Happy Birthday Eleanor! It’s been exactly two weeks since you’ve turned ONE and I’ve been meaning to write you this letter.
It’s been a year sweetheart and honestly I’m so proud of us both. We survived it, hahaha. I’ve grown to love and appreciate you more and more everyday. Watching you discover everything for the first time has been the funniest, from trying your first foods to learning to wave hi and bye. Your crankiness not so much but everything else about you makes up for that. You’ve made me realize a lot about myself. I was a selfish person before I had you, oh and also my patience isn’t as great as I thought it was but it is getting better. Well it was then I got knocked up with your baby brother, your poor father. I’m also very protective of you which I know you won’t be happy about later but honestly it’s a mothers instinct. You’ll understand it when you have children.
I see you everyday and I still can’t believe you’ve gotten so big, honestly I don’t know how you went from 7.8lbs to 20lbs, it’s just so crazy. I am excited to watch you grow but honestly take your time Lenny, I want to cherish every minute I have with you because I know it’s all going to fly by. You still haven’t started walking, no rush cause once you start you won’t be seen as a baby anymore. Though, in my eyes you will always be my baby.
I love you Eleanor and thank you for making me a mother, your mother. Happy Birthday.
Depression and anxiety are two afflictions that run in my family. As I grew older they were something I saw firsthand and learned more about. Hence, when my second episode hit me in the summer of 2012 I knew exactly what I was dealing with, but I did not know how to deal with it. This episode was different in that I was aware of what was happening to me, I was far from home and anxiety had been thrown into the mix. For most of the summer I thought I was going to die or pass out at least 3 times a day. Though sometimes I did wish I would just pass out so I would no longer feel my physical manifestations of my anxiety. I stayed in most of the time for anxiety attacks along with vertigo and shortness of breath followed me everywhere I went grocery stores, social events, work, the metro etc… I had even forgotten how to breathe naturally. I only felt semi okay in my apartment. I went on for almost three months trying to manage my symptoms as best as I could with the help of my two amazing roommates who never hesitated to comfort me as best they could. During this entire ordeal I had never mentioned to my family what I was going through, I did not want them to worry, but they were one of the main reasons I decided to seek professional help. I finally went to my schools counseling center. It went against all my natural instincts to sit there and explain why I was seeking help. I wanted to run out of there. As I sat there explaining and answering, what I believed were rather invasive, questions I was telling myself that I sounded stupid, I was being dramatic and I was weak. I was judging the hell out of myself for asking for help. The head psychologist scheduled me for two sessions a week, one with a psychiatrist and the other with a therapist, until my symptoms were under control. And for the first time in what felt like a fucken eternity I did not feel completely hopeless. –Bella
I am in the middle of setting up my new place with my boyfriend and everything is a MESS. We have been in several phases of a mess since we moved. Our life has been a mess for the last five months. There have been new jobs, long commutes, never ending search for a new home, a concussion and selling a condo. It feels like there a million things to get done and the list grows as days goes by. Thinking of all the unfinished things that need to get done really stresses me out and causes me anxiety and mucho frustration. I am tired of feeling this way.
So I am trying something new and want to find peace in all the things unfinished. I am surrender to this universe and accept all the incomplete and messy things around me. I am here with my mess and everything is right with this world. This is where I am and I honor it. My life will be full of messy and unfinished things until I die. It’s about time I accept it and move on.
I have had three major depression episodes. I do not fully recollect my first one, it’s mostly a blur. I was in third grade. I cried, so much. I barely spoke. The days I was sent to school I remember being picked up early by my sister in our brown aerostar van. It’s probably the clearest image I have during that time. Laying down in the second row of seats while wearing my Old Navy matching shirt-short outfit crying and being taken to my mothers work. I spent a ridiculous amount of time lying awake on the bottom shelf of the stainless steel worktable in the laundry room my mother worked in. I don’t remember crying anytime I laid there, it was probably my favorite place lay and just be. I am not sure how long the episode lasted. I was taken to a physician where they asked a ridiculous amount of questions and suggested I be put on medication or maybe get a cat. Yes, those were the two options presented. Not therapy of any sort or change of regimen. Pills or cat. I was given a cat, we named it Tigger. It was a tabby that ended up being my worst nightmare. It may have snapped me out of it, at least I think, I don’t remember the day I started to feel normal again. But I do remember being terrorized by that cat. I did not think much about this part of my life until my severe depression resurfaced years later and I realized I needed real help. -Bella