Get Up Again

The Lights Flicker On

seeclearlynow — Mon, 02 May 2011 10:20:11 +0000

It’s always a bit of a shock, coming back to myself. Sometimes when I swim, I dive too deep and for a panicked moment as I frantically push towards the surface, I think I’m not going to make it. My lungs are screaming and my muscles are on fire and the surface is so far away … and then, just when I think I can’t go any farther, I manage to burst out of the water after all. That first gasp of air is unbelievable, because it’s such a relief, because I can’t believe it’s real, and I’m left greedily drinking in as much oxygen as I can because I’m afraid it’s going to run out. That first breath of air is the closest I can get to explaining what it’s like when the meds first kick in and my depression lifts.

I have been to see my psychiatrist, who put me on lithium in addition to my regular antidepressants. I was apprehensive at first, because I’d heard some scary things about lithium, and I thought it was only prescribed to bipolar patients, which I’m definitely not. But he explained that it is also used in cases of recurrent depression as a kind of boosting agent for other antidepressants. He only gave me two weeks’ worth, and then I’ll go back and we’ll see where things stand. I was still nervous about taking it, but I trust my doctor. More importantly, by the time I had that appointment, my depression had not only become debilitating, but I was getting scared.

It’s hard to talk about the specific thoughts that plague us during depression. For one thing, subjects like addiction, self-harm and suicide are taboos in our society. I also don’t like to be a Debbie Downer; when I talk to others, no matter how low I’m feeling, I never want to bring anyone else down with me. Finally, I find it hard to vocalize a lot of my darker thoughts because they scare me, and I guess I think that if I don’t say them out loud, they’ll be less real and hold less power over me. But for anyone who believes unspoken thoughts won’t hurt you, they can. Just because you keep something to yourself doesn’t mean you’re not feeling it. You may be able to put on a mask and fool the world, but you can’t hide that kind of darkness from yourself. So, in the spirit of full disclosure, what ultimately made me decide to take the lithium was that I’d begun to think about killing myself. My thoughts were still very much in the hypothetical. I wasn’t making any plans, and at no point was I ever at genuine risk of hurting myself. I was mostly just imagining the impact of it. Who would find me? How would my family react? What might happen if I was unsuccessful? I’m not saying any of this to frighten or disturb anyone, but I want to make it clear that I was far from my true self. I want to make it clear that illness was taking over my mind, and force of will alone wasn’t going to keep that kind of thinking at bay. Because I’ve been down this road before, I know exactly where that kind of thinking leads without treatment: the thoughts gradually amplify, until you can’t push them away anymore. With time, they’ll start to crystallize from a foggy hypothetical to more concrete plans. And, most terrifying of all, the longer those thoughts and plans go unchecked, the more they start to seem like a good idea. I am taking lithium because I don’t want the thoughts I’ve been having to cross into the realm of possibility. I don’t ever want to get to the point where they seem like a viable option. What I need, desperately, is relief from the heaviness I’ve been feeling for months now. I’m putting myself in my doctor’s hands, because ultimately I think it’s safer than trusting myself.

The good news is that it’s been almost a week since I started the new medication, and the lights are starting to come on again. Right now it’s just a faint flicker, a brief illumination that gives me a glimpse of the world outside my depression. Every time it happens, I am startled, and right now it’s not lasting very long, but it’s start and it’s a massive improvement on what it was. I’m starting to feel capable again. I can do little things, like folding laundry or cooking a meal, both of which were impossible a week ago. Today I got out of bed before noon for the first time in months. So yes, I’m highly medicated, and highly dependent on that medication right now, but I’m slowly coming alive again. It’s worth it. And if you’ve ever been to the depths I have, you’ll know just what a gift this is.

Wanting

seeclearlynow — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 22:09:39 +0000

So, so low. It’s strange because on the one hand I feel the misery weighing on me, eating at me from the inside out. And on the other hand, it’s like part of me is on the outside, watching the depression and thinking, well, isn’t that a shame, let’s hope it doesn’t last. I think that I’m so used to the depression that I can recognize its artificiality, I just seem to be unable to do anything about it. It’s like having a friend who believes in a lie, and knowing that it’s a lie, but no matter what you do you’re unable to convince them of the truth.

