Therapy Saved My Life

I recently got a request to post something (how about anything?) lighthearted on the blog and while I agree that it would be nice to post something less heavy than my norm, it's gonna have to wait.

This time of year can be extremely difficult for many. In fact, I think this time of year is difficult for most to some degree but society tells us that we're supposed to walk around like we're lit on eggnog all the time, and so we perform. We shove the stress and anxiety and depression and inconvenient thoughts down, down, down. I get it. I am so good at that game. Which is why before I post something lighthearted, I need to post something that could potentially save someone's life. 

A little over a year ago I was beginning to spiral. I've written about my struggle with mental health in many of my previous posts so I won't do it again here, but for those who are new to the blog you can read about my sexual assault and PTSD here, here, here, and here. Yeah, I talk about it a lot because it needs to be talked about.

You wouldn't think so, but it's actually easy to recall the details of what it was like during the worst of the worst. It's easy because I can't imagine that I'll ever be able to forget those days. They are extremely vivid memories. But what I haven't talked a lot about is how I got to that really bad place.

It was happening slowly but it happened before I knew it. I began to withdraw. I would cancel on friends. Shut myself in my bedroom. Self-medicate with sleeping pills. Essentially, I wanted to "not be." I didn't want to feel. If someone would have asked me if I was suicidal, I would have answered emphatically, "no." And I truly wasn't. But I was also desperate to not feel anything anymore. To make matters worse, I was really good at hiding all of this. The "I'm too busy" or "it's too cold out" texts were frequent and the "I don't want to talk about it" reply was automatic anytime someone tried to care. By the time I realized what was happening and reached out for professional help, I was already pretty far gone. I had no idea just how bad it was about to get over the following months.

It scares me to think of what could have happened if I hadn't reached out for help. I'm not telling you my experience with individual and group therapy was easy, if you've read my posts you know I fought hard to get here. But it could have been worse. And I could have found myself in a hole so deep I might not have been able to get out. 

Let me be clear, what we're talking about here isn't some holiday sadness that Hallmark movies tell you can be cured with a puppy and a fiance (side note, I fucking hate those movies). The desperation one feels around this time of year is something that is preexisting and it is only amplified by the holiday pressure to be social, act happy, and show your love by spending thousands of dollars. In my case, I was already feeling the symptoms of my PTSD when the holidays came around.

If you are in pain now, please know that you are not alone. You are surrounded by people who are hurting just like you and you have nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not abnormal. 

You are brave for getting out of bed every morning. You are brave for fixing that smile on your face before you walk out the door. You are brave for making it through another day. I know it doesn't feel that way. I know you feel weak and unworthy. I know. But I promise you - I can tell you from experience - it. gets. better. 

I implore you - if you are desperate to not feel, especially if you are desperate enough to take your life, please reach out for help. You can cry. You can talk. You can get answers and most importantly, you can get help. 

You are needed here. You are wanted here. You are loved here.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 

1 800-273-8255

NYC: Two Year Review

"Was definitely supposed to write this a while ago and publish yesterday but is anyone really surprised? Because I'm not."

That was my opening line for my One Year Review so I think it's safe to say that absolutely nothing has changed because here I am, an entire month late on this post. This is an endearing quality, right? 

I've got two years under my belt in this big, beautiful city. I keep waiting for the day I wake up and hate the blaring horns, sidewalk vomit, and the smell of piss on a hot summer's day but maybe that is a badge you earn at Year Three? Here's hoping because every day I wake up in this city is completely different than the last and I love that. New buildings being constructed and your favorite deli closing -  an entire block can change before your eyes. There's a sadness in this for sure. Tearing down the old and worn down demands some kind of mourning, some kind of grief. But there's also something reassuring in knowing that change and adaptation is so natural and necessary in this city. Reconstruction is beautiful. 

I've grown up so much here. I've never felt so confident and sure of my self and what I want. Maybe it's a part of getting older or maybe this place forced me to face things I hadn't wanted to before. Either way, it's been an epic two years and I'm so excited for what's next. 

Alright, let's get to the part you actually wanted to read. 

The Rent: So I moved. I was living on the East Side and now I'm on the West Side (in my very own apartment!!!)  in the best neighborhood in all of Manhattan - West Village. When you think of a Kate Hudson movie being shot in New York, this is the neighborhood you think of. Brownstones and cobbled streets, boutiques and the best restaurants. It's like the perfect date neighborhood. Just bring a girl here and she'll fall in love with you. Promise. Also, I'll be doing a "home tour" post at some point just be warned that I live in a shoe box so the post will contain exactly one photo.

