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Old Demons and New Beginnings

posted 13th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Job/Career/Work, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3

After my hasty and drama-filled departure from school, I returned to my parents’ home.  I was back in the Midwest, but this time in a different city and state.  I had no friends, no connection and this did not help the depression or the bulimia.  Soon they were shipping me to what I now affectionately refer to as The 7th Floor.  Thirty days of 7 a.m. weigh-ins, affirmations, group sessions and knitting.  That summer spent on The 7th Floor was not easy, but it was what I needed.

While there I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar II Disorder.  Ah!  Finally, an answer!  Now I understood at least one of the issues my mind and body were facing.  It was there where I met a handful of other young women whose stories compelled me to really make a change for the better.  I graduated on a Saturday; we stood in a circle, said the Serenity Prayer, and I left The 7th Floor for good. I left my demons on the 7th floor.

I kept regular appointments with my psychiatrist and nutritionist (ultimately taking myself off medication of my accord), enrolled in classes at the local community college and worked two part-time jobs.  At the community college I fell back in love with learning, taking only classes that really interested me: African-American History, Sociology, Human Sexuality, and Economics.  I successfully avoided my personal demons.  At work, I fell in love with a boy.  Well, a man, since he was 9 years my senior.  I was amazed at how long he stuck around considering my absurd curfew.  (When you’re under mom and dad’s roof, you’re under mom and dad’s rules.)  It was my first real relationship and I was head over heels.  But it turns out that my job did indeed monitor phone calls and I was fired–something about a conflict of interests because he was a customer.  Then about a month after that he broke up with me.  Looking back on it now, I’m glad that I was at home with my parents when all of this happened.  With their support and encouragement I was able to move on without letting my demons get the best of me.

I always thought a career in law seemed fitting, so that summer I obtained an internship at my local congressional office.  Every morning I wrote form letters, updated databases, deposited recycling, licked envelopes, made new friends.  I absolutely loved it.  So when it was suggested to me that I take a paid campaign position I jumped on it.  I was told that it would be a big deal; if I ever wanted a career in politics, this was the way to go.  Silly, naïve, 20-year-old me took the job.

I was making peanuts—literally, that was all I could afford to eat.  (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit.  I ate a lot of ramen and Hamburger Helper too.  Oh, and there was free coffee every Monday at the McDonald’s across the street.)  Our office was a large room in a decrepit building downtown.  The homeless walked the streets; the sound of police sirens was incessant.  I worked 60-80 hours a week and in the beginning I really thought I was making a difference.

However, about two months into the gig I felt myself starting to crack.  I was exhausted.  My hair started falling out in clumps.  Then, one evening, I sat on the dingy, broken tile floor, my head against the cold metal stall just inches away from the toilet.  At that moment I knew something had to change.  So I quit.  Political suicide.  “You’ll probably never be able to get another job in politics,” I was told.  It stung but I realized it would be okay. If working in politics meant slowly killing myself, then this was not the job for me.

Darn you, Quarterlife Crisis! Back to school.  Again.  This time I chose a place in the city, a nice 30 minute drive from my parents’ home in the suburbs.  And did I mention it was only 3 minutes from all the bars?  It was the perfect little school in the perfect little city where I could spread my wings as a fully legal adult.  Every Wednesday night I was at the local hangout dancing into the wee hours of the morning.  I felt so free, so happy. In that loud, dirty, sweaty basement I felt myself come alive.  Little did I know, that basement had other plans in store for me.

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We’re All In This Together

posted 9th August 2010    Written by: Molly Hoyne    CATEGORY: Molly, Quarterlife Crisis, What I've Learned

I shared this lovely poster on Facebook last week, and ever since, I’ve been stuck thinking about what it means…

“We’re All In This Together”

It’s speaking to me about connection and support and truly being there for each other in the fantastic and the awful times. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when it makes you look good.  And not just in an “I’ll vote for you in your online contest if you “like” my new business page” kind of way….  I’m talking about the “I’ll listen and hold you all teary-eyed and snotty for as long as you need, help you move that damn green couch to your third apartment in 6 months, call to ask how the big medical test went, even when it scares me to death” kind of way.  The kind of way that reaffirms  that you and I are truly in this together, that our love is unconditional, that I recognize you as someone just like me…

I think recognizing that we ARE in this together helps lessen the scariness of this big, bright world.  We yearn for connection, for that lovely “you get me” feeling, that heart-welling heaviness that all is fine for this moment, and perhaps even the next.