What I do think is that I’ve hit my limit as far as medications are concerned — which isn’t to say that I’m going to stop the meds, or that I don’t believe in medication as a treatment option, because I do. I just think that in my case, the medication is doing as much as it’s going to do, and the rest of it is up to me. I believe depression is a mix of chemical and situational factors, and the chemical is the easy part.

The thing is, with a handful of exceptions, I have been becoming progressively more numb for the past four years. I’ve been emptied out, and there’s not much of me left anymore. I’ve been trying so hard to fit myself to a mold that’s the wrong shape and size entirely. I feel like there’s some kind of band wrapped around my chest, and every tie I inhale the band constricts so that I can never fill my lungs to capacity. It’s wearing me out. I don’t want to live on half-breaths anymore.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it will mean to finish my degree, to be done being a student. I graduate in June so that’s not far off. The thing is, all I’ve ever been is a student. It’s the only way I’ve identified myself for almost my entire life, and I never really chose to be a student in the first place. It’s just what I did, because it was what everyone did, and that’s the path that I was set on pretty much since I learned to talk. No wonder I feel so stuck. Education is all well and good but all the knowledge in the world won’t make you happy f you don’t know who you are, or what you want to get out of life. So tonight I sat down and decided to make a list of all the things I want, big or small, in no particular order or with any real plans in mind. I found that by writing down my desires — things that are 100% what I want, just because I want them, not fulfilling any grand scheme or set of expectations — I began to feel a little freer, a little more hopeful, a little more in control. So without further ado, my List of Things I Want … Just Because.

I want to learn to take photographs. I want to learn meditation. I want to figure out what I think about god. Do I even believe in god? I want to be in a relationship that lasts more than five minutes. That said, I also want to have a one-night stand that doesn’t leave me feeling guilty or embarrassed or disgusted with myself. I want to take control of my body, and feel good about using it however I want, because it’s precious and it’s beautiful and it’s mine. I want to stand naked in front of the mirror for five whole minutes … and be happy with what I see. I want to learn to cook. I want to pick up Spanish again, but by immersing myself in the language, not by sitting in a classroom, trapped behind a desk reciting verbs and asking my classmates about their weekends. I want to read. I want to learn to tango. I want to swim with dolphins, ride an elephant, learn to ride a horse. I want to get a dog, a big, impractical dog. I want to move out of my parents’ house. I want to fall in love and I want to have children, and I want it to be okay if those two things don’t happen together. I want to go to Venice and Machu Picchu. I want to go to Australia. I want to climb the Eiffel Tower and see a show on Broadway. I want to write books, and meet other people who want to write books too. I want to spend more time with my grandparents, because they won’t be around forever and because they never fail to make me feel good about myself, and I need that kind of influence in my life right now. I want to get married, and I want my dad to give me away and I want to wear my mother’s wedding dress. I want to work and always be financially independent, but I don’t want to be bored or stressed beyond reason by my job. I want to volunteer in Africa, because there are so many people who are so much less fortunate than me and I never want to forget that. I want to get off my medication once and for all. I want to be able to refer to my depression in the past tense.

With every one of those things, I’ve always followed with the thought “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.” But really … why the hell not? Saying no has not worked. Steeping myself in guilt and others’ expectations because I assumed they knew better than me what I needed to get out of life has not done me any good at all. So maybe now it’s time to try something new. At this point I really don’t see what I’ve got to lose.

Magic Wand

seeclearlynow — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 02:02:32 +0000

One of the best descriptions of depression I’ve ever heard:

“Depression is like this: there is a magic wand lying 8 feet away from you that will cure you completely. But it’s too much trouble to go pick it up. And even if you COULD get to that wand and wave it, it wouldn’t work on you anyway because your brain is clearly busted, no matter what people are telling you.” — Dick Cavett

I like that. It perfectly describes the state I’m in now. This feeling like I know something’s wrong and I know what I can do to help it but I just … can’t. It took me a long time to finally see my doctor and counselor. I’ve known something has been wrong for weeks but it was just impossible for me to do anything about it before now. It was too hard. And there was always this voice in my head pointing out that even if I tried it probably wouldn’t work.

Seeing the counselor tomorrow on her lunch break because it was the only time this week she could fit me in, and she says I’m in a place right now that she doesn’t want to put off talking to me. That’s how bad this is, and how wonderful she is. I’ve picked up the wand. Hopefully this will be my first step back into the light.

