The other day I was talking to my oldest friend on the phone. This particular friend is one that struggled with mental health issues during the earlier parts of our friendship. Mental health issues that led to self-harm, which led to a suicide attempt and then a very long stay at the looney bin. Looney bin may sound insensitive, and I do understand the severity of what I’m talking about, but I believe the reason our friendship has been able to last over a decade is because we’ve always been able to take a serious matter light heartedly.
I never saw him as a basket case or someone I needed to save, even though at times I tried to. I remember a time where we sat in my car outside in our high school parking lot and I was going on and on about the sun and how the beauty of it alone was a reason to stay alive. He would pick at me the same way I would pick at him, and in a way, I think it helped him feel more normal. Even when it felt like everyone else around him seemed to walk on eggshells, worrying if one wrong word would send him off the deep end, our banter never changed, and I cherish that about our relationship. But let’s get back to the phone call before I get too far off track.
On this phone call I came to the realization that I enjoy my life most when it is full of chaos. Chaos in which causes me stress…you see I thrive on stress. The last way anyone would describe me is as a “chill girl.” I have absolutely no chill and I can’t remember a time where I remotely tried to relax. I’ve always had a full-plate and kept myself busy, so busy to the point that at times it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
For example, this past spring I was working two jobs, one full-time overnight job and one part-time day job working about 60 to 70 hours a week. On top of that I was training for a half marathon about 5 times a week, plus trying to have a social life amidst that. To be clear I had no social life…any free time I did have I spent traveling across Tennessee trying to visit all 57 state parks before I moved to Maine (Side Note: I did indeed make it to all 57! GO ME!!) On the other hand, during this time I may have gotten 4 to 5 hours of sleep on a good day and many times I would just stay up for 24 hours or more. That may lead you to think that I would be absolutely dead all the time, but on the contrary, I was thriving. I felt the most motivated and dedicated to a schedule than I’d felt in a very long time.
But here comes the sad part about this situation, I didn’t have to work as much as I did…I was making plenty money for myself. I didn’t have to run myself endlessly every day until my body gave out…which then in return made me run slower on the day of my race. I could have slept more, given my body a break and the rest she deserved, but I didn’t. Now I find myself in a similar situation, I either spend most of my time torturing my body at the gym or exercising my dog hoping to lose the 25lbs I’ve gained in the last year. Then when my body has had enough…I will spend the rest of my day in the lab running experiment after experiment. I never give myself anytime to relax. I want to say I love it, and the feeling of a full planner makes my heart so happy, but then I realize that it makes me numb to all my emotions…sometimes to the point where I can’t recognize myself in the mirror.
You see, being so busy leaves me no time to think…it’s just go, go, go, from the moment I wake up with a list of tasks that have to be completed. By the end of the day, my brain is tired and couldn’t care less to think at all, so I scroll through my phone until my eyelids feel heavy. Then I pass out. I don’t like thinking, therefore I keep busy until all the stress builds up and I inevitably reach my breaking point, and all the emotions I’ve suppressed for far too long come boiling up to the surface. My emotions rush in so fast that I feel paralyzed and then a single tear drop falls down my cheek. The crazy thing is that I can go like this for months and months at a time. College taught me that I can prioritize my work and then put my feelings on a schedule, and I can’t even begin to tell you how unhealthy that is.
Chaos is my version of self-harm, the place I find the most comfort, and my drug of choice that I thrive on. I’m addicted to the highs and lows I feel when I have so much on my plate that I hit paralysis and then like a switch I just turn everything off and run on fumes. I crave the high of running on fumes…it’s like a game I play to see how far I can push myself to go. Even writing this now, I can see exactly what I’m doing but won’t stop and that’s the worst part. It’s like being a bystander to my own personal torture show.
Not all versions of self-harm are deemed bad, but rather my version is glorified in society. People praise me for being driven and wish they could even have an ounce of it. On the outside I look so motivated and put together, but little do they know that it’s killing me on the inside. They have no idea how much I envy their life for being able to relax without a care in the world, but then I remind myself that the grass may always seem greener on the other side. Though I may not see it, we all struggle in our own ways.