The Heart Knows Best

Last week was the beginning of my last semester of my undergraduate education at George Fox University. Obviously I am excited and terrified at the same time. With all of the stress that comes with it, Life decides that I need more things to worry about: one of those includes my heart.

Because I took 15-18 credits every semester prior to this one, I was able to have an easier class load my final one. My roommate and I decided to take two workout classes, which are back-to-back twice a week. The first is yoga, the second step aerobics.

Last Wednesday (the first day of our work outs), something happened. Yoga went well, but when we started step aerobics, I realized something wasn’t right. I wasn’t just out of breath; it was different than that. Worse. I had to excuse myself after a short few minutes of workouts because I felt like I was either going to pass out or vomit. I decided I should go see someone.

Later that same day, I went to see the University’s nurse practitioner to discuss what had happened. Previously–the times I had gone in the past year+–my heart rate had been high pretty much every time, but I would brush it off like I had rushed over there, even though I hadn’t. I didn’t want to deal with it. However, this recent time was something different.

We decided to monitor it the next few days to see where my heart rate goes in different situations: in class, at home, with friends, etc.

Let me tell you (if you don’t know) what the average heart rate should be: 50-70bpm for an adult resting heart rate is ideal, with some leeway.

That night, I checked my heart rate after I had showered and felt relaxed = 98bpm.
I walked to class the next morning, and when I got there: 158bpm. For walking.
I walk most places and it is roughly 125bpm. Again, for walking.
I rarely saw it dip below 90, and that was only when I was laying down (or sleeping. Shout out to my roommate for letting me borrow her Fitbit during this process so I can track and see the data).

So this became and even greater concern. When I went for my follow up on Friday, she decided to take a look at the history of my heart rate from my time at George Fox. She noticed that before I started any antidepressants, it sat at 75bpm. When I started trying my first antidepressant, it was at 88bpm. It grew from there.

She predicted that it was the medication that I had been taking for the last year and a half.

Just what I needed. My last semester, and I would have to suffer withdrawls from weening off the meds, then potentially horrible side-effects from trying another one to replace the current one. Finding one that worked the first time was hell, and I definitely did not want to be a psychotic, moody, angry, tremor-ing person during my final semester of college. If I didn’t switch meds, however, I would potentially keep putting myself at risk. I would have to “take it easy” during my classes. Either way, I lose.

However, I was told that the specific meds I was on were not typically as bad as other ones for withdrawl. I decided it is worth trying.

I went to see my primary care provider yesterday. They did and EKG and everything looked good, which was a concern of mine: that it was actually my heart. My family has a history of heart problems, so it was relieving to hear that things looked okay.

So now I am in the process of reducing the Welbutrin, and starting Lexapro (because Depression holds hands with its best friend, Anxiety). The goal is to reduce the Welbutrin to a low dose, with the Lexapro the same (except adding the dosage instead of reducing…). If I go back in two weeks and my heart rate hasn’t improved, I will have to go completely off the Welbutrin.

The stressors of this semester had already begun, but I guess the universe thought it wasn’t enough. It’s just one more bump in the road, though. Although it was beyond stressful to deal with this the first week back at school, I feel at peace now. I had remembered my last post about being thankful.
It prompted me to think of why I am thankful to have this heart of mine, even though it’s been acting up.
I am thankful for the two working legs I have, even if walking raises my heart rate a ridiculous amount.
I am thankful for the lungs I have, even though they feel constricted, dry, and make me cough when I exude myself too much.
I am thankful for body I have because it is the only one I get, and it’s functioning despite the few problems.

It’s important to not let yourself get wrapped up in the negatives, because you will drown. However, it’s an incredibly difficult task, but impossible. Just try to remember to not get wrapped up in it, even if you fee like you are; it helps to keep you afloat a little longer.



What happens in a year?

Today marks the one year anniversary of getting my ambigram tattoo.

One year from today, August 23rd.

Here’s a refresher of my post if you need it. 

I have grown a lot since a year ago today, yet I still have so much to learn. I still struggle all of the time with my depression and anxiety. There are still periods of time where I cannot seem to get out of bed, and days where I have panic attacks. However, there are so many good days too. I am trying to see the positive in everyday, even though it is extremely difficult sometimes. 

