When the Darkness Comes Calling

You think too much.

You don't need to feel anxious about this.

Calm down. It's not that big a deal. Don't be so sensitive.


I am a healthy, happy person.

I have a quick smile and a loud laugh that erupts more often than trips out of my mouth. I dance in my kitchen and moonwalk my way out of my socks at night. I can make it through my day to day with no true fear that (barring some horror) I won't make it, even on my worst days.  And I'm pretty good at laughing things off - like those fun statements above that helpful and loving people use when I look at them with that expression.  You know, the one that's stuck somewhere between panic and despair, with a little bit of "This is what drowning feels like" thrown in.

At least, that's where the feeling sits, so I assume that's where the expression lies.

It's a bizarrely colored feeling, too. Have I told you that I see colors? I mean - yes, I can see the world in technicolor - but emotions and feelings, concepts and ideas...they're colorful in my mind. Although, they're not exactly in my mind, in my mind. They take up space outside my head, sometimes running to hide behind me so that I can't deal with them. The hiders, to be honest, are usually the negative things - fear, anger, anxiety, or - the most frustrating - a character who isn't letting me see her clearly just yet. These are the things I have to coax to the forefront of my mind, and often when I see them they are a sickly yellow, or maybe a CAUTION!! orange.

Somehow this looks cute? How is that possible?

Google tells me this is synesthesia, a brain dysfunction (or whatever) in which sensory paths cross and mingle or tangle. The outcome is that our senses manifest in abnormal ways. The most common form of this is having colors attached to letters and numbers, or seeing sound.

(The brain is a bizarre and beautiful thing, isn't it?)

It took me just under 30 years to realize that other people don't see the world in this way, that other writers don't first discover their stories as colors. My therapist was fascinated by it, but since it never seemed to negatively impact my life there was no real need to explore it or have it officially diagnosed. My current functional medicine practitioner encourages me to embrace it.  You are a vibrant color girl! That's who you are! 

It's just the way I see the world.

My anxiety is electric blue - and when I say electric, I do mean electric...it jolts and zaps when you don't tread carefully. It can be frightening, but there is a strange sort of luminescent beauty to the fear. More often than not it's only charged to the level of static cling. But sometimes it reaches levels of Jurassic Park Electric Fence Danger.  (I've talked about that before...check it out.)

This scene terrified me as a kid.

Sometimes, though, these colors go dark. It's not quite like someone turned out the light as much as it is that they poured horrible, sticky, inky tar over my brain. The brightest pink turns sour, rancid even, and I feel like I'll either explode or suffocate. Feelings have always been waves to me: they begin at my feet, and when they reach my chest is when they're most intense - often why it takes me a loooooooong time to feel and react to things - and when they are inky they threaten to drown me. My mom reminds me that as intense as they are, my feelings can't actually kill me, and so I do the things I've learned to help the tar go away - or at least to help the wave recede.

I am grateful that, though I have grappled with that Darkness, I have never felt abandoned in it. I have heard from those who have been left, untied, with no light, in that dark and scary place. And their stories frighten me. People with depression actually believe others will be better off without them alive. It's like walking through pitch black with no light and no idea of where safety is, or if there even is safety.

When the Darkness comes calling it can be disguised as many things: anger, fear, pushing people away when we need them the most. Because when the Darkness comes calling it isn't simply about turning on the light switch again. (No shade, Dumbledore...turning on the light can help.) No, it is about somehow extracting yourself from the tar, and it feels like all you have is a Q-Tip.

I am grateful my mental health has never pulled me that deeply into the tar. That Darkness looms, and dampens my colors sometimes, but ultimately I am alright. That's not the case for others. (If it's not the case for you, don't listen to the voice that tells you everyone else is better off without you. We aren't. We need you. Call 1-800-273-8255...they may have something better than a Q-Tip for helping you escape the tar. At the very least, they can Q-Tip with you.)

I guess I'm asking you to take a moment and remember that even the healthiest among us suffer. Even those who "have it all" struggle. The loudest laughers may actually be mired in an inky bog. This is not lack of courage. It is not lack of love.

It's just the brain, doing it's bizarre and beautiful - sometimes horrible - thing.

When The Answer Is No

I have been thinking a lot about rejection lately.  That's probably because I've faced it pretty regularly during this season in my life.  Some of this rejection has been career-related.  Some has been in the ever-constant search for that Special Someone.  And some has been self-rejection.  Rejection has seemed to become a recurring event in my life.

