31!

 On Saturday I turn 31. 

This year I will have been seeing Jess for 11 years. That's roughly 575 sessions, give or take some for vacations, cancelations, etc. Part of me feels like I should be embarrassed to admit that I've seen Jess for that long but hot damn look at me taking care of my mental health. 

I'm going to try to be better about blogging more often but it seems like it's become a yearly update. 

I'm doing well.  

I don't want to say it too loudly because I'm still scared the Universe will hear me and decide to throw some curveballs my way. But really, for the most part, I'm doing well. 

I'm living on my own, managing this Great Big World. I have my own apartment now, my own car and my ZaZa. My girl is getting older by the day but she manages to stay upbeat and if she can do it, I know I can. I love my job. Growing up I don't even think I knew this position existed, much less did I ever see myself as an analyst, but here I am-- and apparently I'm pretty okay at it. My word for the year was Growth, and man has that happened this year. 

In February I checked off a bucket list item by doing an open mic night at work. It was virtual but I shared a very personal poem and people loved it! I got emails and messages from people from all over the organization thanking me for being raw, honest. Some said they could relate, others just wanted to thank me. It was so empowering. I did some EMDR with Jess to prepare for it and I really think it helped me be more calm, more present for the experience. 

Speaking of being more present, in the past month I've felt forced to be Present with a capital P. My manager asked me to take on some meetings, I won't bore you with the details of it, but it adds up to roughly 35-36 meetings a month. It felt like A LOT. It still does at times but I'm finding my groove and loving it. Each meeting I feel a little bit better about the next. I am grateful I have a manger that will listen if I say I'm overwhelmed and take action on my behalf. Growth. Presence. Gratitude. 

I'm finding it easier to be grateful for what I have. It's not a lot. I don't even have a couch yet, but I am so grateful I have my own bed to sleep in at night. I'm grateful for my car. For Za. For my family and for all the people that have believed in me for so long. I literally wouldn't be here today if it weren't for y'all.

I'm not doing anything big for my birthday this year. I'll probably find myself hanging out with my parents, taking some cute pictures with the pup. I've never been huge on birthday celebrations and this year seems to be no different. Except maybe that I'd like a cake. Hint Hint at the parents. I want a birthday cake. LOL Not a cake made out of fruit or a cupcake like in years past. I want a real cake. Opposite action my friends, opposite action. I could go for fruit or the perfectly portioned cupcake, but I want to be past that. Most people want cake on their birthday, so I'm saying F*** it with a capital F and getting my damn cake. Growth. 

I hope 31 makes me wiser, stronger and less anxious. I’m choosing to be present and to notice the little things, like a baby discovering the world for the first time. It’s been a while since I’ve been fully Present— I can’t wait to see what it brings. 

With Love, 

Bella

On Turning 30

 Welp, I made it to 30. 

I'm still learning to hold space for different feelings at the same time. DBT I guess? Both and..?

Anyway, I turned 30 and even though this is supposed to be a "big" one it wasn't all that different. I had a good day. Worked a half day thanks to my awesome boss, had lunch with my mom- stayed in and played card games with my parents that night. Nothing major but had a decent day. 

Today has been weird. I woke up in a bit of a funk- Grief, I guess. My sister and brother in law visited with Abby and I was able to get away from it for a while. Seeing them and getting some bonding time with Abby is always a blast. I'm very happy I got to see them. 

Now I'm sitting at home, remembering the day India and I drove to Lake Texoma simply to sit, write and breathe for a bit. Decompress. She wrote and posted a blog about how much she was struggling but she was holding onto Hope for herself and for others. She still believed in God even though she was broken so badly by religion. She titled that post, "To the ones whose life will be changed". She started by saying that everyone keeps telling her that her story would change someone's life one day. She's no longer with us and I wonder if I am the one. 

Losing India changed me. 

I will not get to know what she had to tell me. Ever. I still have 21 years to wait to find out what she said in her note. I am holding her story and mine. I will be one year older than she was when she passed when I finally get to know what she had to say. Grief overtakes me sometimes but I know in my heart of hearts I want no one else to feel this way. 

