An Optimistic Revelation

Optimism is not exactly my natural way of thinking…..I’m much more of a cynic. I blame it on my dad who, when I asked for the definition of optimism for a school assignment in the third grade, told me it is “not knowing all the facts.”

Anyways, here I am today. Reveling in this unfamiliar optimistic revelation:  This will be the first time, EVER, that I have taken two semesters of college coursework in a row.

This is a pretty significant accomplishment for me, at least existentially; I am finally choosing to go down the path of higher education, and I seem to have found the ‘right’ major in Psychology – a sort of agreement between the liberal arts and science.

I do view this ‘accomplishment’ with some hesitation as I only took one class this past semester, but I did simultaneously move out of my parent’s home and into an apartment near campus where I was able to gain some more independence. More significantly, I had to overcome my grandfather’s deterioration and ultimate death during the semester.

The class I took was fairly challenging, and I actually found it to be somewhat enjoyable. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it if I was taking any other classes additionally; I would have been too focused on the stress of the classes and would not have been able to take the time to revel in the content and the analyses of what I was learning.

I did spend a fair amount of time coming back to my parents’ home, but that’s OK. Considering everything that went on this past semester, I think it made sense that I sought comfort in my parents and in the house I was most familiar with. It’s all about baby steps. And the baby step I am taking this upcoming semester is adding on a second class to my workload. I’m pretty certain I will be able to handle it.

Now, I’m even looking forward to graduate school; I have a relatively short-term plan and then a long-term, sort of, back-up plan:  The short term plan is to earn a MSSW. The long-term plan is to earn a Ph.D. in Psychology and use it in some way. As of right now I envision opening my own private practice. But now I have planS and OPTIONS. Things feel right. I don’t feel trapped.

I hope to meet with an advisor tomorrow to figure out exactly how long it will take me to earn my bachelor’s degree, but even though I’m in a bit of a rush to get it, I still want to enjoy my undergraduate experience. I want to become, at least, a little more involved in the school. I pretty much have to if I want to get into graduate school.

Although this whole optimism thing is foreign to me, it doesn’t mean it’s bad. Maybe it just means that I know all the relevant facts. 

A Physical Manifestation

I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder about four years ago. I thought I have been pretty open about my illness, even from the beginning and progressively more so as time has passed. I really broke the barrier when I wrote about it here. I have considered pursuing the role of a Certified Peer Specialist in the Mental Health Field; in this role I would have to be extremely open about my experiences with my depression and anxiety throughout my life. I thought it would be easy for me to do that, especially because it would be a means to help another individual.

All of those theories were challenged about six months ago when a friend of mine who also struggles with a mental illness gave me a bracelet that symbolizes awareness for depression. I immediately put it on when she gave it to me, but, even then, it didn’t feel quite right. The next morning I saw my therapist and told her that I didn’t like having this physical reminder of my mental illness. Soon after, I took the bracelet off and put it in my jewelry box.

Fast forward to about a month ago when I saw an intriguing post on Facebook:  It was about the semicolon project http://www.projectsemicolon.com/. The semicolon project is about getting a tattoo of a semicolon because “A semicolon is used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” Multiple friends of mine were posting links about it. I thought it was very interesting. I’m not really they type to get a tattoo, though – I don’t even have any piercings, not even my earlobes. Something about the idea of getting a tattoo to symbolize everything I have gone through and to make a commitment to not give up on my life journey, as well as to show solidarity to all the other people in the world really spoke to me.

So, I showed up to my next therapy session wearing the bracelet my friend had given me. I told my therapist about the semicolon project and explained to her that I was wearing the bracelet to see if I felt any differently about having a physical symbol for my mental illness. Even though the bracelet is somewhat annoying (I don’t really wear jewelry), and it’s in a much more obvious place than where I plan to get the tattoo, I also figured it would be good practice in case anybody asked me about the bracelet to see how I dealt with explaining its meaning. She smiled and said that she thought it was a good idea.

It’s been about three weeks now, and I’ve only taken the bracelet off when I had an x-ray and an MRI done (yes, people with mental disorders still have physical disorders too). I haven’t committed to getting the semicolon tattoo. I’m pretty sure I know where I want to get it, and I think I want to go simple and classic with the style. I plan on waiting until Christmas time to go through with it. I think that would be sufficient time to decide if I want to permanently turn my insides out.