It’s hard either way

seeclearlynow — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 02:27:57 +0000

Sometimes, I don’t want anyone to know I’m depressed. Other times, I want to shout it from the rooftops.

Sometimes, talking about my depression to anyone who hasn’t experienced it makes me feel worse. Not because I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me, or because I’m afraid they won’t understand, or because I’m tired of talking about it (although all those things happen too). My problem in talking to my loved ones about my depression is that I can see them taking it upon themselves to try to make me feel better. And when they can’t, I can see how helpless it makes them feel, how they sometimes blame themselves for my unhappiness. This is especially true of my parents. They are wholly supportive of me in my struggle with depression, and that support has quite literally kept me alive. But I can see them struggling with the idea that their daughter is unhappy. Their daughter, their firstborn, invested with their highest hopes, is so unhappy she can’t get out of bed, and is so tortured by that unhappiness that she has thought of taking her own life. This must be unimaginable for them. I have seen the sheer terror in my mother’s eyes when she has asked if I’ve thought of suicide. And it’s not her fault that this makes me feel even more guilty. It makes me want to make her feel better — and because I’m depressed, because this is an illness over which I have very little control, I can’t. There’s no switch, no magic words. The pain of depression is bad enough, but sometimes what’s unbearable is knowing how much pain and worry it causes others, and how there’s nothing I can do about it.

That being said, hiding my depression also takes its toll. I sometimes want to wave a giant banner that says, “Don’t mind me, I’m depressed!” I don’t mean that I fear being judged FOR depression. I’ve gotten past the thought of people judging me for my illness. It doesn’t bother me; frankly I have very little interest in judgments born of ignorance. What bothers me is that my behaviors when I’m depressed are not easily READ as depression by the average person. At least I don’t think so. The problem with depression is that outwardly, it can be hard to catch. I look like a healthy person. I can walk, I can talk, I can eat and sleep and I don’t have any strange growths or physical impairments that would make my illness obvious. Instead, I cut class, I don’t put my all into my assignments, I refuse to go out with friends or don’t pay attention to conversations or simply can’t look anyone in the eye. All of these things are symptoms of the illness, but I don’t think that people necessarily realize that the illness is the cause of it. I know plenty of people who cut class and don’t do their work who aren’t depressed, they just aren’t good students. I know people who cancel plans with their friends with no warning who aren’t depressed, just unreliable. There’s a fine line and I don’t think everyone’s mind turns to depression, at least not right away. Of course the people closest to me, the ones who KNOW I’m depressed, know the signs and know that the things I do or don’t do are the symptoms of my illness, not simply who I am. As soon as I tell someone that I have depression, I can see in their eyes that everything clicks. My actions make sense. And they come to understand that I’m sick, and not just unreliable/lazy/incompetent (or if they don’t see that even after I’ve explained my illness, well, I tried, and can’t be bothered with what they think after that). But it’s so HARD telling people what’s wrong. Especially people I don’t know very well. Especially people I don’t know on an emotional level, like professors or coworkers or acquaintances. I don’t feel that my health is any of their business, and would no more tell them I had depression than that I had cancer or diabetes. I am just not much of a sharer in that department. There are some things you don’t talk about with certain people, unless it becomes absolutely necessary, like requesting time off work (and even then, I think most people would rather just say they’re sick than specify exactly what’s wrong with them, regardless of illness). The problem is that it’s NOT absolutely necessary for me to talk about this with the majority of people. I wouldn’t know how to fit it into a conversation if I tried. Still, if absolutely everybody knew, I can’t help thinking that life would be a little easier, that I wouldn’t be so ashamed of this illness I can’t speak of, that my life would run more smoothly if what I had could be completely obvious to absolutely everyone. I am not saying that my depression is an excuse for any of my failures as a student, as a friend or as a family member, I just don’t want people to assume that my failures come from some kind of basic character flaw or that I don’t notice or care how my actions affect others. I just find that a lot of my anxiety stems from wondering about the alternative scenarios people come up with in their minds to explain my actions. I try to do right by myself and by the people in my life — I want to do right by them – it’s just that sometimes … sometimes I can’t.

