Well, I finally did it. I’m anxious and excited and nervous and worried and happy and elated all at the same time.
When another New Year rolls around, quite a few of us make resolutions to make this year different from the last. We’re going to lose weight, or stop drinking so much, or run three times a week. How often we stick to these resolutions really depends on our outlook and our drive to make such a significant change in our lives.
Read A Happier New Year, 2017 Style
Listening to my music and this came on. One of my most favourite Madonna songs lyrically.
I speak with my Mom every week to every two weeks. Living on opposite sides of the world is hard, but it’s a little bit easier with the invention of Skype and FaceTime, WhatsApp and Apple Messenger, Instagram and Facebook. Communication is so much easier now than it was when I first moved to New Zealand 20 years ago.
Anyway. My Mom has been talking about getting a tattoo. We’ve had this discussion a few times over the last few years: what type of tattoo would she get; where she would get it on her body; how big it would be; and so on. It was something on her bucket list of things she wanted to do. And, of course, I love her, so anything she wants to do, I support 100%.
So, today was one of those really busy days at work. End of term, which always causes a bit of a kerfluffle around the place, was a little more end-of-term-ish for me as I’m taking a break like everyone else over the school holidays instead of working through like I usually do. I honestly am burnt out and tired and making lots of mistakes, and since my colleague Lyssa is away overseas for personal reasons, I’ll be dealing with new students the last week in July all by myself administration-wise, so I need to be fresh of mind and spirit for that.
Anyway, I had a surprise visit from a graduate of ours today. She popped in to get a few things, and it was great to see her looking so happy.
After Jacqui left the school, I took over the interviewing for a while, and this student (let’s call her Rikki) came in for an interview after we received her application. She was quiet, slightly withdrawn, and wholly unconfident. Her educational experiences had been, to put it nicely, horrible, and her performance obviously suffered as a result. I had a feeling, reading between the lines, that she’d probably been called “stupid” or “dumb”, when, in actuality, she was anything but that.
Yesterday, my counselor and I were speaking about my recovery from the dissociative disorder known as depersonalisation. I’ve written about it a few times if you want to check out the backstory — you can in my posts “Recovering from Depersonalisation” and “Reducing Anxiety through ‘Staying Present’“, or any entry on depersonalisation through looking up the tag #depersonalisation on my blog.
I am not sharing this because I want any pity or my friends and family to feel they need to wrap me in cotton wool. I am writing this so people who are diagnosed with depersonalisation or any similar dissociative disorder or similar disorder can understand they are not alone, that this does happen, and they may be able to recover. This is my personal experience with dissociation and depersonalisation, so mileage and outcomes may vary from case to case. Now on to my post…
Learning how to deal with emotions again is difficult. I’ve touched on it before in previous posts, but yesterday’s discussion touched on this again.
My mind seems to try to distract me from dealing with negative emotions. I internalise anger, grief, sadness: all these emotions churning inside me. Anger has been easier to confront; instead of letting a simmering rage build within me, I’ve found a way to express my frustration verbally, which, in turn, helps empower me to push through my anger and emerge a strong person. It sounds easy to do, but it’s not that easy, sometimes.
Grief and sadness have been harder. I clam up. It feels like these emotions run around as I try to catch them, sit with them, and let them run their course. My previous counselor — the one I accessed post-quakes — felt I may have complicated grief, where grief builds up over a period of time and expands exponentially until it is difficult to manage.