My Favorite and Least Favorite Entries in Mindy Kaling's Book

I bought "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)" when I was in Austin and knew I would have a fair amount of down time; I had an interest in the book for quite awhile but was previously unable to justify spending the money to own it as I always have a stack of books that I'm in the middle of reading and/or have already purchased and 'really should get around to reading.'
Anyways, the opportunity finally came for me to delve into some fun, and funny, reading!

I really enjoyed the book. It was easy to get through - something I really needed since my attention span was not at its best. 

Incidentally, both my favorite and least favorite entries in Kaling's book were in the same section:  "The Best Distraction in the World:  Romance and Guys." 

First came the least favorite: 

In ITALICS it reads "At that time I remember thinking, I just want to meet a guy who has not been, at one point in his life, diagnosed with clinical depression.That was my only criterion."

Wow. Really? Do a lot of people think this? Way to make a parade out of the stigma of mental health. But then I had to realize that this book is categorized as Humor and Kaling PROBABLY didn't feel as strongly about depression as it came off to me. Surely, this is not a general criterion for the generaly population when dating. Everyone is different and has different experiences, blah, blah, blah.

Now for the fun part!!!

First of all the fact that Kaling had the genius to write a section with this title - it's amazing! And it's so true (at least to me)! You may or may not have noticed, but I have a crush on Hozier - you know, the guy who sings Take Me to Church (seriously listen to the rest of his album though because it is AMAzing). So the reason I brought up Hozier is because he generally has some chest hair showing when making public appearances of all sorts. The timing of coming across this was extraordinary because my main purpose for making the pilgrimage to Austin was to see Hozier perform live! Don't you see! It's all a sign! I have no idea what the sign is or what it represents, but you don't turn a sign down when you know you have come across one.

My point in writing this piece: 1) To get back in to the swing of writing; I have had a lot of ideas but have been reluctant to give them any kind of reality or being. 2) To recommend Kaling's book to all who like to laugh and/or need a break from serious reading - I know you crazy college kids are having to deal with finals right about now.

So even if you hated this blog piece, go pick up a book! It's good for you!

No More Elephants In This Blog

                I particularly enjoy writing pieces that are relevant to current events. With Robin Williams’s passing, I thought it was time to write and publicly share this.

                I have depression. Dysthymia to be exact. Dysthymia is a chronic but relatively ‘mild’ form of depression. I’ve had two major depressive episodes. The first occurred in February 2011 and is the reason I took a medical withdrawl from UC Berkeley. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make, but it was the right one.

                I also have an anxiety disorder, which is actually probably worse (stronger, more present) that the depression. Apparently, it isn’t normal to remember being anxious in Kindergarten. This ‘dual diagnosis’ makes it more difficult to decipher the source of the problems I encounter.

                It sucks. No, I don’t want your pity. The last thing I want is your pity. I actually unfriended a high school friend on Facebook after meeting him for coffee because my pity radar went off.

                If you really want to do something, donate, anything, to http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/donate . I am very fortunate that I have an incredibly supportive family who has also financed the entirety of my vast and plenty mental health treatments. Mental health does not have the funding, facilities, or personnel it needs to really make a difference in the lives of every person (or even American) who faces a mental health disorder. I have experienced this in the forms of poor therapists who actually made me feel worse and poor urgent care facilities that are something out of Sylvia Plath’s writings and will scare you out of whatever it is you are experiencing, temporarily.

                In my Title Explanation, I stated that I metaphorically Lost My Boots In Berkeley. I lost my identity. I was a student, a scholar a researcher – not a mental health patient.

                For approximately three years, the treatment of my mental health disorders became my primary focus, which did not allow for the time or mental capacity to maintain my former identity.

                The combination of time away from school and a deluge of prescription drugs led to a deterioration of my intelligence. It was almost like I could physically feel it in my brain. Words would not come to me in conversation despite my desperate attempts to recall them. My memory was poor. My neurons weren’t firing like they used to. I began to say “Well, I used to be smart/intelligent.”

                It became obvious that in order to treat my disorders, I had to accept them, but it seemed like their acceptance would result in the loss of my former self:  My wants, desires, passions, personality – everything that made me, me.

                Luckily, I now know that this is not true. One of the most important lessons I have learned over the past few years is the importance of balance. I can see a therapist but also attend school. I can take the right prescription medications but also hang out with friends and have a good time. Tears are sometimes followed by laughter and vice versa.