I know I do.

Out of all the things in the world of which to be afraid, I’m most scared of being rejected, of feeling alone, of getting stuck in a deep sense of unworthiness.

Deep connections change that.  A sense of belonging lightens the load.  Truly understanding that there is no possible way we can be alone because this amazing world is too full of crazy people just like us, gives hope.  Reaching out to others with our foibles, our fears, and our longing is what allows us to tackle those dark parts. And let me tell you, I’ve learned this the hard way…

There were two major times in my life when I felt truly depressed, scared and hopeless.

The first episode was my senior year in college.  On the outside, I was your typical sorority girl/resident adviser/drama actor/front desk clerk/trying-desperately-to-get-an-impressive-job Ivy League Senior.  On the inside, I was freaking out.   I didn’t want to be at school, where I felt this constant pressure of comparison and the need to be perfect.  The depression boiled up in binge eating, alcohol blackouts, and constant crying alone in my room.  The worst part about it?  I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone. That no one would understand.  That I was completely and utterly alone.

Now, I know addiction and depression run in my family, so I wasn’t clueless.  I saw a therapist in the counseling center and talked to my family about coming home after graduation so I could take care of myself in positive ways.  But for some reason, I still felt ashamed.  Alone.  I couldn’t tell my friends.  I was usually the helper, the positive one, the happy-go-lucky spirit.  Instead, I felt empty. Abandoned.  And seriously, seriously scared that “everyone” would find out.

For the last 6 months of my senior year, I suffered in silence.

I did go home after graduation, jobless, but relieved to be returning somewhere familiar. I was surrounded by the love and support of my parents, and the mountains, and a sweet southern boy, and busy days of work and play, and soon enough, I felt better.  Lighter.  More like myself.

I think back to that time, and wonder how it might have been different if I could have gotten over myself. If I could have reached out and asked for more help.  If I could have admitted that I (obviously) wasn’t perfect, that I was hurting, that I needed some extra support.  What if I had realized “We are all in this together” and truly understood what that meant?

Well, I got another chance to do so…   The second time that I got knocked off the easy path of life was the beginning of my very own Quarterlife Crisis.  I was working in hospitality sales at what I thought was my dream job. Sexy boutique hotel!  Awesome women boss ladies!  Cool clients!  And even though I was fabulous at my job, I felt like I was losing touch with the real me…  A lot of my job felt “fake”: from the suits to the sales process to the “the guest is always right” attitude.

And those damn $4.5o mini Coke bottles.  Seriously.  The thought of charging people that still makes me gag.

I think I ignored the little niggling feeling that “something feels off” for quite awhile before it finally blew up in “crisis” mode.  But there I was again, totally scared that I was once again alone.  After all, I was doing what I had studied in college, getting the proper promotions, kicking butt, making my bonuses, surrounded by great friends and a fabulous boyfriend.   What the fuck did I have to feel depressed about?

Instead of keeping it secret, this time I spoke up.  I wasn’t quiet at all!  I admitted that I was miserable.  I whined, bitched, and commiserated with people. I planned weekday lunches with other downtown 20somethings who felt stuck in their lives and especially their jobs.  I reached out for help from the Big Man, admitting I needed a life overhaul.

Of course, I still cried.  I still felt lost.  But because I was reaching out, it felt a million times better than my last episode of depression.  And this time?  I realized I WAS NOT ALONE.   And that realization allowed me to do something about it.  I used the support of everyone who “got me” and made the major dive of quitting my job and traveling around the world.

