writing

Perfectionism Complex, and the “I’m doing fine” attitude.

Posted on by Rachael

Warning: triggering content. This post discusses suicide and suicidal ideation.

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day, and I want to share my story with suicidal ideation, as well as experiencing and witnessing suicide firsthand. Before I do that, I want to say this clearly: I’m doing okay. I have support, and I’m in a good headspace.

In July of 2018, I left my ex after 5 years on and off and almost marrying him. I was a hot mess for months. By December of 2018, I was not well emotionally and mentally. It was a hard breakup because I wasn’t just processing him; I was processing some deeply rooted trauma that came out simultaneously.

As you know, I have a perfectionism complex, and honestly had been holding onto my “oh I’m fine” attitude for most of my life, and towards the end of December, I had the biggest wake-up call I’ve ever had. I was driving down a hill in my hometown; there was an intersection at the bottom of it, and I would have been less than a block away from work. I was driving to work when, out of nowhere, my brain said, “If you drive into traffic really fast, you would stop feeling this way.” Now, let me be clear: I’ve never had a suicidal thought in my life. EVER. Have I wished I didn’t have to feel? Sure. That’s why I learned coping mechanisms that allowed me to check out. But harming myself, NEVER. I sped up for less than 5 seconds, like I put my foot on the gas and everything. Then my logical brain kicked in. “Rachael, if you do this, and you survive, you could end up hurting other people and also being in the hospital alive, unable to walk again, still having to feel and think these thoughts.” I slowed down and got to work.

I had a good friend that I worked with that I told about this, and I let her know to keep an eye on me. Because, seriously, I was like, where the eff did this come from?

From that moment on, I took ownership of my mental health, got medicated and saw my therapist. What I did not know or did not think of was that I could have and should have taken PFMLA or FMLA at the time, and actually taken time off work. I maintained my “I’m fine” complex… Until, well, in full transparency, it’s something I struggle with today.

I wanted to share this because of how frightening and flighty that feeling of suicide was.

Last Summer I witnessed my upstairs neighbor commit suicide by gunshot wound to the head. At the time, I awknowledge it happened, and I continued my “I’m fine” attitude and went back to work immediatley (which at the time was already stressful, and in crisis itself), and now that I’m unemployed for the first time in my life (long story), I am just now processing this young man’s death.

He took his life two weeks after he lost his wife. I had my headphones on because they were pretty noisy. I don’t think it was intentional; it was always just because they were in their early 20’s. I heard a loud noise, some yelling, and then as I took my headphones off, I heard the body hit the ground. Literally, what took seconds, felt like forever. I heard the body hit the ground limb by limb, directly above my bed where I was laying down watching TV. Followed by screaming of a woman, calling this man a different name than what I knew him to be, calling 911 and irattically running up and down the stairs. At this point, I actually didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know he shot himself; I didn’t know if he was shot; I didn’t know if he had been pushed in an argument or hit with a frying pan. All I knew was that something bad happened, and I was listening to it.

The police came to my door a while later, and that is when I found out about the gun. He wanted to check for bullet holes, and he asked me what happened. I truly didn’t know. I invited him in, and by that time my boyfriend came by, so I wasn’t too concerned, but I was in shock.

I got the police report two days later, which brought some clarity and background information about what I heard. I didn’t even know his wife had passed, and I also didn’t know that the woman’s voice I was hearing upstairs was his grandma, who was in town for his wife’s funeral. I cannot be for certain or if it was a mistake, but the man who shot himself was trans, and they had put female on the police report as his identifying sex. As I am processing this, I am recognizing that I do not believe this man had a plan. He went to the gym, came home with McDonalds for him and his grandma and went into his bedroom, and shot himself.

It’s a reminder that sometimes suicide is planned, and sometimes, I don’t think it is. Sometimes we find ourselves in a dark situation, and for a split second, we believe things will be better if we were not alive. We don’t have to feel the hurt. We don’t have to experience the grief. We don’t have to experience whatever comes next.

And that is terrifying.

Because that feeling can come out of nowhere. I know that because it happened to me. I had never thought about suicide before that moment in my car. I wasn’t sitting there making a plan. I wasn’t thinking about dying. I was driving to work, trying to keep functioning while I was emotionally and mentally falling apart. And then, for less than five seconds, my brain offered me an answer.

That’s why I think it’s so important to talk about this. Not because I have all the answers. I absolutely don’t. But because I think sometimes we assume that if someone is still going to work, answering emails, taking care of their responsibilities, laughing with friends, or telling everyone they’re fine, then they must actually be fine. I know I did.

Being unemployed has helped me reflect on those times when I said I was fine, kept showing up anyway, and wasn’t okay.

If you are struggling right now, I want you to know that what you are experiencing is real. You don’t have to wait until you are in absolute crisis to ask for help. You don’t have to be completely falling apart. You don’t have to stop functioning before you are allowed to say, “I’m not okay.” There are options. There is help. And it is there if you choose to access it.

Tell someone. Call someone. Sit with someone. Ask for help. Take the day off. Let somebody know that you’re not fine. You do not have to figure out your entire life today. You just have to get through this moment. You are worthy of it.

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My Grandparents’ Home; Foundation Built with Love

Posted on by Rachael

Growing up, my grandparents’ home was always a place of sanctuary and safety. It became my second home—a place where I could be myself, let my guard down, and where my nervous system had an opportunity to relax. I felt complete here.

While I do not remember every photograph on the wall, I can tell you how it smelled, how it sounded, and how it felt. The softness and ’80s-style lingering furniture, the piano that never got played, the doves that cooed through the kitchen windows every morning, the 110-degree weather that suffocated my mom and me (we are used to Washington State weather), the laughter, time spent in the kitchen, family dinners, the bearable evening heat with twinkle lights lining doorways, the fruit trees in the backyard, and the clutter of treasures I wish I had appreciated in middle school after my grandma passed—before it became someone else’s home.

