later, a man and woman exited the Panera. He walked up to them and asked to use their phone. I couldn't hear much of their conversation, but from what I gathered he was 1) recently released from Loma Linda Behavioral and 2) had no idea where he was.

He hung up the phone and the couple walked away, and as they did they shot me a look. One I've seen before. One shot to my family and friends......when manic Jackie has decided to pay everyone a visit. He turned toward Sam and I and walked up to us. That's when he looked at me and asked "Do you know where Canyon Ridge is?"

--- Of course I know Canyon Ridge. I stayed there in 2006. The first time I was diagnosed. My first episode. The first time I realized I was and always would be different ---

I answered "Yes. Want me to call them?"

I called Canyon Ridge and explained what was going down. At this point, my new friend Kory had explained everything. He woke up at Loma Linda, no idea how he got there, thinking his name was Brad. We confirmed on his license.....it was in fact Kory. Canyon Ridge stated that while they could perform a psych evaluation and admit him based on necessity, they were a private facility and my friend Kory (without insurance) would be paying upward of $950 a night, with a $4,500 deposit.

Obviously this wouldn't work...and that's when they told me about Merrill Center, a short stay crisis stabilization unit. I asked Kory if he would be interested in going there, to which he replied "Yes. I just want help." I've never felt a sentence more my whole life. We called Merrill Center and spoke with admissions. Kory met the criteria for the unit. They would perform a psych evaluation, figure out the next best location for Kory to go, and provide him a safe space to sleep and eat until he made his transition.

I called Kory an Uber and 13 minutes later we met Rosalia, his friendly Uber driver. Kory cried and said he would never be able to repay me for what I had done for him. I cried too and chalked it up to just being in the right place at the right time.

Life is fucking weird. I had no intention of meeting Kory that night. I was at Panera with Sam...chatting about life, when instantly my life was changed when Kory crossed my path. I feel like we were both placed in each other's way for a reason. Something much larger than ourselves and what we could ever understand.

I was placed in Kory's path because I AM Kory. I've lived his life and walk in his shoes. I've been fortunate to always have the love and support of my family and friends. I've never needed to worry about being alone.....because I've been beyond blessed to never ever walk through life alone.

Kory was placed in my path because I AM Kory. He was my reminder. Of where I've been and exactly how far I've come. I've worked so hard to make sure I am ok. Not allowing my disorder to take over or control my life. While it will always be part of me.......I am in the driver's seat.

Timing is crazy. You never realize when you will cross paths with someone that needs you as much as you might need them.....without ever noticing how deeply you each needed it. Never ever question timing. God has mysterious ways of showing himself to you......and it is always when you least expect it.

So this one is for Kory. And for all of us like him. Maneuvering through life.....slightly lost....occasionally alone....but never without someone to help us when the going gets rough.

Next time you're out there.....remember we are all living life. Even if our situation seems different, or the grass seems greener, it isn't. We are ALL battling something....silent or not. So be kind to one another. Take the time to listen. Take a moment to be helpful. You never know when your small gesture could save someone's life.

Oh and yeah.....11 minutes later Rosalia text me that Kory made it to Merrill House safe.....and with a smile.

"Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who YOU are" - Harold S. Kushner