A year of sparkling!

To Sparkle Punch turns 1 today! YAY! I can barely believe that it's been a year. A WHOLE YEAR?! I've had blogs before and watched them fizzle after a post or two, so I'm really glad that I stuck with it this time and connected with so many people along the way! :)

This time last year, I was limping around South Philly in a walking boot, packing up to move home, and cringing at the thought of launching this blog (which I'd been secretly planning since May). In the spring of 2014, I was part of Jen Sincero's online Badass Bootcamp (highly recommend, btw), and she was adamant that writers should have at least a blog to their name because it's such an easy thing to get rolling. In Bootcamp, I'd been happily writing pieces that, deep down, I never intended to show anyone, so the thought of starting a blog was like, "Oh crap." I'm glad I pushed through those feelings and did it anyway. And then I slowly began linking up with blogs I was already reading (like Franish and A Cup of Tea), and suddenly I was part of this awesome blogging community! No longer on the sidelines, where I love to sit timidly, surveying everything. (I'm often like Scotty Smalls when his mother is pushing him to go out and play and "get into trouble, for crying out loud!") That is largely how I lived my life, pre-inpatient. I don't think I was exactly depressed in those days when I would immerse myself in things like classic rock and scrapbooking at home--I truly enjoyed doing my own thing by myself. But that's because I was fully in control. It's hard to live life when you hide until a situation is perfect and safe or until someone/thing shoves you out of your comfort zone.

In that regard, it's pretty mind-blowing how much I've grown in the last year--namely speaking up about my history of anxiety and suicidal thoughts, and working through my driving phobia. I feel like I'm finally starting to discover my authentic self, the funny, compassionate, honest one hiding under layers of fear. I'm glad this space allows her to come out and play. :)

Most importantly, though, THANK YOU! Thank you for reading my blog and supporting me. We are all in this world together, and I hope I have been a bright spot in your day, as you have been in mine. For anyone reading while struggling with depression/anxiety/suicidal thoughts, I hope To Sparkle Punch provides some insight into the "other side" of those issues that can be reached by working through them--that seeking help (by going inpatient, opening up to a friend, starting therapy, etc.) can profoundly change your life, and that profound change IS possible.

Here's to another year! <3  

Sparkles! I had grand plans of a cool picture with a sparkle shower, but that did not work out at all, haha

I wanna get better

Last week, a doctor's appointment in an unfamiliar town inadvertently threw down the driving gauntlet. 

Because exposure therapy has shown me how awesomely fast one can get around by driving (as opposed to taking 4 buses, a train, and a dirigible), I was open to the idea of driving myself to this doctor's appointment--despite the fact that I'd never been there and multiple people cringed at the thought of driving to that congested area themselves. I found a back roads route on Google Maps and set out on a dry run with my dad the night before the appointment. Annnnd I made a wrong turn five minutes from our house, could barely make out the street signs in the dark, and I couldn't find the right building when we "arrived" at our destination. As has long been the case with me and driving, I grew frustrated and shut down emotionally. "Eff this! I'm so taking the bus!" Concerned for my own safety, and probably that of his car ("I'm not trying to hit potholes!" "Well, you're not trying to avoid them either!"), my dad encouraged me to take Septa: "This is a tough route for an experienced driver. I know you could do it, but why stress yourself out?" So it was set: I was not driving to this appointment.

Fast-forward to me planning my Septa route the next morning. Taking Septa TO the appointment was easy enough, but it was harder to plan my way home, not knowing when exactly I'd reach the bus stop. So I contemplated taking Uber home... and then realized the ridiculousness of that idea: I would be paying someone else to do the very thing that I'm supposed to be working on! It was just a 20 minute drive, consisting of all back roads and like five turns. I could handle that... right?

After fortifying myself with some Starbucks and Million Dollar Listing, I pushed through the anxiety and drove to and from the doctor on this vaguely familiar route alone with no problems. At all. It was like I'd been driving since my 16th birthday (which, FYI, was in 2002--Lizzie McGuire was still on TV then!). I had been too nervous to eat before setting out, but once I got in the car, I was surprisingly calm. Upon arrival, I triumphantly FaceTimed my friend (and her cat) from the doctor's parking garage.

On the way home, I even dared to put on music--ie a playlist of four songs on repeat, one of which was Bleachers' "I Wanna Get Better," which I proceeded to shout/sing along with on my ride home :)

An outfit for springtime driving adventures:

• T-shirt: Mossimo (Target)
• Jeans: thrifted (so soft!)
• Flats: Bandolino (Zappos)
• Belt: Old Navy
• Bag: Fossil (eBay)
• Watch: Francesca's
• Necklace: gift
• Bracelets: DIY and Lokai
• Sunglasses: Kate Spade (prescription!)
• Nail polish: Maybelline Color Show "Lust for Lilac"

I DID IT!!!!!!

Live your life

(Remember this song, which is now stuck in my head?!)

My trip to Chicago last weekend was AMAZING. I would like to congratulate my past self for ignoring my naggy anxious mind to book a solo trip to a different city and also to sign up for a writers' conference (to attend alone in said new city)! 

We can do anything we want in life. We are resilient and courageous. The only thing we have to fear (besides fear itself) is our own limiting beliefs, the ways we keep ourselves down when instead we could soar.

