Big Changes Need Big Reminders

This is the first time I’ve been on since leaving for a 2 day drive to my new state. I scheduled uplifting posts before I left, hoping if I tell myself positive platitudes enough, I’ll believe them.

Thanks for reinforcing my lack of sharing guys! ;p

My parents left yesterday. Things are going well so far.  I love the apartment complex and my apartment, which is about as big as one room in my childhood home! I’m debating sharing the view out my window, even though it shows the climate I live it and could be used to identify my whereabouts. Then again, so could my IP address if anyone cared enough to stalk me! I’ll consider it further; the view is wonderful. I’m also in love with my decor. It prominently displaying my favorite color: Blue. It is a light blue that I find calming.

While my parents were still here, I went to see a new provider to get medication. She gave my all the prescriptions I need and didn’t try to mess with my meds. She was nice, but the meeting upset me because I could tell she is afraid of me. Not afraid I’ll hurt her, but afraid I’ll hurt myself and she’ll be liable. Her tone of voice and demeanor changed when I mentioned my 2 suicide attempts, even though they were 15 and 11 years ago respectively. She also asked what I thought I needed to be successful since I’d “pretty much been through mental health treatment, in all its forms over the years.”

She made me feel sick and not in the “affirming my difficulties” way, but in the “I find it foolhardy that you think you are capable of navigating this gigantic change” way.  I doubt myself enough already. All my loved ones, from family to close friends like Ginny and Jessica, seem confident in me. Their faith buoyed me more than I realized because the practitioners’ reaction knocked the wind out of my sails.

However, she doesn’t know me and only has my self-report to rely on. I’m not a reliable narrator. The psychiatrist I’ve known since I was 14 thinks I am strong enough to do this and he saw me through suicide attempts and inpatient treatment for ED. He did NOT think I was well enough to go out of state for undergraduate and I managed that, with a few hiccups, but without a higher level of care. As a result, his confidence should mean more to me than someone I met for 45 minutes and only has the boiled down statistics of my psych history to judge me off of. Likewise, the opinions of family and friends I’ve known for years, should also count for more than her assessment. Logically, I know these things to be true, but emotionally, I’m still dealing with the impact days later because someone confirming my fear is more salient than the voices telling me I am more resilient than I realize.

On that note, I need to add a reminder for myself. In addition to the scheduled post today, I give you:

dont let others define you - Copy




I complain a lot about not having many friends and not having a significant other, but I sit here avoiding my 2 or 3 friends and ignoring interested people because I don’t deserve caring.

Acting opposite is hard.

I caught myself thinking, “My eating disorder will always be my friend.”

bored now dark willow - Copy.gif


Am I Dark Willow or am I Warren? Haha, I’m not sure. However, I am sure “my eating disorder is my friend” is a messed up thought and I’m mad at myself for thinking it. WHY am I prioritizing a deadly mental illness over relationships with other human beings?!

At the same time, I’m not sick enough for help.

Grateful for Family Putting Up with Me

I was homebound in 8th grade. A lot of our students are homebound before they come to us because their school district can’t handle their behaviors. When they come to us, they’re usually significantly behind in course work, even if they’re intellectually on grade level. In contrast, I did not fall behind while homebound.

I think my parents were the difference.

They couldn’t stop all my behaviors, but my parents were effective in:

A. making sure they sent curriculum (which based on schools not sending curriculum to our students and later friends in treatment whose parents had to fight schools to send work, is probably an issue),

B. creating consequences that made me work, and

C. supplementing what the tutor (or special education teacher or whatever she was) did with me. For example, I took German, the woman didn’t know German. My parents hired a family friend to help me with German. Plus, the tutor only came once a week or maybe it was every other week. I don’t remember that detail.

What the district did by itself, wouldn’t have been enough, even if they sent work on their own (Idk, if they would’ve, I know my mom drove there a few times to pick stuff up when the woman didn’t bring it), the tutor’s presence wouldn’t have been sufficient without my parents’ consequences (her reinforcement was snack, lol) and extra help.

😦 Poor kids. I’ve thought it many times over the years, but I’ll say it again: I’m extremely lucky to have the family I have. I’d be dead many times over or on disability without their vigilance. Idk maybe they adapted as my behaviors changed, but even my grandparents or uncle (the psychiatrist) for example, wouldn’t have been enough despite being loving, smart, good people.

Plus, if I’d lived in one of those rural districts without good SPED services and didn’t go to private schools, I could’ve ended up in a school like my workplace. I almost did. After getting expelled from Middle School, my parents looked into alternative schools. One of the schools they looked at is a school we sent a student to last year as a step between our school and his home school. Furthermore, the school district provided academic resources, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and physical therapy from age 1 – high school. The latter 3 dropped off in elementary school. Now I’m thinking about how Iris (The OT therapist at work) thinks I’m too high functioning to obtain OT services now days. I guess that is another testament to both the school district and my parents. I always had supplemental therapies (OT, speech, and psychotherapy starting at age 12).

I stumbled across old IEPs while looking for proper documentation for disability accommodations. My mom has them all the way back to 1991 when I enrolled in my state’s early intervention program. I sound so much like our kids, it is unsettling.

The lecturer for my class mentioned a homebound kid in an example and my mind goes down memory lane.

I’ve only been able to think about those years in the past 2 or 3 years without overwhelming negative emotions. I think the growth that allows me to remember things without pain is because of my job. Work has helped me be more compassionate with my younger self.

When I see myself in them, I repudiate young me a little less. If I don’t hate Cory for drawing in blood in the QR, how can I hate myself for similar things?

Happiness is Studying. WHAT?!

You know you picked the right field when studying is fun and you buy the optional reading material, not necessarily because you want clarification on terms, but because you’re curious and want to know everything possible about the subject.