And now?  I’m here for you.   And you’re here for me.  And you’re all here for each other.  You may be in crisis.  You may be in awesomeland.  But…

We’re All In This Crazy, Wild, Awe-Inspiring World Together.

So let’s not forget it.

photo credit : sunny fiona

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Good-bye Dreams, Hello Quarterlife Crisis

posted 6th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3

INTRODUCING ALISHA

I wasn’t just absent from school; I was absent from my life.

I remember how I made sure to say “good-bye” to Ryan before I left.  The sun was shining, but it was that orangey-yellow color—the color of late afternoon.  I gave him a hug.  I did not think I would ever see him again and so I had to make sure that I thanked him for being my friend.

That spring semester was crazy for me—I was going crazy—and he let me watch basketball with him.  He let me eat BLTs from Subway with him.  I trekked across campus in ankle-deep snow to hang out with him.  I had made a few other close friends there, but I never felt as though he judged me.  I liked that.  And so I had to say “good-bye”. I think the tears started to fall as soon as I took my first step out the door.  They didn’t stop until we were hours away from Winston-Salem, past the Blue Ridge Mountains, and into Kentucky.

Leaving Wake Forest was rather embarrassing for me–it crushed my soul, bruised my ego.  I think that was the first time I ever really, truly felt like a failure.

Perfectionists like me, we try to avoid that feeling at all costs.  Up until then I always succeeded.  I was a pretty straight kid: a great student; captain of my basketball team; I never went to a party but I had a lot of friends.  I was a babysitter and during the summers I worked two jobs.  So getting into my dream school just seemed like the next logical step.

I chose to leave the Midwest in favor of North Carolina.  I really loved the South: its friendliness, its propriety, the southern drawls, barbeque and sweet tea. I loved those giant magnolia trees, the creamy white columns of the chapel, and how the sun hit the red brick and made everything feel so warm.  It was that kind of place where everyone knew everyone—a community that at times felt like a family.  One night I went to dinner with a sorority sister, my dean was also there.  He stopped me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and introduced me to his wife.

Yeah, it was that kind of place.

But what started out as a dream quickly became a nightmare.  During that last semester, if I was not visiting Ryan, I was in the campus convenience store—usually at night—buying cereal, chips and Lean Cuisine which I would eat and then throw up upon returning to my room.  I stopped making eye contact.  With a little bit of charm and smarts I made my teachers pity me enough so that I was able to miss most of my classes and just email my work.  Then eventually I stopped going to class altogether.

I was not just absent from class, though.  I was absent from life; a shell of my former self.

The thought of walking around in daylight gave me so much anxiety that I would call my psychiatrist weekly, desperate for a tweak in my medications to make it all better.  But it did not get better.  So I had to leave.

I am quite certain I made my dad extremely uncomfortable and extremely sad when I started crying—no, sobbing—in the car.  I cannot remember what hurt more: the heartache of a broken dream or the dull ache in my ribs from all the heaving.  But I do remember that as we made that final exit through the iron gates, all I could think was, “Oh my God.  What do I do now?”

I suppose that is when my Quarterlife Crisis really began.

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Chasing Away The Black Cloud

posted 3rd June 2010    Written by: Katie    CATEGORY: Katie, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 2, Tips & Tools, What I've Learned

The last two weeks have been a little rough on my end, as if you couldn’t tell by my most recent two posts [Found here. and here too].

The awesome Molly sent me an e-mail after reading my scheduled post for last week and asked if I needed to talk. The first thing I thought to do was to apologize for the negative posts and offer to write something else a bit more upbeat and cheery. Basically I was offering to put my feelings on the back burner because I was ashamed of them.

Yeah, brilliant idea for someone who is struggling with self-image and self-worth, right? Convince myself that my feelings were shameful, and I shouldn’t feel that way.</Sarcasm>

In falling back into a depressive state, I was challenged.  I was challenged to keep my head on straight, function every day, and hide a lot of my feelings until later in the day when I was alone. It was very similar to being violently ill all day during work and not being able to go home.