Reflecting back on this year, I am so thankful to the wonderful people have supported me in my difficult times. I am so thankful for my parents, who continue to support and check on me all the time; I am thankful to my dear friends who know just what to say when I need it; I am thankful for the relationships that have continued to grow, which have helped me grow too; I am thankful for my therapist because she helped me see things in new ways; I am thankful for animals, because they are little angels when it come to fixing my mood; I am thankful for higher education, and so thankful that I have the opportunity to learn; I am thankful for my professors who have the biggest hearts for their students; I am thankful for travel, so I can see the diversity of our beautiful earth, which helps me see how much bigger the world is than the problems I hear of everyday; 

I am thankful. 

What are you thankful for? 


When I reflect upon the meaning behind my ambigram tattoo, I can say that I’ve been doing better not bottling up what I’m feeling. It’s still a struggle, but I wish to strive to be transparent and vulnerable, so I can show people that’s it’s alright to open up; that it’s okay to have your own struggles; that it’s okay to hurt or have pain; it’s okay to break down and have bad days…but I want to make it clear that it doesn’t last, even if you cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Staying positive seems impossible–I know, because I’m not really an optimist. However, just remember it doesn’t last forever.


I want to thank every one of you for following along on this journey of mine, and I hope I continue to give light on mental health. 

Keep fighting, guys 👌

A Monster Called Anxiety

My anxiety has gotten worse. I have never been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder before; just depression.

This last week, I have been put on a higher dose of my antidepressants to see if it will help the anxiety that has become more prevalent in my life. I want to tell you a few things about it.

I have always struggled with presentation anxiety and nervousness leading up to and during a presentation, or just talking in class. For presentations, I have to write everything out in full sentences because I am unable to form sentences in my head from just bullet point prompts. Even if I know the information like the back of my hand, I can’t say it how I had it organized on paper or screen. Same goes for in-class comments, answers, or discussions. If my teacher or professor (this goes back to 4th grade when I began public school) would ask the class a question–even if I was 100% sure of the answer–I wouldn’t say it.

The same goes for being called on in class; I freeze up, and a lot of times I don’t make sense, or the info isn’t not clear. One of my professors this term–who knows of this problem I have–asked me before the class discussion if he could call on me. This gave me a few minutes to write my thoughts down, but it wasn’t enough time for me to write them out in sentences, so I still didn’t say exactly what and how I wanted to say. My heart pounding in my chest, the shaking hands, and quivering voice made me too distracted to concentrate.

Another recent time was a class group presentation I had just a few weeks ago. Like I always do, I had all my notes written out in sentences to help me during the presentation. This, of course, makes it more difficult to actually present well because I read aloud, which means I talk faster. I’ve been like this for most of my life, so that’s just how I thought my mind worked through it. However, this isn’t the point I want to make. The point is that I was the one who was going to bring the laptop to hook up to the projector for our presentation, so of course that meant getting there 40 minutes early to make sure everything works, even though I have used that same projector in that same room before, with the same laptop. I just needed the time just in case something didn’t work right, even though I was 99% sure that nothing would go wrong. My anxiety took over and made me take extra time out of my day to unnecessarily triple check everything.

The same went for the conference I went to a few week ago. My professor and I had our seminar after the luncheon they provided, but I was so nervous and anxious about presenting that I had to leave early to collect myself and try to calm down because I felt like I was going to throw up, pass out, or break down and cry. Or all of the above. I even tried breathing exercises to try to slow my heart rate, but honestly I think it just made it worse.
I got to the room we were presenting in early–but not 40 minutes, surprisingly. However, I immediately regretted it when I discovered that the video wouldn’t play on my laptop. I didn’t have enough time to fix it because I had to figure out how to set up the room as well (getting the projector the right distance for the screen, but also having the laptop close enough to where we would be standing). My professor didn’t get there until 5-10 minutes beforehand, and we just used her laptop. But my final added notes weren’t on her copy of the presentation. For some reason, I thought that those few sentences were crucial to the presentation so I scrambled to add them right before we started. But I didn’t have enough time to add everything. Whatever calmness that I had found before the presentation had disappeared and my heart was racing, my hands shaking, my stomach in knots, and I was almost in tears…all over again.
But the presentation went beautifully. Better then I had even hoped. I definitely began quite nervous, but it did get a little easier. I think that was the first time in years that I hadn’t felt anxious or nervous for the entire duration of a presentation. That was a huge step for me.