Losing India changed me.      

I'm doing well. I'm not where I'd like to be but I'm getting there. I have a new job that I love. Admittedly, sometimes I think I don't know what the heck I'm doing but I will get there. I am officially a car owner thanks to an amazing gift from someone very special to me. ZaZa is getting old but she's still with me. I'm working on getting my own place. I have an amazing niece who gets wiser each time I see her. Parents that love and support me in many ways. In some ways, I couldn't ask for more. Yet- there's a side of me that isn't happy. I can't help it- chemical imbalance is what they say. There's a part that replays the childhood trauma, the assault- the pain- over and over and over again. 

So, here I am. I am holding onto hope. Imagining I am at Lake Texoma, sitting with India talking about how someday our stories will make a difference in someone's life. I know now I will never again attempt to leave this world on my own accord. And man is that hard sometimes. 

"I know how alone you feel. I am here, out in this huge world, praying for me and fighting for us."- India DuBois 

As I wade through the Grief, Fear, and Anger I sit side by side with Hope, Strength, and Perseverance. I can acknowledge the good times along with the bad. Not all days are bad anymore and that's been amazing to see. I hope as time goes on I can still hold our truths, our stories just as tightly and feel Happiness even more. 

Hey look Ma I made it!

Love, 

Bella

Come Away With Me

I had been asking to call home for days. 

I knew something was wrong. I told them. I tried so hard to call home. 

I’m not sure if I’ll ever stop wondering if it would have made a difference. 

“Hi Bella, it’s me. I’m driving home. Um, can you call me? Okay, bye.” 

Was I the last person you tried to contact? 

Had you already taken something at that point? Was there anything I could have done? Is there anything I can do now? I need to make this better. 

I need to make this better. 

I’m choosing to believe you’re not in a “better place”. I really fucking hope you’re in paradise, singing Norah Jones at the top of your lungs and sitting near the water... but I’m choosing to believe that you’re not. This is going to sound selfish, and maybe it is, but the idea that you’re in a better place sounds enticing for someone that suffers from depression. I want that better place. Wherever it is, I want it... but I have to keep telling myself that in due time I will be there, with you and others, blasting “Come Away with Me” and other songs that most people don’t even care for anymore. 

People don’t really care how you are in the months following a suicide. It’s true. They ask and they check in every so often, but they don’t really care for the truth. “I’m okay” or “hanging in there” are perfectly okay replies because no one wants to hear about the dirty stuff. The fact that I have a storage unit full of personal possessions I can’t bring myself to go through- no one cares. The fact I haven’t been able to work because the thought of caring about someone else so deeply again and losing them in the blink of an eye is debilitating. I’m physically capable of working but I’m having these debilitating panic attacks where my hands cramp up and I have no use of my fingers or hands, at one point getting so bad that nurses had to put the pills and water on my mouth so my body could relax enough to breathe again. And the worst part is I don’t really know what brings them on. The only thing I can do is change my medication and hope for the best... what a way to live right? 

At this point my team and I have decided the best step for me is to get a fresh start. 

Leaving Texas won’t solve my problems. 

When I’ve mentioned to people that I need to get out of this state that is usually the first thing they tell me. I know this, but I also know and trust that it will help. Over the last eight years I’ve had a team of professionals looking out for my best interest— they know me best. They know what I do from the moment I wake up each morning to the moment I close my eyes at night. My therapist has been seeing me the longest, almost ten years and she was the first to tell me to leave the state. I think most people think I’m trying to run away from my issues, but really, I’m trying to find safety from my issues.

I currently live three main blocks away from my old apartment. Each time I drive past the Lakefront Villas sign I get flashbacks of the night I found out she was gone. There were only three people there that night, one of which has become a lifelong friend, but only three people really know the pain this caused. If you weren’t there I don’t expect you to understand. 

I also currently live a short ten minute drive from the place where I was raped. I don’t think I’ve ever put it out there just like that, but it’s the truth so why not right? When I finally started telling people I was raped, I got some support, and I also got the standard response, “are you sure it’s not just something you regret?” He doesn’t live there anymore as far as I know, but I recently found out he still lives in the general area. I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will— it is nearly impossible to heal in the same place that you were broken. 

