to vaguely exist with a specific purpose

If I could do anything in the world, at least in this moment, it would be this: perfectly explain how a thought spiral develops in my brain, which in turn would explain why and how my mindset can change in a matter of seconds. I've rarely explained to people what I mean by this. Largely that's because it often feels like I can't. I don't mean that in the, "people won't listen," way, but rather in the, "I can't make this make sense beyond the barrier of my skull."

In the midst of exhaustion, nervousness, and dehydration this past Sunday morning, I tried. A couple friends spoke of the night before. I mentioned something, someone replied, and I spouted out, "sorry, thought spiral, but..." Both laughed and asked how I reached that topic in the span of roughly four seconds. I shrugged and listed the thoughts in the spiral.

"That was a lot to think about in that short time," one implied. I acknowledged this truth.

"That's just how my brain works," I chortled.

Alas, it's truly not funny--the thought spirals, the walls I have around memories, the daily and constant fears, the intrusive lies, the list continues. What's the worst?

I know that despite past explanations or experiences that others have had with me and my mental illnesses (we're a package deal), people still don't just get it. Often people will forget that I battle anxiety, which usually results in them scolding me for not doing something fast enough or with enough certainty. Sometimes people forget that I battle depression, which usually leads to excessive questioning about the cycle of constant sleep versus not enough or my random cancellation of plans I once looked forward to fondly. Most don't know that I battle PTSD, from multiple traumas, which is why I can't drive down certain streets in my college town; say certain names out loud (even if to address a stranger--the name is the same to me); or stay calm when I hear thunder during a storm.

Typing those facts has my hands trembling. The thought of this entire post publishing has my hands trembling. That's why I haven't written before.

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Every single time that I use the bathroom at work--every day since I started there last July 30--I panic that I went into the wrong one. I check the lock on the door repeatedly, to make sure nobody could open it just in case I am in the wrong place. Once I'm leaving, I check to make sure my zipper is up at least three times, despite knowing that it is.

When I park my car, anywhere and at any time, I lock it with the interior button before closing the door. I then press the lock button on my key...twice. Still, I wonder, "what if I forgot to lock it? what if someone steals it but it's actually my fault because I wasn't responsible?" I often wonder if I've accidentally left on a light on at home or my laptop at work.

These are just handful of things that my therapist and I are addressing with the acknowledgement that maybe the diagnoses I have either aren't right, or potentially, aren't all that's wrong.

You know what? That's terrifying as hell. Why? Because that's not all.

I've started to track my mood changes throughout each day, taking the time to write a few words or a sentence every so often in a notebook that's already starting to fall apart. It's as if the universe doesn't want me to see the patterns.

I see them because I have the power that only some do. It's somewhat of a triple threat: my degree is in psychology, I have accepted all of my diagnoses, and I am active participant in therapy. I understand what is wrong with me, how it affects my life, and why I view the world in a unique way. Sometimes that's terrifying. It's always the worst when I use it against my feelings:

I constantly disregard the negative acts of others because I psychoanalyze their reasoning.

What's worse is that in doing so, I often downplay the pain I feel. I've recently realized that this is why people must think it's okay to hurt me.

Just this week, I took complete control over feeling my emotions. I did not tone down my anger. I did not stop my tears. I did not accept an apology I didn't receive. I will not.

Instead, I have shared my feelings with two people whom I trust, written this post, and added notes to my mood journal. Doing so has not only made me feel empowered in my treatment plan but also set free from a past negative thought cycle that led me to believe that I should keep people around after they've hurt me if they've treated me well in the past.

Gone are the days of dusting footprints from my soul at the end of long days, saying, "it's okay," when someone vaguely hints at an apology for their wrongdoing, and accepting mistreatment in the shadows of polite attention. 

I will accept what I give, and in the process, give more than I've received.

Perhaps, I think, that is how happiness is found.

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Sharing these details of my life is something that some consider "deep" or "intriguing." I'm told this often, especially when talking to someone for the first time (ironically, this just happened). For me, they just...are. Comparatively, a friend has a framed quote which reads, "Wherever you go, there you are."

Sometimes life just is.

This is not one of those times. See, when I started this month--this year--I had people by my side who have now left. Some walked out silently, others I waved away. Either circumstance stems back to people acknowledging a limited amount of reality. No, this is not (completely) a decision. No, it is also not an uncontrollable biological flaw. Instead, it is something that I feel we should all work toward changing.

After someone reads this post, they will more than likely reach out to me, whether that be via comment, call, or chat, to make sure that I'm in an okay place (whatever that means). A lot of others will treat me with increased sensitivity, kindness, and care. Some might even apologize for things which they realized have potentially caused harm. Spoiler: they might be hurt. 

Alas, that's not what I need or want to happen.

I repeat this fervently and often: my number one life goal is to reduce the amount of suffering in the world. This is why I work in the human service and nonprofit sector. This is why I live a vegetarian/vegan lifestyle. This is why I voice my political opinion. I do a lot more than that, too. I wake up every day and try to focus on that goal--this is a day that I will make positive change.

Sometimes that change is allowing someone to turn in front of me while driving because hey, they must be rushing for a reason. Other times that change is offering an ear to listen or a shoulder to support. Most times, though, it is acknowledging that yes, I am flawed, and I make mistakes. It is sharing my stories and struggles with others so y'all can say, "Someone gets it. She gets it."

It is this. It just is.