Crash

seeclearlynow — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 22:03:45 +0000

I think I need some kind of baseline for my emotions. I don’t know what normal is, to what degree I should feel happy, say, angry, etc. Most of the time, my emotions are completely inappropriate for the situation I’m in. I’m spending time with a friend but I feel restless, sad, sometimes anxious. The other day it was blue skies and sunshine and just setting foot outdoors made me feel heavy and disconnected. Yesterday it was pouring rain and I felt cheered walking in it. I can’t listen to sad music or read sad poetry because it makes me impatient, but to happier things I am simply numb. Aside from the days when I don’t eat or even get out of bed, I have a hard time saying whether I feel depressed or not. My reactions are off, my thoughts scattered, so my emotions are hard to pin down. It’s not even that I’m projecting one thing while feeling another, although I do that too. Half the time I project happiness because I have no idea how I’m really feeling. People ask me how I’m doing and I want to say I don’t know, but I don’t want to discuss it so I don’t say anything. I have talked my depression to death — with my doctor, with my counselor, with my friends and family — and I’m tired of rehashing the same old subjects without getting anywhere. Maybe that’s on me, I don’t know. Obviously, something is wrong with me, whether it’s physical or psychological or maybe situational, I don’t know. I need something to fix it, but I have no idea what. The things I’ve done so far have made this more or less manageable, but just barely. There must be something I’m missing, I just don’t know what.

On Tuesday, I crashed. It happened in the free hour I have between classes. Suddenly I became very tired, very anxious, and all I could think was that everything around me was going too fast, it was too loud, and I had to get away. So I went to the library, the quietest, stillest place I know, and I sat in the silent section for a while. I tried to read but I couldn’t concentrate. My head was filled with twice as many thoughts as it usually is. That’s the best way I have to describe such episodes. It’s like being in a doorless, windowless room that’s slowly filling up with water. It’s drowning in thoughts and it’s terrifying.And most of those thoughts are not only unpleasant, they’re LOUD. Like a crowd of people all shouting at me at once, almost all of them about how awful, pathetic or worthless I am. There’s no blocking them out, and I can’t do anything else while it’s happening. So I just sat and stared for an hour and a half, until I realized I’d missed the first half of my ext class. Then I dragged myself home in twice the time it normally takes, got into bed and didn’t move again until the next morning. Sometime in the night the drain in my head was unplugged and the overflow of thoughts ran out a bit, enough for me to get up and go to class and function fairly well. And then I woke up this morning and found that it had overflowed again. I’m exhausted, and I’m drowning in my own thoughts. Right now, I am even too tired to do anything beyond laying down and letting them have me. Wait it out, just like all the other times. Make doctor appointments, go see my counselor … it’s all such standard procedure now that it makes me wonder how effective any of this really is.

Nothing to control here

seeclearlynow — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 05:08:57 +0000

Who knew that doing nothing could be so stressful? I hate doing nothing. I hate feeling useless, feeling helpless. I hate waiting. It comes back to the control issues, I suppose. I just can’t handle not knowing the outcome of my graduate applications. I can’t handle the fact that for the next three to four months, there is nothing I can do. I’m just going to dread receiving the rejection letters that I’m sure are coming, and I’m going to wallow in the fact that without graduate school, my life has no direction and I have no idea what I will do with myself. Not having a backup plan makes all this waiting even more agonizing. I keep trying to remind myself that it’s out of my hands now, but every time I think that, a new knot forms in my stomach. The last thing I want is for my future to be out of my hands!

I’ve realized that I have two ways of keeping control over my life. The first is by grabbing life by the horns and directing it where I want it to go. The second is by doing nothing, by ignoring my problems. I know I just said that I can’t stand doing nothing, but this is different. There’s forced nothingness, which makes me nauseous, then there’s the nothingness that I choose. If I don’t feel like I can get a handle on something, my only other recourse is to ignore it. By actively ignoring something, it’s still under my control. It’s kind of unhealthy, really. Maybe bordering on self-destructive. But it’s always like that with me. I have to jump in or jump away, absorb myself in something or become absorbed in avoiding it.

I wish I had some way of absorbing myself in the dreams while avoiding the anxiety, then I’d be set. It’s one of life’s cruelest jokes, I think, for dreams and anxiety to go hand-in-hand.

