I grew up with this idea of going to school and then continuing that schooling to become professional. Going to church. Getting married to that church guy/girl. And making babies. That’s the standard course. Try to have this viewpoint of having it together. All the while being a complete hot mess. My mom tried. And when my dad was responsible for everything, he tried. Bless their hearts. They tried.

I was destined to be different. I saw my sister Dianne become this woman who identified differently than the status quo. And it awakened something in me. Granted, it wasn’t exactly how she was. Being that she was 11 years older than I was, I pictured her as being perfect. In my eyes, she was. I didn’t see all the imperfections that lingered underneath the facade. After all, no one really does. Do they? Unless they want to accept what’s right there. I spent time with my neighbor Keri Young calling song requests into Q107 in Marquette Michigan longing for Steven Piercy from Ratt and pretending to smoke crayon cigarettes.

I think about my life back then. When I was younger. I think I blocked a lot of that out after my initial trauma of losing my sister Dianne when I was 11 years old. I forgot about all the innocence before the train wreck that followed. No one could have imagined or conceived that it would all go the way it did. I never did. No way.

I became fascinated with all things supernatural. Will Dianne call me for my birthday? I know she’s deceased, but there’s no way she’s going to forget my birthday. I’ll get a call one day and no one will answer. I’ll know it’s her saying she didn’t forget. I never got that call. Strange things did happen to me as I got older and lost more people in my life. Some of it I do consider spiritual connection. Others, I try to debunk because imaginations are ridiculous at this age. Well, for me anyway.

I had to grow up from a very early age and I resented it. I’m sure my siblings felt that way – to some extent – having to take care of baby Janet. I was 7-11 years younger than all of them. Imagine that. Taking your kid sister on a date. Or your parents just saying – well, she’s yours now. Total bummer. As things have it, I had to kind of raise myself in a dispassionate time and space. Mental Illness was frowned upon. My grandma Ruuska telling me that I didn’t need anti-depressants. (She was very wrong…. I do) As time went on, I was diagnosed with anxiety, PTSD, and long term depression. The holy triad of mental illnesses. Or at least, it seems. I stayed in the church despite my disdain for it. As my eldest brother says – that was my responsibility as a kid. And when it was no longer my legal responsibility to be watched over… I vamoosed. See ya!

Dark times followed me. VERY dark times. I’ve lost more than I’d like to admit. I’ve been bullied and hurt in ways that would make most people cringe. I’ve felt sorry for myself and really didn’t know how to honor myself. Or have experience of people honoring me. For example. I found out that I do not trust ANYONE. While my husband and two of my friends are the closest people to whom I trust, there are still aspects I’m waiting for them to let me down. My husband, my in laws and I, spent time together last weekend. My mother in law smiled at me at one point. A very sincere smile, mind you. And it confused me. I felt like that was contrary to everything I’ve known.

I work in manufacturing. And while it’s a good job and it pays my bills – there isn’t a lot of atta boy or atta girls. Granted, at 46 years old – you shouldn’t need that anymore. However, I feel stifled. And when I do get an atta girl moment – it feels either condescending/sarcastic or disingenuous. I don’t know why people would compliment people either. What I’ve come to understand about myself is that there is nothing special or unique in what I do. It’s what a person does. You go to work and get there on time or preferably early. You put in a hard days work without lollygagging. And certainly don’t get distracted. However, get irritated by your coworkers when they’re not trying as hard as you are – yet still manage to eek out an atta boy or atta girl when you deserve it more.

Life feels confusing. VERY confusing. I hate money. I hate feeling as though I’m alone in this. My husband is disabled and I know that there is nothing at this moment that I can do. He’s suffered. So very much more in some respects than I have. And he tries every single day just as hard if not more than I do to keep the house looking nice and making sure food is on the table and things don’t regularly fall apart. He listens to me as I discuss all manner of things that he isn’t as passionate about, but – because he loves me, he tries. He’s not as interested in the human brain as I am. He’s so much more intelligent than I am. He’s spent a lot of time reading and thinking about things that matter. History, philosophy, science, etc. He’s incredibly witty and charming, and REALLY stubborn. All in all, he’s kept me going. And that’s certainly not for the weak of heart.