                The reason I am writing and sharing this piece is to bring awareness to mental health and all those who face its many disorders. Not talking about depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, anxiety disorders, etc. gives them a terrific power. It has taken me time, but I now know that my diseases are nothing to be ashamed of. So many people are hiding their mental health disorders for fear of facing discrimination and even ridicule. Many individuals are scared about mental health disorders because they do not have any knowledge about them. Luckily for me, the only time I have really faced discrimination has been in the dating scene. I can’t tell you how many guys have tucked their tail and run as soon as I said “I have depress….”

                My diseases are something I will live with for the rest of my life, but they will not define my life. And I have a lot in the life ahead of me.          

                I’m changing my major from Molecular and Cell Biology with an emphasis in Genetics to Psychology. For one thing, it’s less of a mouthful. (That’s not really a reason I’m changing my major, but it’s a good point.) I have taken two Psychology courses and thoroughly enjoyed both. My decision to change my major is both a selfish and selfless act because I’m making this change to make my life more enjoyable – despite my passion for Genetics, I do not deem Organic Chemistry nor Biochemistry enjoyable. It is a selfless act because I hope to one day use my knowledge and experiences to help others who are struggling with similar demons I have faced.

                I may one day return to gene therapy. I definitely still have a passion for it and am fascinated by the field, but, right now, that track is not for me. I am considering merging my two passions by becoming a Genetic Counselor:  Someone who relays genetic test results to patients and advises them on choices they may or may not make based on those results.

                If you have any questions, feel free to contact me or comment on the post. I welcome and encourage questions and discussion.

                Did you just hear that? I heard a stampede of elephants that is the secrecy of mental health.

The Evolution of my views on Love and love

           That dreaded time of year is coming up again: Valentine’s Day. It’s been quite some time since I last posted. I apologize for that; I’ve been breaking in my “boots.”

            At this point in time, I don’t see myself ever getting married. I started dating a guy sometime around this past August/September. He didn’t know that I am not fond of the idea of marriage for myself. We went over to my friend’s family’s house one weekend after we had been dating a couple of weeks. We spent the majority of the day there, laughing, talking, eating a nice, home-cooked meal, etc. As the night started to wind down, he thought it would be funny to pretend to propose to me. He got down on one knee. He didn’t even have time to utter a single word before I experienced a full panic attack. Difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, feels like a heart attack. Yeah, all that fun stuff. He quickly apologized and said he would have never attempted such a prank if he knew it would have that effect on me.

            Needless to say, I have a long way to go before I enter into a serious relationship.

The following essay was written in the Fall of 2009 and was part of my application to UC Berkeley.

            I lay under the covers beneath the warm, quiet light, reading a book as I awaited sleep to take me. There was one problem:  this book was not relaxing my mind. On the contrary, this literature was stimulating my brain. I knew this was not an ordinary book.

            One of the most enlightening experiences a human can have is learning that other humans share a philosophy about life similar to the one they have personally developed. Through a modern book, I learned an ancient philosopher developed ideas about life that I came to develop independently.

            One night, I began reading the book Sophie’s World. It didn’t take long for that incomparable sensation when you read something intellectually stimulating to occur at the back of my brain – almost as if my pesky little sister was using a feather to tickle my frontal lobe.

            As I began reading the chapter on Plato, I became excited. The fundamentals of his philosophy sounded familiar to me. I had somehow developed similar ideas.

            We both thought that ideas the human mind is capable of developing aren’t always realistic and can’t be manifested in the actual world.

            I talked to my English teacher about my exciting revelation and she recommended I read Phaedrus, a work by Plato. I couldn’t wait to delve into the writing of my new mentor. It turned out that we also have similar ideas about love:  true love isn’t really possible and humans always mess it up.

            After discovering that I thought in a way similar to an ancient philosopher, it felt as though I had received an endorsement to expand on my thinking. I now know that I have my buddy, Plato, to go to whenever I feel like I’m over thinking a quandary.