My cousins were raised here. I was always a visitor in a fantasy world, but it felt like I was home. I think the fantasy was a good thing for me, but I now have a bit of envy of the relationships they built with my grandparents, especially my grandma. My relationships with my grandparents were meaningful; I just know that I remember the safety I felt with my grandpa growing up over any other man in the universe.

After my grandma passed away, my uncle and his wife moved in to take care of my grandpa. After he passed away at 92, my uncle bought the house from my aunt and my mom, and it became my uncle, his wife, and her daughter’s home. I had not been back for over 10 years until recently.

Not to exaggerate, but a lot has happened since then. My uncle had a stroke, his wife became a different person, and my cousin took over taking care of his father in this home. Now, he lives here with his wife and two baby girls.

Visiting this time was a very different experience. I felt like a visitor in a home and a town where I grew up. The morning dove sounds were replaced with fans pulling in cool air. The yard had become dead, and the fruit trees were removed due to lack of upkeep and to prevent further infestation with rats. The carpet was ripped out, revealing the original cement floor throughout the house. There was a bare amount of unfamiliar furniture in the home, and the privacy of closets and bedrooms felt different. Not only did I sleep in the addition with my mom, but I was the age my mom was when we visited, when I was a child.

And there were so many similarities.

The kitchen was used, and we spent time there. My cousin and his wife cooked for us, and we laughed so much together. There were children being raised there, and safety was being formed for those little ones. I’ve never seen littles as happy as their daughters—their two-year-old was always smiling.

I left feeling at peace, refreshed, and relaxed, while also holding a little bit of envy that he gets to be the one who raises his children there—to experience the neighborhood and continue building their life there. I wasn’t able to move around the home as freely as I used to. However, I am looking forward to going back and continuing to see his family grow in this sanctuary, and creating more happy memories.

Victimization of self.

Posted on by Rachael

This title has been sitting in my que also for a long time. Another great idea with little follow through. I kind of joke about it now, while also teasing myself about this process. I am victimizing myself with my words. “look at these big dreams I once had, and I never followed through with”. It’s something to think about now.

I see a few providers, a therapist, a med prescriber (Do not knock a good cocktail), and a nutritionist (who is under my therapy umbrella)… I have a great team. I was sitting with my nutritionist yesterday, and she is also reading this mountain book. I actually got the idea from her to read the mountain book. I’ve really been thinking more about this idea of quitting for self preservation, mostly at this point with exercise. Now stay with me a moment, I will get to the victimization.

She asked me what my relationship with exercise was growing up and I thought about it for a moment. It was never consistent, and I always said I would do something to lose weight. I would join this sport to get “into shape”. Like something else would do that for me, and I couldn’t do it myself. I would always be disappointed in myself (small hills of victimization) because I wouldn’t ever actually follow through with even trying. In my 20’s and 30’s I would get into a good routine, but it came with some disruptions so eventually I would quit and couldn’t get back into the routine. Serial gym member owner, never a goer I call myself, and even now I just quit another gym membership because I have been putting so much money into it the last several years with out actually going.

We dived then into trust. I’ve had to build trust with-in myself in order to function better. Trust yourself before you can trust others. When you grow up with your trust being broken every day, and being gaslit, by someone who you should be able to trust, creates such a wishy washy relationship with yourself. Its really hard to undo that shit. Somewhere over my food journey I’ve been able to build a routine around meal planning every week. No matter how much disruption happens with my meal planning, I’ve always been able to get back to it. I’ve built my trust with in myself in order to get to this place with my food.

It should be obvious to me that I check out when things are stressful. I know this, and I don’t know why I’m like suddenly surprised by it. This time though, I’ve realized that me checking out is permission to continue to let myself victimize myself. Like checking out is a way to feel sorry for myself. Saying, things really suck right now, so you deserve to just chill and relax. Which is fine, and also for how long? Earlier this week, I walked several days in a row. Wednesday hit, and work got stressful again, and then I stopped walking the rest of the week. I allowed myself to chill and shut the world out.

I also realized that me checking out was giving my time to someone and something else. Working out right now, well ultimately training to walk a half marathon, is the only thing I am doing for myself that was outside my normal routine (you know showering, brushing my teeth and sleeping). This is what I’m thinking about now. We will see how this plays out.

Being seen has consequences.

Posted on by Rachael

It has been a bit since I’ve written, rather several several years. The healing hasn’t stopped.

I’ve been apart of Toast Masters for a year and a half. We have pathways, projects and bench barks to meet with different objectives. One of the suggested assignments was to write 6 blog posts and post them within a month. I chose this project, as I already had a blogging platform and I’ve been interested in writing again, following giving a 2-3 minute speech about my process. I thought this project would help with the writing practice. 

Toast Masters has helped give me a voice, and a safe environment to practice using my voice in. I have gained confidence, flexibility, leadership skills and more. I’ve worked on various speeches, and have used my voice to share personal stories and fears of public speaking. Through time, my shaky body reading my paper word for word, gripping the lectern, has shifted, to a solid human being in her voice, still with my paper in hands, but rarely looking at it. 

There are plenty of things I am still working on. One of them is voice fluctuation, body language and not using the lectern. I’ve learned that public speaking is like acting. You are a performer and being a performer is not something I’ve been very good at due to my confidence issues and never wanting to be seen.

I’ve done so many things to not be seen, because being seen always has consequences. 

One of the ways I’ve worked on building confidence was being vulnerable with myself and others about what is actually happening in my brain. Writing has helped me tell my story. Toast Masters has been a way to speak it out loud and build confidence in myself, my truth and how I tell others about it. 

More to come.