After years of work on my sexual assault/abuse and trauma I am for the most part okay. I can talk about it. I can write about it. And I’ve even learned I’m pretty damn good at making art with it, but it’s not fair to ask me to be okay living in it. 

I’m struggling with day to day living. I’m working jobs where I don’t have to work on a set schedule or with a schedule I can make for myself (i.e. Wag! Dog walking and Favor). My team (MD/psych, therapist, nutritionist and nurse) all agree that a fresh start will make this 100% easier. I’m not running, I’m simply changing my environment. 

I’m not sure how I’m going to do this yet. I’ve applied and am being considered for jobs in other states- I’m praying I hear something back. I’m trying to save up money— again with just trying to survive day to day this had proven to be difficult, but I’m working on it. 

I’m trying not think of the hard stuff. 

I know it sounds backwards, but like I said in the beginning of this post, that “better place” is very enticing at times. 

To be honest, I’m not completely sure why I started typing this tonight. I just wanted to put some stuff out there in the Universe I guess. Here is some of my art from December. 

I might fail at this whole life/moving/becoming thing. I may thrive too. I can’t know until I try. 

Peace to y’all tonight, 

Bella 

The Body Keeps the Score

I don't expect you to understand.

I'm doing amazing. My eating disorder is mostly in full remission. I never thought I'd get here. Just last week when this plan was being set into motion, my therapist said that with everything going on she would have expected me to relapse a long time ago. I'm hanging on. Actually, most days, I don't even second guess food or eating.

I'm crashing hard. I had to set my navigation to get to work so I could talk to my boss about taking a leave of absence. I've driven to this place every week for the past two (almost three) years and I couldn't remember where to go.

In the past 48 hours I've slept a total of one hour and 20 minutes. I have so much to get done and yet I can't seem to finalize anything.

Everywhere I look there is a reminder that I am the problem.

"Boys will be boys."
"What was she wearing?"
"He's such a good athlete."
"How much did they drink?"
"He has a wife and kids."
"It's just how things were."
"That was so long ago."
"Why bring it up now?"
"Making a big deal out of nothing."
"How could you not remember?"
"It was the 60's, 70's, 80's..."
"No one could be a politician."
"They gave him a pass."
"He has such a bright future."
"He was such a nice man."
"All the kids loved him."
"How come she's the only person bringing charges?"

The list goes on and on and on... sex abuse scandal after sex abuse scandal, allegation after allegation. Still, we belittle the victims claiming all they want is money or to ruin someone's life. What about her life? His life? Mine?

Last time I went to treatment I told myself it was the last time. Just like I do every time, but this time I meant it. You know what? I have to give myself credit because as far as the eating disorder goes, I think I did it. That was the last time.

My therapist keeps telling me to think of this as something different. I'm not going back for eating disorder support. I going back to fix the problem.

Since March I have been going to therapy at least twice a week and doing EMDR to work on trauma. The more processing I do about my trauma the more I remember and the more I realize how much I don't have answers. They keep telling me I have those answers. The body keeps the score. "You know everything you want to know, but your brain is protecting you until you're ready." Each week I get a little more of the picture. It's like a 10,000 piece puzzle all kept in fragments in different parts of my brain. What does that even mean? I just want to stop thinking that the answer lies in death.

Little Bella cries at night because she's scared. Teenaged Bella wants to self-harm and take pills to make it all disappear. Adult Bella gets angry because if these high profile cases are thrown out in court, what the fuck does that mean for me? Adult Bella is angry that she can't fix herself. Adult Bella is sad.

Why didn't I report?

I didn't report because the first time I was told it was just a game. The second time it was a relative. The third time he was older and he liked the way my boobs looked. Nine year old me thought it was awesome that a 17 year old was into me. The fourth time I was in love and I believed him when he told me I was a slut.

