As I’m inching around the corner to the dreaded 4-0 it seems that all I’ve had time to do lately is reflect, remember, ponder and analyze my life thus far. It seems the older I get the more exhausting and harder it becomes to do all of these things – my memory has not always been the best.
In your 20’s you just live your life finally free from the chains of rules, expectations and responsibility lectured via the parental units. At least when I was 20, I know a large amount of 20 year olds today who still live with their parents and will be well into their 30s. But, I digress.
My 20’s were rife with abundant mistakes, fun regrets, not so fun regrets, black-outs, trying not to break the seal, really terrible waitress jobs and the formidable chore of attempting to figure out who I wanted to be. I learned how to drink my weight in beer, how to avoid going to class hung-over (by not going), and which one of my friends were the best at the BOOT N’ RALLY. I had heartbreaking crushes, I met friends that I would have for life – even if we don’t talk or see each other that much. I had a hardcore addiction to tanning, Mountain Dew, smoking Marlboro Menthol Regulars, and fast food.
My 30’s where pretty much the same, but on a more alarming scale, minus the Mountain Dew – I gave up soda to be more healthy (now I see the irony). Not to mention that also in my 30’s I had to try to dig myself out of the hole I put myself into in my 20’s. Well done Allison, well done. 
Now, in the last 7 months of my 30’s I’m recollecting my life in a series of revelations. For the past year and 3 months I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces of my life that before this journey I really didn’t care too much for; at least not enough to actually take care of myself.
I’ve been encapsulated in emotional imbalance caused by my childhood ordeals, low self-esteem, being an introverted extrovert (yes, it’s a thing) and my blatant ignorance. I’m not unintelligent, I have both book and street smarts, but in the ways of being a high-functioning healthy and emotionally sound adult I feel as if I never left puberty.
I’ve battled with depression, anxiety (that’s kind of new), paranoia, self-loathing and an elusive apathetic demeanor for longer than I care to admit. It wasn’t until I was at the dawn of my mid-30’s that it finally got so bad that I HAD to bite the bullet and do something about it.
I went to my primary care doctor and got a prescription for antidepressants. My antidepressant and I had a blissful 6 year run up until the moment when it turned on me. I had to keep upping the dosage and it would only work a little bit, and the vicious cycle continued until it just didn’t work anymore. I quietly ended my rocky relationship with my antidepressant in early 2014, without discussion with my doctor.
Was I better off? O.M.G. no, I got worse. I was beside myself; I didn’t know what to do. All of my friends were telling me to go to a therapist…go to a therapist. And I would stubbornly retort – how is talking to some stranger going to stop what is happening inside my brain? If the drugs – which I didn’t even want to be on in the first place (it took my first full on mental breakdown and an ultimatum to go on) didn’t work, then how was just talking?
Realistically I should’ve been in therapy and on an antidepressant drug since my 20’s, but I obstinately refused to admit that. I proclaimed I could beat it on my own with suppression and denial! Suppression was a good tactic where I would be fine for a couple of months and then confine myself to my room for a week with non-stop crying. Then I’d run out of moisture in my body and shove it back down and deny it ever happened. Totally healthy, no?
I was convinced people were against me, like always. I questioned every relationship with friend or family member (god knows I was incapable of a romantic entanglement, but that’s a whole other post all together) and wondered why people were even my friend. Whilst trying to convince myself I was totally awesome.
Because this is me I’m talking about it’s almost comical to relive this. I’m pretty certain all those that had to deal with me are probably not laughing. Some of which no longer talk to me – just as well because I think no matter what I’ll always be a little bit crazy, but per the immortal words of Seal – we’re never gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy. (this is his grammar, not mine – I’m cringing)
So when my mini mental episodes started to happen more frequently and last longer than they used to I decided that it was either time to try this therapy thing or just fall into the pit of despair and live there – you know – where I was most comfortable? So I swallowed my pride and made the phone call.
Initially my synopsis of therapy was I just talked about myself for an hour, what the hell is that going to do? But despite that I still kept going, every week for almost a year now. No meds, just basically telling my therapist how my week has been. What’s going on in my life, good or bad and how I cope with all of it. And this is a completely cognitive process, no medication involved.
The knowledge I’ve gained over the last 8 months has led me to many conclusions including: what I think is usually bullshit. What I believe should be analyzed thoroughly and debated with “what I think” vs. “what is the complete opposite of that”. Also I’ve learned how to recognize my self-deprecating humor and behavior and how to consciously try to correct it. I was able to let go of relationships that were not good for me emotionally or mentally. I’ve learned not to dwell on assumed outcomes to lingering or past situations: things I hope for, things I would like to happen, things I think might happen and things that have happened. I’ve learned to shut that off and just focus on the now and know that I’ll deal with the situation when and if it arises. I understand my actions, my behaviors and the historical ramifications behind it. I’m starting to come to terms with my childhood dramas and realizing that there is no need to dwell on the past because YOU CANNOT CHANGE YOUR PAST. You can only grow, learn and move on. I know it sounds like a frou-frou new agey guru type mantra, but it’s as simple as that. Remember where you came from, but let go of why you got here.
By the way I just totally made that up. Sometimes when I talk to my friends I speak in proverbs, a lot. Some of them are really good, some of them are shit. I’m adding “Remember where you came from, but let go of why you got here” as an awesome one. You can all weigh in on that one, I don’t mind – I’m more comfortable with constructive criticism now.
So the animus (I’m also addicted to thesaurus) of my lengthy diatribe is that changing my physical appearance and gaining body health is great, but if I didn’t also work on my mental health I’d just be a skinnier version of the messed up person I’ve always been. I am a convert – I whole heartedly believe in the power of therapy. Talking to someone who just met me who will not openly judge me for all the cray buzzing around in my noodle is a great way to express myself. It feeds the narcissist in me, but also gives me validation that I am not as lost a cause as I thought. I finally have hope that I won’t lose my shit over every little thing, I am worth way more than I give myself credit for, some of my instincts are spot on, but most are insecurity driving the wheel and I can recognize that. I now have hope that someday I will be that high-functioning healthy and emotionally sound adult I’ve always wanted to be. And remember everyone no matter what your ailment, size, BMI, or emotional status…
Allison In Onederland? 
