A little bit better...

Well the band aids came off today and this was what I found...guess this is progress, huh?

Here it goes...

I guess I should be honest here. Here's what I'm working with. Tomorrow they will look better. I promise myself that much.

Andy. Andy Anxiety.

Well my new stress ball came in the mail the other day.  I was so anxious about it, too.  They told me they were going to send a confirmation email when it sent, so I was checking my email every few hours to see if I had anything....nada.  Nope, never got an email.  The ball, however, did arrive two days after ordering it, so I guess that makes up for their email failure. It's green, and I love it.  I've decided to call it Andy.  Andy Anxiety.  Don't laugh, I thought it was cute.  My hubby thought it was cheesy.  Well that's me, the queen of cheese.  Anyway, my amazing father in law has ordered me half a dozen stress balls.  I have been instructed by well, you know who, to have a stress ball every where I go.  The point is to have a back up for my back up's back up.  So, when my six stress balls get here, there will be one everywhere that I regularly go.  Glove box, purse, backpack, kitchen, bedroom, refrigerator.  Just kidding.  Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.  

Well I've been making it a point to "meditate" every day.  Right now, my waves are playing again...and it's almost like they're rolling through my brain, pushing my vacant thoughts to the surface.  Maybe that's why I can write when I'm supposed to be "meditating."   (See, I told you I'm not good at sitting still and relaxing.) No really though, when I'm alone in this dimly lit house with my piano crashing on the waves behind me, I find myself in a state of reflection.  Some days I just want to stab at my brain until I can get some answers.  There are so many questions that have been eating away at me  Figuratively,  and at times, literally, through the picking.  I can't remember a time when I haven't thought about it.  I can't remember a single school picture where I didn't have some kind of cut or scab on me.  (Mom, if you're reading this, can you?) I just so badly want to get back to that point, even though I think I was maybe three or four.  I hate it when I hear eighteen-year-old girls on Dr. Phil complaining that they're ugly, that they have this devastating problem.  "I've been picking at my skin for six months.  I don't know how to stop!" Well I have news for you, hop into this brain and take a spin, then see what Dr. Phil can do for you.  Really though, I feel like a prisoner to my hands.  I just wonder, what if I had my fingernails surgically removed? OK, so that's a little bit drastic, but it just seems like a simple solution. 

I wish I could pin-point that exact moment, the time my little hand first went to my face, or to my arm.  I would grab myself by the hand and say, "don't do it.  You're better than that."I would have stopped me. I would have flown to the future like the ghost of Christmas and shown that little girl what lies ahead. Some days  I look at my little girl, and I think, what could a little girl be so anxious about that she starts doing this to herself? Where did it all go wrong?  Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm depressed about it or anything, I just badly want to be free from it all.  Is that too much to ask?

On a different note....the font from my first few posts, where did it go?

And I thought yesterday was bad...

So after my little breakdown last night, I sent my therapist an email.  He usually knows how to handle me, I guess you could say.  Long story short, I end up in his office, and I'm playing with my stress ball, which, low and behold, was in the passenger seat of my car.  Anyway, here we are, just chatting, when I look down, and much to my dismay, my stress ball exploded. OK, so I wouldn't say "exploded" as much as I would say ruptured.  It popped like a water balloon and its contents were spewing from the hole. My precious stress ball had spilled its soft, fine, powder all over me.  I looked at him, with a look of, I'm sure, pure horror.  I wanted to cry.  It was like I lost a tiny (round, purple) part of me.  So here I sit, feeling absolutely mortified, and humiliated at the same time.  Why on earth am I so worked up over this?  Am I that completely broken? I suggested to Brad that I promptly take it outside and bury it.  He chuckles, but on the inside, I'm partly serious.  It felt like that much of a loss.  I am definitely a child sometimes.  Since I think he sensed the dismay in my eyes--he has some kind of magical power with which to do that--he suggested to me that I try to learn to meditate.  Now, I will clarify it the same way he did.  We're not talking hard core Meditation all Vulcan or Buddha style here, we're just talking relaxing music, closing the eyes and just letting the day wash away.  I didn't dare laugh at the suggestion, partly because he usually ends up being right, and partly because with a broken stress ball, something HAD to change.  However, I was skeptical.  Me?  Sit still and relax?  Um, earth to Brad, have you MET me? That, he retorted, was exactly the point.  (Here I insert a note that when I have 10+ years of higher education, I will reserve the right to talk like that as well.  :P  )  

