I’ve been neglecting things again. Not just this blog, or my needlepoint, my hair and skin, or my travels. It’s been everything. Fatigue fills my body, but sleep is restless. There are moments throughout the day that needle into the protective coping wall that I place around myself…

…going through the motions like an automaton… day in and day out… because everything in my head just plays over and over and over and over again. And I mean everything. From twenty years ago – or yesterday. It doesn’t matter. And much of it is insubstantial indiscretions or absurd worries. My memory suffers greatly – more-so than it does already. I won’t remember what someone said to me 5 minutes before, or what I ate for dinner, or ever changing policies at work. Words commonly used in my daily vocabulary are left on the tip of my tongue; just close enough that I know it’s there, but far enough to leave a blank in my speech.

Exhaustion permeates my body; not because I’ve pushed it to the limits in physical activity – but because the whirlwind of my mind and emotions steadily sap any kind of comfort, safety, and life from my mind, body, and soul and leaves me in a constant restless state. I can’t sleep – I can’t wake up.

It’s the constant ebb and flow of any depressive disorder – you’re the only blindfolded rider of a long running rollercoaster that leaves behind the safety of even track for the sudden drop that leaves you reeling at the bottom; then up, up, up the climb out goes – fighting to get out – to get to the top – to get back to that level track, only for it to drop again. Sometimes it takes years for this to happen. Sometimes days. Frighteningly, sometimes seconds.

Major depressive disorder, anxiety, OCD, and auditory processing disorder have been a part of my life for so long. I cannot often remember specifics of my childhood, but many of the memories are playing with dolls in a counselors office after my parents separated and divorced. I remember refusing to take medication, melting down over trivial things because I couldn’t be bothered to learn coping mechanisms, and wearing my moods like a proud badge of honor – I fed my depression, letting it grow and consume me.

But there came a time when the exhaustion paralyzed me and I began to fight. I reached a level of stability that lasted for quite a long time – years even. Then, suddenly the rollercoaster sped downward. I felt it – saw it reflected in my son, resulting in screaming matches that lasted hours. His grades, interests, and mood plummeted – I’d strapped him into the rollercoaster, taking him along for the ride. It was time for a tune-up.

I was worried. I’d heard that mental health is treated very differently in Germany, and I’d had the same LCSW for almost 20 years when in the US. Finding a new counselor can be exhausting in itself – your entire history is split back open. How do I rehash 38 years of struggle? But, I found a fantastic one that is American – sessions familiar and comforting. The hard trek up the track began.

Living abroad has been the most exhilarating, happiest time in my life, besides the birth of my yellow bird (Tristan). I have so much pride in myself of the accomplishments I worked so hard for; the obstacles I climbed over. This is where I am meant to be. I am home in Germany. I feel rooted here. I feel the most myself I have ever felt. So, why do I feel this way?

The truth is: it doesn’t matter where you go – the rollercoaster comes with you. And that’s okay. I’m learning to stop asking why – I’m learning acceptance: it just is. It is all a part of me; a part of who I am, where I’ve come, and where I’m going. It will follow me until the day I die, and I will have to continue working my way back up the damned track. But, now I have ways of coping. I’ve learned that I can step away from situations, anxiety attacks, moments of overstimulation without completely falling apart.

There have been, and will be, many times I’ve had to walk away from an exciting adventure in one place or another because I feel the anxiety looming in the pit of my stomach. And I’ve also had moments of embarrassing outbursts because the feeling of doom has burst through the gates. I’ve felt trapped inside my head – inside my own vault of dread – in the most beautiful places (Malta, I’m looking at you!).

I’ve made anxiety-inducing medication changes, accepting the fact that I need more medication to make it through the day. And I’ve begun to feel liberated from my self-induced taboo jail as I say es ist mir sheißegal and become open with my struggles both at work and at home. I don’t want to feel hidden behind this picturesque ideal because it’s just not real.

I posted on social media about my most recent major anxiety attack while I was on a solo-trip to Malta. I’d had several incidents of worry as I was unintentionally titrating from an old SSRI to a new one (which I didn’t pack). One moment I was happily basking in the sun and delight of visiting a new country, and the next I was having a full on anxiety attack on a boat in the middle of the Mediterranean. As I made it back to my hotel, reading many of the comments on my social media posts, I really began to think about the presentation of this “exciting life” I lead. I thought about how I was becoming more open with people at work – asking them to tell me if they notice any concerning changes as I worked towards balance. They were all so accepting, some even sharing their own struggles. So, I decided to share it with my little world.

My dad asked why I posted it. Mentioned a generational thing. This is why: Yes, I lead a truly exciting life. My son and I have worked towards the opportunities we now take advantage of on a daily basis. We live in the safety of the EU – the safety of Germany. We are “leading our best lives”! We share photo’s of our adventures; exclaim our achievements! But we are also struggling… and that’s okay. It’s okay to be a work in progress. It’s okay to admit when things that usually make us happy, just don’t seem to do the trick anymore. And it’s okay that even if I am living the life I always dreamed about in a place that has made me so happy, sometimes it just friggin’ sucks.

There is a saying that’s always been pounded into me by counselors, my parents, friends, teachers, everyone: you are not alone. But it never meant anything until now. I’m not alone on that fucking rollercoaster. There’s thousands… millions!… of other people with me; they too are holding on for dear life. And if maybe I open the gates and make it less taboo to talk about mental health in my life, it will lead someone else to do the same in theirs.

…and if you’re wondering, I’m so close to that level track.