Just recently, I had a choking episode on a piece of popcorn. (FYI – that shit will kill you. proceed with caution) followed by a 15 minute panic attack. I thought I was done for. Despite the danger being over, I have died before. And I seriously thought that I would never see my loved ones again. It was over for me.

Fortunately, I’m still here and kicking. Everything does seem like it’s a continuous struggle though. I wake up four days a week before God. I go to work for 10 hour days. I’m awake for 3 hours where I exercise, shower, eat, pay attention to what needs to be done and go to bed at 8 to start it all over again. My plots while I’m off are discombobulated. I feel selfish for taking me time. And I would love more than anything a makeover. Someone qualified to make my hair look nice and for me to feel pretty. And when challenged by my therapist about what it would take to make that happen, I cry. And damn near feel the impulse to go into a massive depression. The thought process involved and my inability to trust my decision making is awful. My brain feels like it’s swimming. And I feel the desire to help the world before I help myself. I know that is classic – but why am I not deserving of a break or a treat. And not food related. And when it comes to learning a new skill, I’m terrified of learning because of the idea of failure. If I fail (regardless of what that failure teaches me) – I give up.

I get jealous that people that I know in work situations or even just in my personal life – they can have fulfilling friendships. And it was just recently that I compared myself to someone that has agoraphobia. Not that I’m afraid of open spaces, but I’m afraid of everyone. Everyone is a potential threat to me. Their quiet judgments about who they perceive me to be – without me being the wiser. And I can accept that it was what I knew to be true once upon a time. I wasn’t a great kid. I tried in what ways I knew how. I just didn’t make the mark. If I were to sit down with a group of peers and say… you don’t know me, but… look what I survived. What would they say? You’re a loser? No. They might give me respect or treat me as an equal. They might try to understand who I am. Or even give me a few minutes of their time to say…. I’m sorry. And meanwhile, telling me what I already know. I’m a survivor.

If you’ve lived a life in chaos and with mental illness, I can honestly say – we are sisters or brothers in that. My eldest daughter has severe mental illness and gives me no end of grief. Our most recent episode has to do with her husbands suicide after she’d already left him for another guy across the country. Instability is classic in BPD and attachment disorder. She is sick and in need of a lot of help. More than she’s able to secure right now. However, I walked in on a shit show. Her former mother in law has her son Benjamin’s ashes. My daughter wanted me to get the ashes and send them to her. If she was anyone else’s kid, I probably would have. I know her and she’s not secure in her living situation. And if you knew her like I do, you wouldn’t want to send her son’s ashes to her either. So after I explained to her boyfriend what I had decided – she flipped out on me. Told me things that would REALLY test anyone. I won’t copy and paste or even type what she wrote. All I will say is it made me feel like I was nothing and never was.

That was my entire weekend. I felt like a failure. Despite the fact that my diabetes has been more in check. I’ve lost weight, I’ve gotten more active, I’m eating healthier and I’m continuing my therapy.. She is my last living daughter and I’d love a relationship with her. However, with BPD it is my way or the highway. Even my eldest brother has said he’s done with her. And while I completely understand, it hurts to know that he’s tried and he’s at his wits end with her. He even compared her to a broke Amber Heard. (If you followed the Johnny Depp vs Amber Heard train wreck, you’ll likely get the reference. Otherwise, use youtube or google to update your references.)

In every day, I feel like everything is on my shoulders. The desire to live my dreams and limited by my potential earnings and skill set. The desire to fix myself and my brain so I can live a life that has more meaning than it does now. To fix those that I love that are broken. In the ways that I know how. In that process, not losing myself. How do I honor myself if I cannot accept it from others OR I cannot make time for myself where it is warranted.

Yesterday I took my first step in taking a mental health day for myself today. I slept in and when a coworker picked on me by saying that they cancelled my pto for the day… I said, nope… I’m good.

I have to start somewhere.

Have you ever struggled with giving yourself permission to grow and to help yourself? Give me an example. How did you get passed it? What did you use as a motivator?

Thank you for reading.

-Janet