Psychology has been an interest of mine for a while. It had been on my radar when I was doing my final studies in high school. But life got the better of me and shit happens, as they say and well I pretty much flunked out my final year. There was just too much life stuff happening at the time for me to focus and apply myself. Which on reflection 20 years later is a shame and I feel regret at not being able to achieve the results I know I am capable of. I had always done well in school. It was a great place to be for the most part, until angsty, emotional teenage drama came and ruined it all. And unlike the straightforward formula to doing well in academia, navigating the social jungle of adolescence was not my forte. It was easier being a misfit loitering on the outskirts of the social norms. And that is where I have stayed. I always figured it was out of choice, but as I have become a parent to a few children on the Autism spectrum, I often find myself scratching my head and pondering whether it was less choice and more survival strategy. Your weirdness is less likely to be judged or questioned by other loitering misfits. I had got to a point in adolescence where I could no longer mask and fit in like I used to, so I just didn't bother, I removed and isolated myself from that which I didn't and couldn't fit in. I guess what I am getting at is, that I have always been interested in why people do the things they do, but I also felt that studying psychology was a way to understand myself better. But it was having my special fairy children that has helped me understand in some ways my own mind. I see a lot of myself in each of them, and not in the 'ooh we have the same colour eyes' way, more that I recognised their neurodiversity and so called "dysfunction" as my own experience and realised that it is very likely I am also on the spectrum, and their Dad probably is too. It is not a bad thing, it is what it is and it makes for an interesting, quirky and at times overwhelming household. So basically two weirdos joined forces and made an army of weirdos. And now I am in therapy.
I had a breakdown for a multitude of reasons. My physiological reaction to medication I suspect made it a bit more complicated, but you can't really be sure how you will react to medication until you try it. Medication goes part of a ways in helping, but therapy is essential to the process. I really want to get well. So I went back to see my psychologist who had worked with me a few years before. I was pleasantly surprised she remembered me after 5 years, which is fortunate as she knows the complex back story of my hectic life. So we essentially have just taken up where we left off. Sometimes I feel like I have a very expensive friend I talk to once a fortnight about how bananas my life is. But I realise she is not my friend, she is a very skilled professional who studied many many hours to sit and talk to broken minds like mine. Assisting in implementing strategies you can use to keep the big black ball of panic and anxiety in its box. 'Let's cover the box in glitter. Give the ball a name if need be. And if you have to carry the box around with you all day, use your strategies to keep the ball in its box'. I creatively paraphrase, the conversation went something like that.
I think I will call my ball Fred. I have been relatively stable, but there are occasions I feel Fred lurking, ready to knock me off balance. A mental game of panic dodge ball.
Well Fred can quite frankly bugger off and stay in his box of glitter, the complete and utter bastard. Life has been more bananas than usual and I don't have time for his crap. I want life to be less bananas. It is not going to be less bananas for awhile. But these are my monkeys and this is my circus and I need to remember that I was not too bad at this juggling bananas thing before my brain broke and Fred took up residence like he owns the place.
But I have never felt more under pressure and least able to handle life than I have for the past few weeks. Yet, here I am doing it and getting on with it, grateful to function. With functionality comes the appearance of you doing well and being well. I am not. I feel like I am performing a tight rope act most days. And I feel alone.
I keep thinking of all the things I have to do and all the boxes that need ticking, like buying cat food and snacks for school lunches. Maybe I can schedule a friend to meet me in the tissues aisle for a hug and a good cry. I will bring my Fred and you can punch him for me and it might help my brain get better.
I had a breakdown for a multitude of reasons. My physiological reaction to medication I suspect made it a bit more complicated, but you can't really be sure how you will react to medication until you try it. Medication goes part of a ways in helping, but therapy is essential to the process. I really want to get well. So I went back to see my psychologist who had worked with me a few years before. I was pleasantly surprised she remembered me after 5 years, which is fortunate as she knows the complex back story of my hectic life. So we essentially have just taken up where we left off. Sometimes I feel like I have a very expensive friend I talk to once a fortnight about how bananas my life is. But I realise she is not my friend, she is a very skilled professional who studied many many hours to sit and talk to broken minds like mine. Assisting in implementing strategies you can use to keep the big black ball of panic and anxiety in its box. 'Let's cover the box in glitter. Give the ball a name if need be. And if you have to carry the box around with you all day, use your strategies to keep the ball in its box'. I creatively paraphrase, the conversation went something like that.
I think I will call my ball Fred. I have been relatively stable, but there are occasions I feel Fred lurking, ready to knock me off balance. A mental game of panic dodge ball.
Well Fred can quite frankly bugger off and stay in his box of glitter, the complete and utter bastard. Life has been more bananas than usual and I don't have time for his crap. I want life to be less bananas. It is not going to be less bananas for awhile. But these are my monkeys and this is my circus and I need to remember that I was not too bad at this juggling bananas thing before my brain broke and Fred took up residence like he owns the place.
But I have never felt more under pressure and least able to handle life than I have for the past few weeks. Yet, here I am doing it and getting on with it, grateful to function. With functionality comes the appearance of you doing well and being well. I am not. I feel like I am performing a tight rope act most days. And I feel alone.
I keep thinking of all the things I have to do and all the boxes that need ticking, like buying cat food and snacks for school lunches. Maybe I can schedule a friend to meet me in the tissues aisle for a hug and a good cry. I will bring my Fred and you can punch him for me and it might help my brain get better.
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