The Rats: Solid chance that I'm just not aware of my surroundings because I haven't seen a ton of rats or any A-list celebrities since I moved here. 

The Subway: Now that I actually live close to a subway station I take it all the time and if Uber is doing poorly these days you can blame it on me. 

The People: I've never met so many hard working people in my entire life. I'm constantly in awe of my friends and family that live here and fight for what they want. They don't take no for an answer. Surviving in this place can be a challenge in itself so to thrive here is incredibly admirable. I'm very luck to know so many talented people. Hoping some of that rubs off!

The Dates: You guys. I can't. Dating here is the absolute worst. I actually got rid of Bumble (the only dating app I use) because it's depressing. Can't wait for the holidays when I have to explain to family members that I'm single because the only person interested in dating me is the homeless man I greet on my way to work every day.

The Nightlife: I'm old. This doesn't exist. My night out consists of two glasses of wine at dinner before I return home to my Netflix lineup. I refuse to apologize for this. That being said though, I would never turn down a boozy brunch. Bottomless mimosas, hold the OJ.

The Food: Oh my gaahhhddd the food. Don't ever ask me for a list of restaurants to visit while you're here because that would turn into me starting another novel. There are so many amazing places to eat here. And there's something new popping up every week. If I get fat just know it was because I had to. 

The Smell: To me, New York City will always smell like hot dog street vendors and the possibility that anything could happen here. Big fan of both of those things.

Check One, Two. Check. Is This Thing On?

If you're reading this, you likely know me. If you know me well, you likely also know that my solution to just about every problem is to pretend that it doesn't exist. Don't ask me about it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine. I'll be okay. Let's move on. 

That defense mechanism worked really, really well for me. Up until it didn't. 

It was around this time last year that the #metoo movement started to pick up steam. At first it was just a couple of tweets here and there - individuals voicing their horrifying truths. And then all of the sudden it was an avalanche. My news feed was made up entirely of women's stories detailing their abuse, trauma, and PTSD symptoms. I took them in like an addict. I had to read every. single. one. Through sobs I reluctantly clicked on link after link, paying close attention to the comments. Reading words from the victim blamers and shamers as if they were speaking directly to me. Each word piling on top of my chest until I could barely breathe. I couldn't stop.

And just like that, the pretty facade I had spent 2.5 years building had completely imploded.

The next six months of my life would be the absolute worst I had ever experienced. My body completely turned against me - a new physical symptom of my PTSD popping up so regularly that I was visiting my doctor every other week. Multiple prescriptions. Acupuncture. Acupressure. Three hours of therapy a week. I was fighting like hell when at the time it felt like I was doing nothing but merely existing. 

I know it's been a while. I've been quiet. But I've been rebuilding. I'm not "healed." But I'm better than I was a year ago. 

Anyways, the point is - I'm not going anywhere. So if you thought you had escaped my passionate and frequently politically polarizing posts (alliteration totally intended), then I am so not sorry to disappoint you. Because I'm back and I'm swinging, baby. 

This is What Healing Looks Like

After tossing and turning for over an hour, I finally give in and check the time on my phone. It's 3:30 AM. In this nightmare, I was being skinned alive while hanging upside down from the ceiling. I feel the panic in my chest start to rise. My pulse increases and the familiar "butterflies" in my heart start to flutter. The heart palpitations mixed with my shallow breaths eventually make me nauseous and before I know it, another hour has passed. It's now 4:45 AM and I know I've gotten only a few hours of restless sleep. If I take a Xanax now it will probably provide relief but I don't want to rely on medication. Instead, I try the "conscious breathing" technique I was prescribed. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. It seems futile. I know the palpitations and nausea will last all day. My alarm goes off. 

I roll out from my cocoon of blankets and pad barefoot into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. My doctor told me to stay away from any amount of caffeine but the migraines and insomnia have won and I'm not left with a choice. It's not until I look at my meetings for the day that I remember it's Thursday. After work I'll be in two hours of intensive group therapy for victims of sexual trauma. 

I know I should curl my hair and put makeup on today. People at work have started commenting on how unhappy and tired I look. But I don't have the energy for it. So I put my hair in a bun for the fourth day this week and turn the bathroom light off. I hate looking in the mirror. When I leave my apartment it's cold and bright and loud outside and I'm sensitive to it all. For the entire 20 minute walk to work, I tell myself that I only have to act like a human for the next eight hours. That's it.

It's 8:30 PM and I've just left group therapy. The 4 Train is crowded, even this late at night, so I try to keep my head down to hide my face. My eyes are swollen and red from sobbing for almost two hours. I feel numb and raw at the same time. I clutch my "grounding stone," running my fingertips over the smooth edges. It's supposed to distract me from my thoughts and emotions. The train jerks me back and forth and I realize that's exactly how I feel inside. 