And it always sucks.
Hard.

My experience with rejection seems to go like this: I read/see/hear the "No."  It's like someone has just up-turned a bucket of numbness over my head.  As the numbness trickles down my body I start to wonder if maybe this time I won't feel so horrible about it.  That thought, though, is evidence that the numbness is wearing off, because suddenly I can feel the acid burn in the pit of my stomach.  There's a pressure in my chest that makes breathing difficult.  It squeezes and squeezes until one fat tear spills onto my cheek.  And then...well.  The floodgates have opened.

Actually me once I start crying

"How to Deal With Rejection" has been a session at pretty much any conference I've attended.  I've sat in several of these sessions and here's what I've learned: Rejection sucks and it is all a part of the process.  You will be rejected. Everyone will be rejected.  It's not personal, so once you accept that it becomes easier to deal with.

Helpful, right?  You're left with little nuggets like this:

I mean, it's a good quote, but seriously...Not helpful in the moment.

So I decided to write down the ways I actually, practically deal with rejection when it happens.  Maybe it'll help you, too.  So, without further ado, here we go:

- Take a deep breath.  And then take another one.  And another.  I know it feels like it will hurt to breathe.  There's a pressure on your chest that seems to be shoving your heart and lungs down into the burning in your belly.  It seems safer to take shallow breaths.  I know.  But I promise you, the pressure will actually let up as you breathe.

- Related: Get some fresh air.  I don't care if it's 7* outside - you need some fresh air.  Crack the window in your car and crank the heater.  Hug your heating pad and wrap yourself up in a blanket so you can stay warm while also being able to breathe something other than stale air.  I can't overstate how important oxygen is right now.  It is major.  

- Drink some cold water.  And I do mean cold.  Everything is kind of burn-y right now, so you need to counter that.  Later on you can have the comfort of hot tea, hot cocoa, or hot coffee, but right now just try some ice water.  It will help.  I promise.

- Also related to water - wash your face.  Seriously.  It's amazing how refreshing and humanizing this simple act can be.  Yeah, mascara may run and your eyes may still be red, but you feel better.  You know that first shower after you've been sick for a while?  Yeah...this is a miniature version of that.

- Eat something good for you.  I know the instinct is to drown your sorrows in fried food, chocolate, and alcohol.  And those things all have their place.  But if that's all you consume your body is going to feel crappy.  Try some sauteed veggies (I like fajita veggies, myself), or a fresh salad.  Something refreshing, that will help your physical self feel better.  It translates to the emotional self.  Really.

- You'll have to walk a fine line with this one, but listen to a song that expresses how you feel.  Personally, I like Chasing Dreams by Dave Barnes for creative rejection, and Sad by Maroon 5 for breakups/romantic rejection.  As I said, it's a fine line, because it can be too easy to be sucked into the vortex of "Woe is me," but sometimes we need to hear someone validate what we're feeling, and music can do this in ways nothing else can.

- You know that movie/TV show/book that never fails to make you feel better?  Yeah, go watch or read that.  Your brain will probably try to convince you to stick with the sad song.  Don't.  And I bet when you first press PLAY or open the book you'll want to stop.  Just sit with it for five minutes.  My most recent choice was You've Got Mail.  It didn't disappoint.  It was like being hugged by an old friend.

- And speaking of being hugged...find someone.  If you're a hugger, ask for a hug.  Sometimes I stop at my sister's house just because I know I'll get a hug from her and at least two of my nieces.  If you aren't a hugger, that's fine.  But find your someone anyway.  You know that someone - the person who can sit with you without saying something, or who can listen to your disbelief and pain, or who can make you laugh (or at least smile).

- Go to sleep early.  This one is tough, I know, because when you go quiet is generally when your brain is finally able to run through all the things.  And it's easy to replay the rejection again and again.  Do what you can to stay in this uncomfortable place.  You may cry (I always do).  You'll probably need to focus on those deep breaths again.  But turning to face that rejection head on will lessen its power.  It will allow you to stand up and try again sooner than if you try to ignore and/or power through the pain.  Also, as an added bonus, this quiet time is when you are finally able to hear what you need to recover.

Because that's what all this really comes down to.  Your body will tell you what you need.  If you can sift through all the noisy pain of rejection, you'll be able to know exactly what will help.

And at some point, you'll be able to face the idea of trying again.

From 'Truce,' by Twenty-One Pilots