Hey y’all. How are you?
Listen, today is about mental health, just
FYI. And while you’re reading, you may be asking yourself, “Why does she share
this personal information on here?” Here’s why, because we still seem to live
in a world where mental illness is viewed as something to
keep quiet about. I have always been very loud about my issues. Why? Because if
it makes one person…just ONE... feel like they aren’t alone, then I’m happy and
it was worth it. It was so worth putting myself out there saying, “HEY. I’M
CRAZY TOO, IT’S TOTALLY FINE.”
So let’s talk about bravery. I like to think of myself as a
pretty brave person. I have a whole testimony of being brave, at least I think
so. (Maybe when I write that book one day you’ll hear it all. Or you know, just
ask me.) Heck, I even have the word “courage” tattooed on my left foot. Not
trying to toot my own horn here, y’all, but I’m still alive today… so I count
that as brave. I love those people who get the semicolon tattoo, that’s my
favorite. I need one of those. (Don’t know why people get those? Click here.) I
could have ended my life with so many obstacles life threw at me, but I didn’t.
And that’s brave. I’m not saying I didn’t try, I did. Thank the Lord I didn’t
succeed. Failure is a good thing in some moments.
At 15 I started seeing a therapist. At 16 I tried to commit
suicide, failed, and checked MYSELF into a mental facility. (I’m super open
about this, obviously.) I took a thousand different combinations of depression/anxiety
meds for 10 years and saw a variety of different therapists that never quite
fit. And then I quit.
I just… quit. I was so over it. I was so done not feeling
things, not dealing with life. I could never find that “sweet spot” of meds that
would work. I had horrible reactions to a lot of them. One heightened my
anxiety more than ever and I had a giant panic attack in my friend’s car on the
way home from school, then in my front yard to the point of completely passing
out. (I’m still friends with her today, Hi Stef! Thanks for loving me through
all that.) Another made me break out in a rash, another made me so sick even
after the point of time your body is supposed to be passed that, another made
me physically unable to cry. I COULDN’T CRY, YOU GUYS. SERIOUSLY. I’d feel that
lump in my throat, I’d think horrible things… still nothing. I COULDN’T CRY. It
was awful. I did finally get on one that was okay enough and I just dealt with
it.
Then I got married and we wanted to have a baby. I didn’t want
to be on meds while pregnant, that can be so dangerous, so I stopped. (You all know
how that story goes… no pregnancy.) But I stayed off. I stayed off of meds
through that entire infertility season of my life (you know, the one I’m still
in.) We adopted. I stayed off. I had surgery, causing my eating disorder and
anxiety to get worse. I stayed off. My mom died. I stayed off. I dealt with
picking my kid up from school every day and breaking into tears with every pick
up because I had to find out what horrible behavior my child decided to conduct
that day. I stayed off.
I just… can’t anymore.
You see, I stayed off because I thought I was being brave. I
was dealing with it and I was being so brave doing it all on my own. But then I
realized…. That’s not bravery. Bravery is admitting that I can’t do this on my
own. (Oh hey, story of my life.) Bravery is saying that the world feels like it’s
closing in on me and OMG PLEASE JUST GIVE ME THE GOOD MEDS. Right? Right. At
least to me that’s bravery.
So this isn’t to pat myself on the back and tell you all
what an amazing person I am (even though I am, duh), but instead for someone
who needs to see this to realize that they don’t have to be the other kind of
brave anymore. You can be another kind of brave. You can be my kind of brave
and it’s totally okay. And if that isn’t your definition of brave, then that’s
okay too. And if you aren’t dealing with any of this, but wanted a real glimpse
into who I am, well then there you go. Hope you love me through it.
And please forgive me. Forgive me for not answering your
phone calls because it was just too hard that day, forgive me for cancelling
plans on you, forgive me for making a thousand excuses, forgive me for being a
flake. Forgive me for not answering “I’m great!” to “How are you?”, Forgive me
for just being tired all the time, and please forgive me for the journey I’m about
to embark on as all my emotions get out of whack. And if you’re a praying
person, pray that I finally find that sweet spot. The one that still lets me be
me, but also lets me deal with all of y’all a little better… y’all are awful.
(just kidding… kind of.)
xo
Tabitha
(Feel free to share this if you feel compelled, seriously. Maybe someone who needs
to will see it. J)