Minds

What could trigger an episode? My life was perfect now. I took my meds (most of the time, anyway). I was a mental health advocate for a living, for crying out loud; I knew what I was doing. Besides, it had been so long since I’d experienced a real episode — I was practically cured. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to hit rock bottom, and really, was it ever THAT bad?

The gynecologist said, “Congratulations!” He sent me home with some vitamin B pills, assuming that of COURSE I was going to carry this baby to term. My heart ached and I was devastated all over again — but I knew I could not support the life of a child.

I feel I got the short end of the stick because of emotional and financial costs I am still paying for what he did — the grooming, the mind games, the violation of my body and my agency, the disregard for my mental and physical well-being, the purposeful isolation from friends and family. I have already spent a decade in therapy trying to find solid ground, struggling to revive even a shadow of the person I used to be.

I have been robbed of my dreams for more than 15 years by insomnia, an unpredictable bully playing tricks with my mind and body like a dog with its chew toys. I am given weeks or months of normal sleep, only to be blown back to sleeplessness like a sudden wind. An estimated 30-35% of adults will grapple with this particular sleep disorder at one point in their lives — and 10% will deal with insomnia chronically.

Without a doubt, going to AA meetings saved my life. But after six years of devoted participation, my attendance dwindled until, about a year ago, I stopped going entirely. Contrary to what I was taught when I was in the program, my sobriety’s just fine. You can stay sober without AA — at least, I can. Here’s how I do it.

I used to be the one that pushed everyone away out of fear that I was too demanding or too toxic or “too much.” But I’m finally at a place in my life where I understand just how important it is to lean on your support system — and so I’m committed to not running away anymore.

My father was an abusive man, plain and simple.

That wasn’t all he was, but to my mother, that's who he was. He was a controlling individual who perhaps took the scripture, “Wives, submit to your husbands” a tad bit too literally — and when my mom didn’t submit, she paid the price. Often with a blow to the head.

But here is the secret I've learned from years of misery and failure: Food IS naturally comforting to us. And that is perfectly fine.

Food, TV, alcohol, exercise, rest, intimacy, and sex, are all perfectly acceptable, natural ways that we humans get comfort.