You’re miserable, exhausted, and just want your bed, but you have to work all day long.

Two weeks later from the onset of my near emotional collapse, I’m feeling much better. I’m not as hopeless, and emotionally crazy as I was two weeks ago. The “bad case of the blues” passed much quicker than it typically does, and this is absolutely due in part to a list that I made of things that I was going to focus on. If you’re anything like me, having things down in a list is a magical thing.Staring those “to-do”‘s in the face gives me the drive to complete them. I wanted to share a few of the things that I did in hopes that if you find yourself having a tough week or even day, that these things may work for you too.

Schedule in some “Feel Bad” Time

There’s only one thing for certain when you’re feeling depressed/sad/mad – and that’s that you’re feeling depressed/sad/mad. Denying that is not only lying to yourself but it’s also not allowing yourself to feel what you want to feel.

“Just get happy” doesn’t work. At the same time, many of us have to put on that happy face for our jobs or even family members. This is completely fine, but make sure you allow yourself an hour or so later on in the day where you allow yourself to sit with your feelings. Whether you want to talk them over with a friend is up to you, but give yourself the permission to feel whatever emotions your heart wants to.

Don’t wait for clarity – Create it.

I’m the kind of person who revels in moments of complete and total clarity. These anticipated moments come at random times. Sometimes it happens when I’m sitting in a noisy bar with friends. Other times, it’s right before I fall asleep. It’s happened while seeing the Center City skyline at night. In these moments, I feel clear and at ease. I could sit with myself and that feeling forever, but it often fades when I come back down to earth.

One of my problems recently, is that these moments haven’t been occurring. I’m always worried about something or someone, and that moment of clarity…it just isn’t coming.  I got angry waiting for it. That anger did absolutely nothing for me except ruin my mood even more. That’s the thing with life, sometimes these moments don’t come willingly. Sometimes, you have to create them.

Practice creating clarity by manually clearing your mind, instead of waiting for your mind to clear itself. Personally, I visualize all of my problems circling my head as if my brain is juggling them. One by one, I flick each one away from my head, and when the final problem is gone, I just sit with that feeling of being free from worry. Even if it just lasts a few moments, it’s enough to get me through and reset my mind a bit.

Write. Write. Write. Write. WRITE

I sometimes avoid writing when I’m feeling yuck-tastic. Mostly, because I’m afraid of what’s going to come out. Recently, I’ve been pushing myself to start writing when I’m feeling crappy. Sometimes, all that’s come out has been “I have absolutely nothing to say, I’m feeling horrible today.” I go back, read that sentence, and I find myself asking “Why do you feel horrible?” At which point, I fill in the blank with an answer. “…I’m feeling defeated. The project that I was banking on was given to someone else. I really thought I had it in the bag, but apparently I wasn’t good enough, and the other person was better.” 9 times out of 10, I end up putting myself in a third-person position, and I inspire the hell out of myself without even realizing it. Before too long, I find my brain turning to think as if I were giving someone the advice and forgetting that it’s actually me.

Maybe this won’t happen to you, but at the very least, you get these feelings out into the open. It’s kind of like throwing up after you’ve drank so much. You have all of that toxic stuff inside of you, and once you get it out, you feel so much better. Throwing up or writing about your issues isn’t the easiest thing, but that yucky stuff is often better out than in.

If Nothing Else – Treat Yourself

These haven’t been the easiest last few weeks. It’s really taken a lot out of me, but I’m recovering well. I’ve been very kind to myself, and given myself extra treats (like concert tickets to see Maroon 5 and Dave Matthew’s Band).  I’ve let myself sleep an extra hour in the morning and take a little extra long shower. I bought a case of soda, which I’ve been trying to give up on, but have been craving.  I’m forgiving myself for little mistakes that I’ve made, and being gentle to not put myself in situations that I know will be uncomfortable.

I’m focusing a lot more on myself, and I feel a bit better. I think my mind and body really were just begging for attention. Boy are they getting it.