FAST FORWARD A FEW HOURS....Here I sit, amidst a cluttered, chaotic house, mourning the loss of the stress ball I so affectionately came to call, Stressy.  I had promptly followed his directions, (because usually when it comes to a therapist, they will tell it to you like a suggestion, but they say it in such a way that you run off and do what they suggested like a little kid) and I went to find some relaxing music on my way home.  9 o'clock comes around, and thinking I have nothing to lose, I pop that bad boy into my computer, and press play.  I don't think I could have picked a more perfect CD....the sound of waves crashing over a beach while a piano sonata is floating among the stars fills my ears and I have to fight to keep the anxiety going.  (Gosh I hate/love it when he's right.  Always so simple, yet never something I would think of myself.) The goal was for me to sit still for five minutes and just listen to the different sounds of the music floating through my senses.  And did it ever.  I had to remind myself to breathe I was so calm. You out there, are you listening?  Elizabeth Mills was calm. Anyway, what I guess that long ramble was intended to say was sometimes you find relief in ways you least expect it, but I think you have to be at a point where you're not looking for it, if that makes any sense.  Oh, and on one other note, while I'm Julie & Julia-ing it up, this music, and it's calming properties almost seemed to bring my creativity, and my inner voice out of me.  I mean, when was the last time one of my posts was this entertaining?  That's what I thought.  Anyway, if you're reading this...

Try something new today.  You just might like what you find.

Just a teeeeensy weeeensy freak out

So I have got to say, last night I think I had my first real panic attack.  It was terrible.  I was at caregroup and I was freaking out because I couldn't find my stress ball.  It sounds so dumb when I say it out loud, but I just felt so...out of control!  My stress ball is my one escape from my picking and I couldn't find it! It was like my brain was just stuck in a loop of "where is my stress ball?" over and over  and over again.  I couldn't keep my hands from going to my face.  It was like they were magnetized or something.  I just felt like, wow, this is it...I'm going to destroy my face and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  Luckilly for me, I was surrounded by people of God, and they found me a pair of fuzzy socks rolled into a ball, and I got to squeeze that.  I guess what it comes down to is a feeling of control, of power.  And at that moment, well, I didn't have ANY of it.  

I tried to focus through our lesson, and there was something that caught my attention.  Check this out, I think I need to get this tattooed on me.  (Don't worry people, not any time soon, I don't have the money right now.) 

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." (2 Tim. 1:7)

I think I just need to engrain this verse on the fiber of my very soul.

http://www.icfchurch.org/spirit_of_fear.htm

Hola Clase!

So I guess I've noticed that when things are going well, I tend to stop thinking about it.  For a while I felt like I had this demon under control.  My stress ball was a permanent member of my purse, and I'd been feeling successful.  Boy was I ever wrong.  Maybe I got cocky, I guess.  Maybe it's just my lack of ability to multi-task?  Maybe it was the thought that, "Yeah buddy! I got this!" that made me stop focusing on it.   I guess I have to challenge myself....complacency is my enemy! Gosh, it really makes me feel like a pessimist though.  I scold myself for being encouraged, for being proud.  Proud...doesn't that come before the fall or something like that?  I have to constantly remind myself that 

I DIDN'T FAIL....  I just had a setback.  And setbacks are normal, right?  Not when you look like this, though, I say to myself.  It was so nice for a while, not having an itchy scab somewhere all the time.  My hands were actually clean.  My little girl wasn't looking at me and saying, "What happened mommy? You have owie?"  That breaks my heart.  I want so bad to be a good influence for her, but I guess the fact of the matter is, when it comes to this battle, I'm not.  Right? I mean maybe it's not just a matter of quitting a habit, maybe it's a matter of changing ME, not just on the outside.  Well I've started working out, too!!  6:45 am.  That's right, it's January in Michigan and I am up at 5:30 to go work out at 6:45.  I have to admit, I like being up before the world.  Maybe I should focus on that good feeling?  

What is the word...endorphines? Maybe I can find a way to get that high without picking.  Maybe I can get that rush from a good workout.  I guess it's a place to start.  Anywhere is better than here, huh?