I've spent the last couple months constantly on the move. Nannying part-time, trying to get 250 hours done for my internship, maintaining my physical health, and trying to find moments to myself have kept me busy. For the most part, I've loved every second of it. I was starting to feel fulfilled in life, starting to become a version of myself I was happy with. There was a sense of freedom and belonging I hadn't felt in a long time. Coming out and getting away from Rexburg was a huge burden lifted.
But I write to you at 4am because I feel heavy.
We all know the state of the world right now. Honestly, for the most part I've been pretty calm about it. I'm trying my best to do my part in flattening the curve, staying safe, keeping myself informed, etc,. Amidst all the chaos, I've found joy in the newfound hours I get to write and play the piano. All the memes make life a little more bearable and keep me laughing. I've been working out in my room to keep my body moving too. Generally, I've tried to keep a routine. Despite my best efforts, though, I've been feeling a little like season 10 episode 2 Ross:
I didn't think moving to Salt Lake would be the easiest thing in the world. Though I was excited to rid myself of toxicity and the chains of trying to be a straight, active church goer, I was leaving behind something that had grown comfortable for me; roommates, the same apartment complex, the Ricks building I attended 6 out of 7 days a week, and always having someone close by. Granted, I love having a room to myself, but after college and a mission, you get used to having someone to always talk to, someone to laugh and cry with, and enable you to do reckless things (like cut bangs at 12am).
In the last couple months since I made my move, I haven't had much time to even breathe. I struggled to find time to even write down a couple poems. I would come home so exhausted from my internship, nannying, or going to the gym, that I'd watch something on Netflix and take the time to myself before the boys came home. And then I'd spend the rest of the evening with them and head to bed. It was a routine I generally enjoyed. I was busy, active, feeling accomplished.
With hours to myself, I've struggled a lot with my mental health. My eating disorder stares at me as I get ready in the morning. ED tells me that my "at home workouts" from the Nike training app are useless. It screams at me that of the few meals and snacks I eat throughout the day (a result really of my inability to keep track of time these days), I am still eating too much. With a recent event I won't go into detail on, ED taunts me with the idea that I cannot be loved because I do not look a certain way, that my body is forever imperfect.
My OCD comes and goes throughout my day, demanding I pick up that piece of fuzz off the ground or I won't be able to concentrate on the thing in front of me for longer than 2 seconds. It's constantly telling me that everything around me needs to be reordered, re-cleaned, and reorganized even though I've done all of those things multiple times every single day.
Finally, depression grips me at night in the deafening silence, because instead of thinking about my internship or school or literally anything else, all I think about is the fact I have been alone all day, will fall asleep alone, and wake up alone. It asks me where my purpose is.
I've had a few panic attacks in the last week. Tonight I had one of them. I've been feeling overwhelmed by a few things, and impending doom has seemed to overshadow me, especially this evening (morning?). I began to grow frustrated that I've been feeling as bad as I have over the last month when it felt there was no reason for everything to feel so dark. I'd worked hard in therapy. I tried to apply those skills/tools I learned into my life here in Salt Lake. I thought I would start healing from the last year. And what about my medication? Why was it letting me down?
I prayed and asked God why, but really asked for strength, and just some help. And then I felt inspired to grab my laptop and write. As I've typed my thoughts, messy, in the blue light of my lit up keyboard, with dried tears, I've been reminded that recovery is never linear. I've heard it in my social work classes, and I even mentioned it in my first post of the year, but it's something that really stuck out to me today, because I know that even when this all ends and we can resume our normal lives, these feelings won't go away. Just like they didn't really go away when I moved. Yeah, they've probably hit a little harder because I'm stuck inside and I think a little too much sometimes, but they were already there. 6 months of therapy and taking medication every day wasn't/isn't going to make everything magically disappear. I'm even going to get an emotional support dog and that won't solve my feelings of loss and loneliness. These things have/will alleviate these struggles, but regardless, it all takes time. Some moments are easier than others. Sometimes I can walk away from putting a shirt on a hanger inside out, but other times the image of it creeps into my head throughout the work day.
I've also struggled with the idea that because I'm out and I live in Utah, my life can't be sad. It's that whole toxic perfectionism thing (*eye roll*). It's all or nothing, black or white. Which, totally is unrealistic and honestly part of my problem because I haven't allowed myself to feel these things until I was forced to (I honestly just had a revelation writing that).
Really, guys, life sometimes sucks and it's totally valid to feel. And we totally don't have to beat ourselves up when we slip up. At like, 2am, I said to myself, "Wow, Maggie, you suck because you worked out this morning just to burn calories, not because you want to maintain your strength and keep your body and mind healthy." But you know what? I don't suck. I slipped up and let ED win, but I've fought it off a lot of other times and will continue to. It is not the end of the world.