The Future Freaks Me Out

seeclearlynow — Sat, 08 Jan 2011 06:05:22 +0000

I have been having a series of small panic attacks over the last two weeks. My grad applications have been submitted and all I can think is that I should have worded my essays differently, that my creative writing samples are trite and unmoving, that I should have applied to more schools in order to increase my chances of getting in — not that I’m currently convinced I can get in anywhere. I have to wait until March/April until I get any responses. I’m becoming more and more convinced that I won’t get in, ad if I don’t, I have no viable backup plan. I don’t know what I want to do with myself, what I can do with myself. The unknown terrifies me. I have never taken a blind risk in my entire life and although it’s cowardly, I don’t want to start now. Or ever. I’m just not an adventurous person. I need structure, stability, plans. It makes me dull, but it’s what I need to feel safe. I can’t fly by the seat of my pants. I’m not that kind of person.

I’m so scared. I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life. I have no idea who I am, who I want to be. It’s a cliché but I need to find myself. I have no idea where to go from here. If I get into grad school, I’ll at least have two more years to figure it out. But if I don’t, then what? Sometimes I tell myself to just try something, anything, and if I don’t like it then I can try something else. It’s just not that simple. There are too many risks, complications, unknowns. Too many questions. And the biggest obstacle right now is depression. Not that I’m depressed now, I’m actually doing really well, it’s just that having suffered from it in the past, I know that my risk of getting depressed in the future is significantly increased. I would do absolutely anything to avoid going back to feeling that way. When I talk to my counselor about it, she makes it sound so simple. If the depression comes back, I get treatment again, I get better again, I go on with my life. Fin. But I barely had a life to go on with the first time around. Depression destroyed me and even though I’m feeling better, I’m still dealing with the consequences. There are relationships, for example, that I’m never going to be able to get back. There are years I’m never going to be able to repeat. There’s work I didn’t put into my education and I’m going to be stuck with the lousy grades for the rest of my life. I said and did things under the influence of mental illness and a revolving door of medications that I’m so incredibly ashamed of, things that I will carry around with me for the rest of my life. When you get depressed, it doesn’t just hurt you while you’re ill. It continues to hurt you long into your future.

I think that’s why I’m so eager to finish university. No matter what I do, no matter what kind of friends I have there, or how much I love Scotland, I am always going to associate that place with depression. I just suffered too much there. I can’t love it the way I know other students do. I can’t look back fondly on the majority of my university experiences because for the majority of my undergraduate studies, I was so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed. I just want to get out and put it behind me. It feels a little like I’m running away, but I also know that I need to start a new chapter in my life in order to fully separate myself from my illness. The specter of depression will hang over that place for the rest of my life, which is a shame, really, but there’s not much to be done about that now but to look to my future and move on.

That’s why the future scares me so much. It’s so wide open, and one of the possibilities is that I’ll be unable to handle the change and I’ll just slip back into my own self-destructive ways. I’ll be unable to handle the world at large and I’ll just collapse in on myself again. It’s important for me to do something that makes me happy, for me to do something that’s entirely my decision. I don’t think my parents really understand that. They say that everyone has to pay their dues, that when you’re young you have to do things you don’t necessarily want to do in order to get by, and I understand that completely. I’m not saying that I’m above entry level jobs, studying until my head aches, eating nothing but canned spaghetti in order to get by. It’s part of life and I embrace it all. What I’m saying is that I absolutely cannot do anything because somebody else tells me it’s a good idea. I cannot do anything that is going to make me miserable to my core, even if it’s temporary, because I’m afraid I don’t have the strength to take that misery in stride. Not listening to myself, not doing something entirely for myself, is only inviting the depression back in. I will sweep sidewalks, I will flip burgers, I will sleep in drafty apartments or work for unpleasant bosses or completely forgo sleep. I will pay my dues like every other young person without complaint — as long as whatever I’m doing is 100% my choice, and I can see the reasoning behind it as supporting my future aspirations, not anyone else’s.

I’m so scared that I’m going to lose myself again. I’m barely managing to find myself now as it is, because I’m still not doing what I want. Applying to grad school made me feel powerful, made me feel like I was taking control of my life for the first time, but now that the application process has become merely a waiting game, I am in full panic mode. Because if I can’t do this, what else can I do? What else am I good for? I don’t know myself well enough yet to know the answer.

