Bad Mental Health Day

Yesterday was a bad mental health day for me, but what does that actually mean?

It means waking up on the right side of the bed, only to be met with one thing after another. 

It means struggling to stay awake during the day because your nights are filled with tossing and turning until morning light.

It means neglecting the giant to do list you've had written out for weeks because you can only cross off "get out of bed" lately.

It means being put on medication that helps to stabilize your mood, but can't help you when you've hit a low.

It means having a ton of thoughts and feelings swirling around in your head, but not being able to appropriately express yourself.

It means pulling away from those you care about, fearing your constant state of 'blah' will bring them down.

It means laying in bed all day, sleeping for 12+ hours, and still feeling exhausted.

It means fighting the constant battle of forcing yourself to get up and be productive, when all you want to do is relax.

It means losing all productivity and feeling lazy, even though you are usually the opposite.

It means going from feeling like you're on top of the world to having it all come crashing down on you.

It means having one thing happen that sends you spiraling down until you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But sometimes it doesn't look this way for me. Sometimes it means running around, doing everything to keep myself busy, to the point of exhaustion, all with a smile on my face, but still struggling to sleep at night. 

But that's not how it looks this time.

Mental health is weird, and I'm not sure I'll ever have a good grasp on it. I've just got to keep on, keepin' on the best I can, counting the little wins until I get out of this rut.

Shitty mental health days call for mermaid hair selfies

Timing

Timing is everything and it always seems to be my worst enemy.

I've been trying to tie up a lot of loose ends and get myself together before moving across the country in about a month, but unexpected things keep popping up.

It always happens that way, though, doesn't it? You meet someone (or someone comes back into your life) and the timing just isn't right. How perfect can that person be if the timing isn't perfect, right? (I feel like this is a lame excuse because when is timing ever on anyone's side... If you wait for everything to be perfect, you'll be miserable and waiting forever...)

I guess the best thing to do when opportunities present themselves at the wrong time, is to live in the moment. There's no sense in thinking of the "what ifs" or the "could haves" and "should haves." If everything truly happens for a reason, there's no point in stressing out about it.

Of course, this is all easier said than done, but it is wishful thinking.

At 25 years old, one of the best things I've learned is to just say 'fuck it' and do what you want. Who cares if you're moving across the country in less than a month? If you're enjoying what you're doing (and others involved are aware that you're leaving), than what's the harm in having fun? Just go with the flow and figure it out later. Like I said, there's no point in stressing about it... everything will work itself out in the end.

...Or at least that's what I'll keep telling myself...

When I Grow Up

If you had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would've always said "an author" until I was about 12 years old. After that, I would've answered "a teacher."

I can pinpoint the day I changed my mind again. I was about 15 years old, outside of my parents' house in the fall with my friend. Our Japanese Maple tree had lost a ton of leaves, but somehow still appeared full. My friend's hair was a gorgeous red, matching the leaves on the tree and the ground. I pulled out my camera and photographed her. It was in that moment I realized I wanted to take pictures for the rest of my life.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school. I was attending tech school for commercial art and loving it. I didn't want to go to college because I was already learning so much in high school. "I want to be a photographer, why do I need to go to college? It's so expensive. They will just teach me what I already know." Oh how naive I was back then.

After a push from my parents, I decided I should just go to college. I applied to a variety of places, but my heart was set on a two year school. My parents did not want me to pursue a photography degree, let alone attend a two year art school. "What if you change your mind? You'll have to change schools completely. Why don't you look at Arcadia again?"

I remember resenting my parents for pushing me to do this. All I wanted to do was attend Antonelli for two years and then start my photography career. I didn't want to attend an expensive four year school.

I visited Arcadia for a day, shadowing a student in the art department. I fell in love. The professors were incredible, the campus was gorgeous, and it felt like home. I knew that was where I needed to be.

Four years later, I graduated with a degree in Fine Arts, much to my parents' dismay. I spent those four years becoming involved in a variety of activities on campus. Student affairs became equally as, if not more, important than my Fine Arts degree, and I loved every minute of it.

I wasn't ready to leave. I cried, a lot, over the course of my senior year. I found solace in alcohol, an incredibly unhealthy coping mechanism, setting myself on a downward spiral of booze and casual sex for a few years. I was so upset I was leaving I found myself hammered at a bar the night before graduation, crying on the phone to my best friend who was in Italy. I almost missed my graduation, thanks to my addiction.

I was miserable for about a year and a half after that. Never quite fitting in where I worked. It always felt like something was missing. I was slowly drinking myself out of my mind and into a deeper depression. I had no idea what to do, I was lost and spiraling out of control.

Just when I thought it was all over,  I received a call about an RC opening at Philadelphia University from an old friend and the rest is history.

2 years later, here I am: eight months sober, on the eve of graduating from a Student Affairs Master's program with a 3.93 GPA.

The girl who never thought she'd even attend college is about to get her M.Ed.

I'd like to think I chose this student affairs path, but honestly, it seems like this path chose me.

I've been lucky in many ways, but I've also worked my ass off to get where I am today. Thank you to everyone who has helped me along the way!

Chapters

I've been thinking a lot about how my life is one big book series and each person I've spent time with represents a chapter within it.

There's chapters I've closed and stored away for years that have been reopened and there's some that never had an ending, in hopes there would be some sort of closure eventually. Recently, a few chapters that were left this way have started to end.

As I was packing up my room yesterday, I received a message from an ex, just asking how I was doing. They had heard about my sobriety through the grapevine and were incredibly happy for me. To be honest, I'd never expected to hear from this person again. I was overcome by emotion, I didn't know what to do. All the memories came rushing back and I collapsed in a heap on the floor, crying as Harry Styles Sign of the Times played through my speakers.

We spoke briefly and I told them I was moving to Olympia in a little over a month. There was a long pause before anything was sent. "Oh wow! For work?" was all that I received. I don't know what I was expecting, but it definitely was not that. I guess they did not know what else to say. Maybe they realized I truly wasn't going to wait around forever and that I was going to live my life my way. I wasn't going to be the person they could always come back to when their life was falling apart anymore.

I've thought about this a lot, analyzing the details of this conversation, thinking about all of the could haves, would haves, should haves in my life, and I've come to this conclusion: you can't dwell on the past. People are placed in our lives for specific reasons. Some to teach us tough lessons, some to carry us through a challenging time, others to stay with us forever, but we can't get hung up on the "what ifs," as easy as it is to do it.

While I'm sad many of my chapters are ending and this book of the first 25 years of my life is closing, I'm excited to start the next book in my series.