Anyway, at this point I'm getting a little ranty, but it's past 5am and I'm realizing God was right; I did need to write out my thoughts. Also, He does answer prayers.
To end, let me remind you of my theme of courage for this year; "In some of our darkest moments, in times when we feel we're trapped, we can conquer."
Thank you, for reading through my jumbled AM thoughts- you're the best.
---Maggie
But I write to you at 4am because I feel heavy.
We all know the state of the world right now. Honestly, for the most part I've been pretty calm about it. I'm trying my best to do my part in flattening the curve, staying safe, keeping myself informed, etc,. Amidst all the chaos, I've found joy in the newfound hours I get to write and play the piano. All the memes make life a little more bearable and keep me laughing. I've been working out in my room to keep my body moving too. Generally, I've tried to keep a routine. Despite my best efforts, though, I've been feeling a little like season 10 episode 2 Ross:
In the last couple months since I made my move, I haven't had much time to even breathe. I struggled to find time to even write down a couple poems. I would come home so exhausted from my internship, nannying, or going to the gym, that I'd watch something on Netflix and take the time to myself before the boys came home. And then I'd spend the rest of the evening with them and head to bed. It was a routine I generally enjoyed. I was busy, active, feeling accomplished.
With hours to myself, I've struggled a lot with my mental health. My eating disorder stares at me as I get ready in the morning. ED tells me that my "at home workouts" from the Nike training app are useless. It screams at me that of the few meals and snacks I eat throughout the day (a result really of my inability to keep track of time these days), I am still eating too much. With a recent event I won't go into detail on, ED taunts me with the idea that I cannot be loved because I do not look a certain way, that my body is forever imperfect.
My OCD comes and goes throughout my day, demanding I pick up that piece of fuzz off the ground or I won't be able to concentrate on the thing in front of me for longer than 2 seconds. It's constantly telling me that everything around me needs to be reordered, re-cleaned, and reorganized even though I've done all of those things multiple times every single day.
Finally, depression grips me at night in the deafening silence, because instead of thinking about my internship or school or literally anything else, all I think about is the fact I have been alone all day, will fall asleep alone, and wake up alone. It asks me where my purpose is.
I've had a few panic attacks in the last week. Tonight I had one of them. I've been feeling overwhelmed by a few things, and impending doom has seemed to overshadow me, especially this evening (morning?). I began to grow frustrated that I've been feeling as bad as I have over the last month when it felt there was no reason for everything to feel so dark. I'd worked hard in therapy. I tried to apply those skills/tools I learned into my life here in Salt Lake. I thought I would start healing from the last year. And what about my medication? Why was it letting me down?I prayed and asked God why, but really asked for strength, and just some help. And then I felt inspired to grab my laptop and write. As I've typed my thoughts, messy, in the blue light of my lit up keyboard, with dried tears, I've been reminded that recovery is never linear. I've heard it in my social work classes, and I even mentioned it in my first post of the year, but it's something that really stuck out to me today, because I know that even when this all ends and we can resume our normal lives, these feelings won't go away. Just like they didn't really go away when I moved. Yeah, they've probably hit a little harder because I'm stuck inside and I think a little too much sometimes, but they were already there. 6 months of therapy and taking medication every day wasn't/isn't going to make everything magically disappear. I'm even going to get an emotional support dog and that won't solve my feelings of loss and loneliness. These things have/will alleviate these struggles, but regardless, it all takes time. Some moments are easier than others. Sometimes I can walk away from putting a shirt on a hanger inside out, but other times the image of it creeps into my head throughout the work day.
I've also struggled with the idea that because I'm out and I live in Utah, my life can't be sad. It's that whole toxic perfectionism thing (*eye roll*). It's all or nothing, black or white. Which, totally is unrealistic and honestly part of my problem because I haven't allowed myself to feel these things until I was forced to (I honestly just had a revelation writing that).
Really, guys, life sometimes sucks and it's totally valid to feel. And we totally don't have to beat ourselves up when we slip up. At like, 2am, I said to myself, "Wow, Maggie, you suck because you worked out this morning just to burn calories, not because you want to maintain your strength and keep your body and mind healthy." But you know what? I don't suck. I slipped up and let ED win, but I've fought it off a lot of other times and will continue to. It is not the end of the world.
Anyway, at this point I'm getting a little ranty, but it's past 5am and I'm realizing God was right; I did need to write out my thoughts. Also, He does answer prayers.
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| I straight up pinned this 2 days ago and here we are. |
Thank you, for reading through my jumbled AM thoughts- you're the best.
---Maggie
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