Keeping Busy

seeclearlynow — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 11:04:13 +0000

I feel really good. I have been working almost non-stop, and I haven’t slept properly in who knows how long, but I am more energized than ever. The work is absorbing, for the first time in years. As I chip away at it, I feel my spirit go still. My mind stops jabbering nonsense or hurling insults at me, and I am well and truly in a kind of academic trance.

Which is not to say that I want to do this forever. I look forward to graduating and putting as much distance between myself and academia as possible. I am no more enthusiastic about my degree than I’ve ever been. What I like is the break I get from life, from my own thoughts. After living so long trapped inside my own head, I’m finally able to concentrate on something outside of myself. The distance brings me clarity and peace. It’s good to have another form of meditation besides my writing. Writing is very therapeutic, of course, but it’s a highly internalized activity. It makes you vulnerable, exposes you to truths you might not think about otherwise. Academic writing, on the other hand, with its formulaic structure, is like armour against strong emotion. I’m not saying I want to shut off my emotions completely, that would be a terrible way to live, but my problem has always been that I haven’t been able to transcend them, to go someplace with structure, right and wrong answers, interpretations of outside events and ideas. I analyse myself far too much, spend too much time contemplating my purpose, my worth as a human being, as a daughter, as a friend, which can weigh on a person after a while. Introspection is only good to a point; I believe that I especially am capable of overdosing on it if I’m not careful. Being busy like this is something to distract the mind so it will quit burdening the heart for a while.

Soul Mates

seeclearlynow — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 00:18:48 +0000

My friend has this theory that once in our lives – and one time only – we all meet one person who’s special to us. We connect at the purest, most perfect level with that person in a way we’ll never connect with anyone else. And when we become separated from that person, we feel that separation longer and more deeply than we ever will again. It goes beyond romantic sentiment – clearly, you can love multiple people in the course of your life. It’s just that this one person – a friend, a parent, a grandparent, a lover, a teacher, whatever – knows us as well as or possibly better than we know ourselves. We get one person like that, for however long we can keep them with us, and that’s it. There will never be anyone like that again, not as perfectly as that. But the impact they have on our lives will remain with us forever.

I think that’s kind of beautiful.

Control Issues

seeclearlynow — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 02:45:37 +0000

I feel … amazing. I saw my counselor yesterday. The word she used was “blossomed”. I certainly feel like it. All of a sudden, I feel empowered, like I have a grasp on who I am for the first time in years, and for the first time in who knows how long, when I look in the mirror I see someone I actually like. I feel like I’m finally getting a hang of this whole living thing.

My counselor says I have control issues, which I think I’ve always been aware of on some level, but have never really discussed before. But it’s true, I need to feel in control. Not of others — other people can do what they want, when they want, how they want, it makes no difference to me. No, the only thing I need control over is my own life. For instance, my greatest source of anxiety right now is that I have no idea where I’ll be this time next year. I don’t operate well without a plan. I can’t handle the uncertainty. I’m constantly looking forward, which is something I rely on when present circumstances overwhelm me, but when I don’t know what lies ahead of me I feel incredibly lost, uncertain, like I’m barreling down a hill on a sled and there’s a 50/50 chance of colliding with a tree.

The thing is, the whole time we were talking about my need for control, my counselor never gave me the impression that it’s something I need to change. Accepting that some things are out of my control, yes, but suddenly deciding to fly by the seat of my pants just isn’t me. If I need control to be happy, then I’ll structure my life accordingly. So far, it hasn’t hurt me. I may enjoy myself more if I loosen up a little (and I’d probably sleep better too) but if it gets me where I need to go, then I think being in control is just right for me. That’s something I’ve been working on too, figuring out what is right for me. What kind of person do I want to be? Where do I want to go? What do I want to do? At best, I’ve got anywhere from 60-80 more years of life, maybe less. Maybe a lot less. And then that’s it, it’ll be over before I know it. I forget sometimes that my life belongs to me, will always depend on the choices I make, and I need to take that kind of control seriously. Still, I’m finally starting to see that screwing up is okay. So is changing my mind. It’s allowed. And wow, the freedom that has come with that realization has been mind-blowing, terrifying, and positively joyous.