People judge me on the outside without knowing what's really happening on the inside. My scars tell a story you know nothing about. Still, all people care about is how ugly those scars are... no one cares about the ugly, disgusting, horrifying story behind them.

I'm not running away from my problems by going into treatment. I'm running full force into them. I know many people won't understand this and I don't expect you to. It's difficult to understand something that most would consider unfathomable. I pray you never have to be the one on this side of the keyboard. I pray you never have to be the one finding it difficult to understand when your loved one tells you this happened. I pray that if you are a survivor, you see yourself as just that and nothing less. I pray a lot lately, though sometimes it doesn't sound so much like prayer.

I know many people will judge. I also know that I've worked with my team for almost eight years and I trust them more than I trust myself.

I'm not so angry anymore, I'm just hurt. I'm lonely. Confused.

Please don't give up on me.

Ramblings....

I am so scared.


I'm a little girl, lost and afraid. I'm pleading for help but no one is around. Even the shadows on the wall scare me. I feel hopeless and alone. I sit, cry, and wait for help. Will they ever come get me?


I am on top of the world. I am nine, or maybe ten, and I am on top of the world... nothing can get me here.


But then it does. Why? I wore a low cut tan-kini top. Must've been why.


I am thirteen. I pour candle wax on my legs because I like the way it stings. It gives me something to focus on. I'm going to be a BMX superstar. I build a ramp. I go full speed off the ramp, flip forward half way and land on my back in the grass with my bicycle on top of me. I can do it right next time. I can do it right the next 20 times. I can't.


I can't do a lot of things at this point.


I can't play tennis. I can't lose weight. I can't stand how the spanx feel but I need to learn to suck my tummy in. I can't make myself look like the others on the beach. I can't drink milk anymore. I can't eat the things I like. I can eat before 4:30pm only. I can hide. I can throw up. I can fight werewolves in Michigan, it shows on my skin, but don't ask me how I have time for that.


I become Little Debbie. I look like her. I eat like her... or at least my entire Spanish class thinks so.


I turn inwards. I lose friends. I can't sleep at night without crying myself to sleep.


I may have found love. Or maybe love found me. Or maybe it was those shadows from my childhood disguised as love. They're coming to get me.


I can't go through all this again tonight. I need to rest.


I keep wracking my brain trying to figure out where things went wrong. What did I do wrong? How can I fix it? Though I wouldn't wish this on anyone else in the world, why was it me?


I ask for help. I answer a lot of questions but I only give half truths. I only share half the picture. The other parts are dark. I just can't remember. Why can't I remember? I need some fucking answers because I'm drowning in here. The water is past my mouth and I can't speak any longer. There's not much oxygen left and my chest feels tight. I want to sleep but I'm jerked awake in fear. Sometimes I wake up crying.


I am getting ready to start school again and I am terrified and excited. I feel like maybe I can do it this time though a part of me fears the monsters are back. Full force. I am hanging on. I am hanging on because I didn't die when I could have. I am hanging on because my friends are getting their six-month email, letting them know they've been out of treatment for half a year and that's a huge accomplishment. Mine should be coming soon and this makes me happy. I'm hanging on because even though I was three weeks late on rent this month, and with little food in the pantry, I am living on my own and I'm e x p a n d i n g  my support system. I'm hanging on because this year, when I went for my yearly check-up, I panicked a little but I didn't cry, and I allowed myself to go to someone I feel I can trust. I felt embarrassed about my panic, but I felt safe. I'm hanging on because I was accepted into Capella even though I was sure I wasn't going to be able to go back to school.


Some time in the future, this may all make sense. Or maybe it won't. I've come to realize you can never be sure of anything. Well, except death. But I try not to focus on that now.


I'm still that little girl, afraid and alone. Little Bella. I'm still the one that can't. I still turn inwards and cry. I still crave for something to focus on... something to tend to. Something to make it all go away. Except now I try to acknowledge where I am today. Sometimes that's sleeping with baby cologne on my blanket, sometimes that's cuddling my dog while I cry. Sometimes it's busting my ass at work. Sometimes that's allowing myself to speak full truths to my therapist and her allowing me the space to cry and wonder why. That's me-- Bella. That's the me that wants to believe that the best is yet to come. That may only be a half truth for now, but maybe in the future that will change. Maybe.