I wrote this on January 1, 2014 (wanted a good start to the new year) for an application to St. Edward’s University:

As children, we often initially fear things that do not actually exist:  The monster under the bed, ghosts, etc. For me, personally, I still fear something that does not exist here, in the physical world. I fear love. The kind of love that is all encompassing and life changing. The scariest thing about Love is that the average person thinks they have, at least at one point in their life, experienced it. But, according to Plato, the highest Form of Love does not exist here on Earth. My fear came into fruition when I first encountered Plato and his theories. Though it did make complete sense to me that humans are fully capable of thinking of, imagining, and analyzing concepts that are not possible of occurring in the physical world, it also led me to feeling disappointed. The scariest thing of all results when a person thinks they are experiencing the Form of Love. Generally, this develops into a brief happy period when everything is focused on this perceived occurrence of Love, but eventually results in a great, agonizing downfall when the people involved realize they are not actually experiencing Love. The root of this fear is my first failed relationship. I thought I had met the Love of my life and we would live happily ever after. Shockingly, this was not the case for my first high school boyfriend. I then began to look outward for signs of Love and was disappointed to find that I occasionally encounter elements of Love but never the full and complete concept. Couples will enjoy hours, sometimes even days, of blissful Love and Happiness, but then some element of reality hits and they are brought back down to Earth. There are bills to be paid, a family member has just been diagnosed with a chronic disease, the mother-in-law is still determined to break-up the marriage, you begin to realize your partner isn’t quite the person you thought he or she was when you first agreed to a committed relationship, or your partner has changed into someone you don’t recognize and don’t want to be with. My fear of Love represents my general fear and disgust of the world. As much as I strive for and desire perfection, it, too, does not, and will not, exist. Even if I dedicate the rest of my life to making the world a better place, the imperfections and tragedies will still significantly outweigh the Good in the world. I am still trying to figure out what I want in and with my life, but it is frustrating and disappointing when those things I begin to contemplate setting out to accomplish are either impossible or non-existent. This self-discovery has benefitted me in that I am slowly learning to cherish the small things and take one day at a time rather than plan the next fifteen years of my life. I am learning that it is healthy and important to have goals but also that there are so many things in life that are unexpected that we all just have to roll with what comes at us. I hope that one day, I am able to find a form of love. This love would be more about companionship and support rather than passion and change. It would be realistic, yet unexpected. It wouldn’t necessarily have to last a lifetime but be significant enough that its memory would bring a lifetime of joy.

One of my Facebook friends posted this link:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/compassion-matters/201401/7-reasons-most-people-are-afraid-love

Where do you and Love or love stand?

God Made Dirt, So Dirt Don't Hurt

During my first year of life, my dad worked for Mobil Gas. He was part of an exploratory team looking for possible new drilling sites around the world. I think I was about six months old when he made a trip to Nigeria.

Since I was a curious youngin’ I licked the bottom of his shoes as soon as I could get my little hands on them. My parents were both horrified; I don’t know who had the worse case of fear:  my mom, being the overprotective and cautious parent of her first-born, or my dad who knew where those soles had been. My mom called Poison Control who simply instructed to wait it out.

Fast-forward to the Fall of 2009. A pretty serious outbreak of Swine Flu affected the nation. My sister was diagnosed with the virus. I waited anxiously for symptoms of my own to surface since we were very close and spent a lot of time together. Weeks passed and it seemed as though the virus had passed through. To this day, I am convinced that by licking my father’s shoes after their trip to Nigeria, I was able to build up immunities to all kinds of ‘interesting’ diseases, including Swine Flu.

How To: Get Me to Do Just About Anything

It was my junior year of high school, and the Regional Solo and Ensemble competition was approaching. My private lesson teacher selected a Saint-Saëns solo for me to follow the previous year’s performance of “Le Cygne,” which granted me the opportunity to go to the state competition.

This piece, Allegro Appassionato, however, was far more challenging and complex than “The Swan.” In my mind, I had mastered the new piece. Though, there was a section about two-thirds through the piece which gave me some difficulty. It required playing two notes at once, on two different strings while shifting positions. I practiced enough that the muscles in my fingers, hand, and wrist knew where to be and when.

I played through Allegro Appassionato for my teacher and felt pretty secure with the performance. My teacher assured me that I had mastered the notes and bowings, but it was missing a key element: emotion. The majority of the piece was playful, a fairly easy emotion to portray, but that tricky section with the double stops hid an under-lying emotion I was not comfortable with: anger.

My teacher looked at me and said, “Erin, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can do it.” If you know me well, you know that if I am really angry, my first physical reaction is to cry. Tears began to blur my vision. I began to play a few measures before the dreaded section and let my emotions grow and release, matching the notes, rhythms, and dynamics on the page. I finished with three resounding chords. I looked over to my teacher. She smiled, and said, “there you go.”