When you’re feeling down and out, what do you do? Treat yourself to anything special?

*photo credit: [via]


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Finding My Way Back Home

posted 27th May 2010    Written by: Katie    CATEGORY: Katie, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 2, What I've Learned

Nelson Mandela said “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.”

John Wayne said “Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.”

Growing up, I wasn’t afraid of much. I was able to go to the circus, climb the jungle gym, sleep in the dark,  and stay home alone. One of my friends was afraid of clowns, and I thought that was kind of awesome, so I decided to be afraid of clowns too, even though it was all for show. Sometimes, I’d forget that I was “afraid of clowns”, find myself at the circus and someone would call me out on it. I’d then say “I didn’t even see the clown! Why did you even show me?” Eventually I kind of got tired of the effort that went into being “afraid” of the clowns, so I gave it up.

When I had a car, I spent a lot of time driving all over the place. I wasn’t afraid of getting lost. I knew I’d always find my way back home because, well, eventually after you make enough left hand turns, the surroundings start looking right. I’ve been lost in terms of physical location dozens of times in my life, and I always, always find my way back home. I don’t even think about the possibility of not making it home because I’ve been in the situation so many times and it always works out. 

Chances are, I intentionally got lost for the thrill, or the chance to clear my head.

It’s the other times of being lost that I don’t enjoy. When I accidentally get lost in an area that I shouldn’t have.  Or, when I get emotionally lost, which I’ve been having more and more experiences with than I would like. It’s during these times that my intense fear sets in.

What happens if I don’t find my way home? What happens if one time, I get “lost’ forever?

So far, I’ve been lucky enough to eventually find my way back to my home, sanity, or state of bliss depending on the situation. For that I’m incredibly thankful. I’m even okay with the idea of getting lost again, the inevitable doesn’t scare me. It’s the point when I realize I’m actually lost, it’s in that moment that the fear really sets in. Will I ever find my way back? Will I never know what it’s like to be “found” again?

“When you’re lost it’s amazing to find your way back to life.”

My Faith in myself, and the power of positive thinking keeps me from giving up hope, but there’s still that aching fear, “What if this is it? What if I can’t beat it this time?”

I’m finding myself in another bout of “bad” depression right now. I give myself different levels – there’s the “constant” one that I’ll always have. Kind of like the “once an addict always an addict” point of view. Or how diabetics are still diabetics even when their sugar level is “normal”.  Then, there’s the rough day or rough minute. I’ve gotten really good at handling those.

I’m a “rough day” master!

Then there’s the bad where I’m an emotional timebomb ready to blow up in a pile of tears and blubbering. My heart aches out of my chest, and my Faith in myself stumbles. This one lasts more than a day, and I’m unable to shake it off like a tough day. It takes all of the energy in the world to get out of bed.

Putting a smile on your face and pretending to be “okay” enough so people won’t freak out and try to send me to the nearest crisis center is one of the hardest things ever.

It’s not the idea of crashing that I’m afraid of. I don’t mind pain all that much, either emotional or physical. As long as I know that help and relief are on the way, I’m relatively okay. The fear lies in the idea and possibility that I won’t get better this time. The fear lies in the possibility that I won’t muster up the strength to overcome it this time.  The fear lies in the idea that I’ll let myself down and not find my way home again.

Never finding my way back isn’t likely, and I understand that.  The sad truth that it’s very possible is what scares me more than anything.  As far as I’m aware, there is no real solution to this other than to make it through each day one day at a time. When days are too difficult to take, I take it  hour by hour, and when hours are too difficult I do minute to minute.  The fear is going to be with me no matter what, but I’ve always pressed on in sincere hope that relief is on the way, even though it might not be.

If nothing else, I’ll try. And I’ll fight the good fight until I find my way back home.

So, Courage, please help me find my way home again. You’ve never let me down before. I’m lost and afraid and I just want to be home.

“Courage doesn’t always roar, Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says, ‘I’ll try again tomorrow’ “.

*Photo Credit: (via)

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