But without that maybe I lose all hope. I need to hang onto that maybe.

When Life Doesn't Go as Planned...

In 8th grade, I had to do a scrapbooking project as part of my final grade in English class. We were asked to put together a scrapbook and were given certain writing prompts to pick from to include in our books.

One of the ones I picked was about “where I [would] be 10 years from now”. At 13 I had to write about where I would be at 23... if you don’t want to read the whole thing below, I’ll give you a bulleted version:

•  Graduated college

•  Fulfill my perceived version of my fathers dreams and become a vet

•  Live on my own or with a fiancé and five dogs

•  Dream job

•  Other career options: doctor, animal cop, nurse, veterinary assistant

 

So, to be honest, at 23 I had like a fifth of one of my dreams checked off the list... actually, to be really honest, at 23 I did get my own place, and also had a suicide attempt that same year and had to give up having my own place.

So the path I took was nothing like what I thought, hoped or expected it to be. I don’t have a degree, or my dream job, I JUST moved out of my parents house a few months ago and I am not even in a relationship so fiancé isn’t even in the near future... and although this is not where I dreamt I would be, I still know that I am blessed and eternally grateful for where I am today.

If life had gone as planned, had I not shattered into a thousand different pieces, I wouldn’t have met all the wonderfully-imperfect people I’ve met today... the ones helping to put me back together again.

I’ve had to learn to be humble and ask for help when I need it. I’ve made mistakes and learned from them too. I’ve learned to set boundaries. I’ve had adventures some people never get to experience, sure, it may be because they happened in a hospital or residential treatment, but trust me— they are adventures nonetheless. Cue: “who left the bag of vomit in the stairwell?” And: telling stories of whose gone the longest without pooping.. adventures. No joke.

I’ve lost.. a lot. I’ve lost friends, family, money, time.. but I’ve gained my life, at least for now. And I know this is a moment of clarity because in reality I’ve been really depressed lately, but I am grateful to still be here and fighting this fight. I’ve also built relationships that I know will last a lifetime and have an outpatient team that supports me 100%. My therapist has been through hell and back with me and she still smiles when she opens the door to see me every week.. sometimes twice a week. If I had to sit and listen to myself talk in circles on a weekly basis for the past six years, I probably would have quit on me by now (but I guess that’s why I have her right?!).

I am grateful. I am blessed. I am not where I thought I would be, but I am much better than I could be. I may not have everything I want, but I have pretty much everything I need. And for those that have stuck around, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Congrats, you met and exceeded 13-year old me’s expectations! (see photo below)

Peace to you tonight—

Bella

On a Monster They Call “Ed”

They say that it gets better, 

But when will that day be? 

We’re holding it together, 

As we’re falling to our knees. 

Sending prayers to nowhere, 

Feeling so alone, 

One foot in front of the other,

Feeling worse, they say you’ve grown. 

“Grown in your recovery, not as bad as you once were,”

They keep saying all this nonsense, and still, it’s all a blur. 

Precariously we listen, follow and concede, 

Exceed the expectations, 

Trusting we’ll be freed. 

An alcoholic stops their drinking, 

A drug addict stops the pills, 

Not comparing illnesses—

It’s all about your will.

Your willingness to give in, 

Or your willingness to fight,

We’re fighting for recovery, 

And just to do what’s right.

Brittany, Heidi, Morgan, Steph—

A reminder to us all, 

This illness has no limits, 

It laughs each time we fall. 

“A cancer of the mind,” they say, 

A monster they call “Ed”, 

To me it seems as though

We should name him “Death” instead.

Yet death seems so appealing, 

When Depression’s in the game, 

That’s why I’m keeping tabs

On each of my friends names. 

Say them loud and say them clear, 

And let it all be known, 

That even though they fought for freedom

They’re now just names on stones. 

That’s why we can’t just give up, 

We have to fight like hell, 

Until this is a story of redemption, truth and courage..

and recovery as well.