It's Friday morning and I've finally slept with the help of Ambien. Like the Xanax, it's addictive so I only take it when I'm desperate. Desperate. That word sounds so hollow compared to how it feels. Work is almost unmanageable today and I only have time to leave my desk to go to the bathroom. For the next 24 hours I will be unable to stop crying. My office has glass walls and as my coworkers walk by I can tell how uncomfortable I make them feel. 

I look down at my phone and see the unread text message notifications. My best friend had surgery three days ago. Another is publishing a book this month. I care. I'm concerned. But I don't have the energy to have a typed conversation. Or any kind of conversation. I turn my screen off and tell myself that I'll respond later. I won't. 

I come home and spend twenty minutes sitting in the shower. It's become another kind of therapy. In addition to the group therapy. The individual therapy. The acupuncture. The prescriptions. I spend Friday night in my bedroom alone watching TV because it's easier than having a conversation with someone about how hard their day was. 

Saturday is a good day. I have a party to go to. I get a blowout and a spray tan. I put makeup on. Today I'm supposed to be happy. And I am. For almost 12 hours I am talking and laughing and drinking. Later I'll see pictures of myself and realize I don't look happy at all. I spend all day in bed the following day recovering. Not from the alcohol. From the "having fun."

This is four days. I've been doing some version of this for almost four months and I've never felt so alone in my life.

It's been almost three years since my rape and I am just now scratching the surface of what it means to "heal." The symptoms are endless and they tell me it's called PTSD. Don't ask me if I'm okay. I'm not okay. I'm not fine. 

Your GIF Guide to Sexual Consent

Many of you have read the breaking news headlines on sexual assault claims involving celebrities these past few months. They don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. As a society, this has forced us to have a lot of difficult conversations - with others and with ourselves.

What is sexual assault? Is it black and white or are there gray areas? What constitutes a sex crime and what constitutes "bad behavior?" Am I guilty of assault? Have I been assaulted? I'm so glad you asked. Hello everyone, welcome to Sexual Consent. My name’s Melissa and I’ll be your tour guide.

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So you’ve got a date tonight? First time meeting? Been married for 30 years? Doesn’t matter. Here at Sexual Consent, everyone lives by the same standards.

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You'll notice here that a lot of dates will include the consumption of alcohol. Remember, just because your date has had a drink with you, that does not mean they want to have sex with you. A drink is not currency to be used in exchange for sex.

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If the date gets moved to a private venue, congratulations - you might be having sex tonight.

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OR perhaps your date just wants to continue spending time with you and doesn't mind doing so in a more secluded setting. Sounds like they are interested in getting to know you. Very exciting stuff! Friendly reminder folks, someone can go home with you and not want to have sex with you.

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The mood is right. The candles are lit. And Damien Rice is crooning on the Beats speaker your mom got you for Christmas. A makeout session reminiscent of prom night ensues.

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So you want to get a little more serious? Folks, we've just reached our first major intersection in Sexual Consent. Before proceeding any further, please stop to look both ways. You can simply ask your date, "Is this okay? Are you comfortable?" The good news is that this isn't hard to do and it's not awkward. In fact, it's a romantic gesture which showcases your ability to be aware of your partner's thoughts and feelings and not just the blood rushing to your nether regions.

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These questions should be repeated throughout the evening, specifically before any sexual act. This is a nice thing to do because you don't want to make your partner feel uncomfortable or that they don't have the opportunity to tell you that they don't want to take it any further. Yikes!

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Suppose your date would like to take things slow. This could mean a variety of things. Slow could mean that they are only interested in kissing. Slow could mean they are only interested in heavy petting. Slow could mean they are only interested in oral sex. Slow could mean they are only interested in receiving oral sex. Slow could mean they are interested in sex just not right now. I know. The possibilities are endless. But that's because humans are complex creatures and are capable of having different and sometimes conflicting thoughts.

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If your date has not given their consent - whether that be verbally or through non-verbal cues (pulling away, turning their head, trying to run out the door, etc.) - then this is the point in the evening where you stop making advances.

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If your date has enthusiastically given their consent, buckle up friends, this is where the adult fun begins. Next stop, Pleasure Town. Unfortunately, I cannot be your tour guide for that destination because my mom reads my blog and she doesn't need to know the extent of my knowledge in this area.

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Thank you for visiting. And remember, sexual assault doesn't have to be gray if you get consent. This is a great way to avoid being added to shitty men lists, having your name dragged through the media, losing your career, going to jail, etc.

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