In flower heaven at the Garfield Conservatory

I'd had serious second thoughts about the writing conference after re-reading its super intense description, which sounded as if there were going to be a pat-down for manuscripts upon entry. In reality, it was way more laid-back. While the two-day event put a huge emphasis on publishing, the speakers touched on many aspects of the creative process (whew). I got to listen to awesome people like Mike Dooley (creator of Notes from the Universe!!) and the beautiful Nancy Levin share the circuitous journeys that got them to where they are now. And when being around hundreds of strangers became too much to handle, I simply escaped to a secret nook in the convention center. Introverts, ftw!

The rest of my time in Chicago was spent catching up, shopping, site-seeing, and couch-melting with one of my best friends from high school, which was, of course, a blast. Even an unexpected snow storm only set us back temporarily (for some cathartic whining) before we  hit the Garfield Conservatory* for some gorge (free!) flower creeping, followed by Wicker Park for shopping and psychic readings (WUT). I never expected getting a palm reading and then watching Timmi sort through chunks of amethyst with "All Along the Watchtower" playing in the background, but it happened. It was seriously the best day, fully uninhibited by doubt and anxiety.

*On a related note, Timmi is a genius and spends many a grey winter day at museums and botanical gardens. What a great way to cope with SAD!

I am usually so reluctant to break out of my routine that I forget how great it is to do so, how much of the world is out there, waiting to be seen. This trip was an excellent reminder of what awaits me just a short plane ride outside of my comfort zone.

Second Rebirthday

I consider March 20 to be my "rebirthday" because March 20, 2013, was the day I checked myself into the hospital. It marked the beginning of getting unstuck from the negative, destructive thought patterns and paralyzing fears that made my life feel so difficult. It was a dramatic change from how I'd lived up to that point.

Lately, I've been listening to the Alice Cooper song "I'm Eighteen," which always reminds me of being 17 (lol) and working on a research paper on the Vietnam War. That year (junior year) was my favorite year of high school, probably because it was so routine. I had two years under my belt and knew what to expect behind the doors at SHA. My homework was always done, my uniform always ready. Outside of school, I had created a safe, solitary bubble of classic rock, homework, and hockey games on TV. 

I'm 18, and I don't know what I want.

That bubble had to pop at graduation, but I formed another in college, and yet another in grad school. School was great--it gave my anxious mind something to focus on, gifted me a group of potential friends, and allowed me to create my own schedule. March 2013, a few months after finishing grad school, marked the first time I'd really struck out on my own--taking a full time job in my field, even though it came with no safety net of friends and was far from home. For the first time, I really had to face my anxiety and lack of control and make a choice: flee (through suicide or avoidance) or deal with it.

I broke down in 2.5 weeks.

Going inpatient was possibly the scariest decision I've ever made. While waiting in the ER, a big part of me wanted to bolt. I'd made it through 26 semi-turbulent years before; eventually, I'd get back into a routine and feel ok, right?

But that sickening thought was what pushed me to check myself in: I was just muddling through. Riding the waves from high to low and back again, unceasing, unquestioned. What kind of life is that? No wonder an "out" looked so appealing.

Inpatient didn't "fix" me, of course (clearly!). It just put me on the right road of actual therapy, not bullshit 30 minute sessions with a psychiatrist. Admitting I had a problem meant that I could stop pretending I was fine to the people closest to me. I could start working on my issues, rather than covering them up. But it's still tough. This year in particular has not been easy, mostly because living at home means I can barely get around without a car (as compared to city living). Feeling trapped and isolated is not great on the ol' depression/anxiety, and neither is a four-hour-a-day commute. But I'm working through it with my ever-valiant therapist, and I start exposure therapy next month for a HUGE fear of mine (and a key to increased independence): driving.

And in the spirit of doing something scary and new on March 20, today, I fly to Chicago to visit my high school BFF Timmi (ok that part is awesome, not scary lol) and to go to the Hay House Writers' Workshop this weekend. Alone! Writing! New city! STRANGER DANGER!! But facing fears and truly LIVING honors my rebirthday. I'm 28 now, and I still don't know what I want, and I still default to avoidance and wide-eyed Pusheen face more than I'd like, but at least I'm trying things and showing up to life instead of hiding all the time. <3

This is what an anxiety attack looks like

It's so easy and fun to post pretty pictures, right? Ones that showcase fabulous outfits and super cute accessories. And if you don't quite feel like a million bucks, almost any picture can be contorted into perfection with filters and editing tools. 

So the last thing I'm psyched to put out there is a picture where I'm crying and covered in runaway mascara, but that's what anxiety looks like. It's far from pretty and perfect.

I rang in 2015 with the worst anxiety attacks I've had in a very long time. I was sick with a cold and spent one day home from work... and I started FEELING things. Deep sorrow. Confusing terror. Completely out of control. I, who am always cold, needed ice packs because I was constantly overheated. I hyperventilated so intensely that I threw up. I teetered on the edge of tears for those three days. It was fucking awful. Anxiety is such an insidious bastard. It sneaks up on you and upends your otherwise orderly life.

My anxiety level is still higher than normal, but its waves are smaller, not tsunami-grade. Thankfully, my dad, my bf, and one of my good friends were all super patient and understanding,  and helped to calm me down when my anxiety was at its worst. And I was able to be open with them (and with you, dear reader) about how awful I was feeling--something I never used to be able to do.

Perhaps, best of all, suicide never crossed my mind as an option. I now see my old gravitation toward suicidal thoughts as a kind of drug--something dark and desperate and unhealthy that I could sink into, to feel in control and to numb out pain. But even in such a panic last week, I didn't reach out for that old vice, and for that, I am very thankful.