However, my anxiety didn’t just go away after that. Conveniently enough, I needed to renew my prescription for my antidepressants from a doctor, so I decided to bring up my increased anxiety during my appointment. We came to the conclusion that my anxiety stems from worrying, but further than the average person experiences. This made sense because I always have so many things to do, assignments to work on, personal matters, and I get extremely stressed out thinking about how much it is and when they’re due…but then there are the days when my depression shows up and I don’t have the energy or concentration to do those tasks. Even though I had all of these worries that were driving my insane. How does that make sense? To have a mental disorder, it has to impair daily functioning. Which is what has happened, because there will always be something for me to do…which means there will always be something for me to worry about.

So, on this increased dose of my antidepressant, I began experiencing some side effects, like usual. However, they didn’t hit me until two days later when I was at work. I work at a Pita Pit (a sandwich shop, but with pita bread), so I deal with tons of customers, and it’s a very fast-paced job. I was also the stand-in shift lead for that night.
The side effects came onto me gradually. I was kind of shaky, and I thought that maybe my blood sugar was low; when I get low blood sugar, I often times shake. I popped open a bag of chips and nibbled on a few of them to see if it helped, which it usually does. But I was still shaking. Quite badly.
Then it got worse. I then realized what was happening. From then, I began to just feel uncomfortable. I felt like I was in a bubble, and I couldn’t hear people a few feet in front of me. I couldn’t concentrate. I could not remember something that someone just told me. When I was helping a customer with their pita, they would say a couple veggies to put in there, and I could only remember one. That was embarrassing. I also couldn’t grill because it is already loud underneath the hood due to the fan, but I couldn’t hear outside of this “bubble” that I felt that I was in. I also couldn’t even run the register because I was shaking so badly when handing cards, cash, and our rewards points card back and forth to the customers. Again, my memory would not allow me to remember what the customer had just said, let alone try to hear them from the bubble I was in.
I could only do tasks in the back. But I couldn’t just do that. I eventually got so bad that I had to call someone and have her cover for me. I felt so bad that I made her come and work when she had the night off, blaming myself for what was happening, even though I had no control over it.
Obviously I couldn’t take that higher dosage because of work the following few days. I decided to risk my potential insomnia and take the pill at night so I’d (hopefully) be asleep when the jitters kicked in, so I would be able to work the next day. They say that the meds may cause insomnia, but I had to risk it. I was able to work the next two days with no problems. I began taking the dose in the morning again after that so it would be on my normal schedule. That was Friday.

Here I am, still feeling some side effects–especially the shaking–but it is not to the extreme that it was. Last week was Spring Break for me, so this week I am back to school. Anxiety and I will have to face off this week, and I just hope I win this round for once.

It’s a circle — I mean cycle

(Oops, sorry for the Paramore reference)
I feel like I go through these cycles.

This past month I have been so busy and excited about the business, AND I’ve kept up with it all! However, these past few days I have felt myself sinking a little bit. I have come to see this cycle of when my depression decides to show its face.

Even though I am better than where I was a year ago, I still have days when my depression seems to be tied to my ankles.
I still have days when my depression draws dark circles under my eyes, and hooks weights onto my eyelids.
I still have days when I cannot fall asleep at night because I have a thousand things running through my head;
I still have days when my depression encompasses itself in my comforter, but weighs 100lbs, making it difficult to get out of bed.
I still have days when depression ties my hands together so I am unable to do my homework.
I still have days when my depression holds me down so I cannot leave the couch.
I still have days when depression takes over my appetite, whether that is eating too much or too little;
I still have days when my depression decides I need 2 bowls of ice cream and 3 bars of chocolate, even if I really don’t want it.
I still have days when my depression takes the words right out of my mouth, and I’m caught unable to explain how I am really feeling.
I still have days when my depression grabs my stomach and twists it into knots.
I still have days when my depression seeps into my veins and makes me feel anxious for no reason.
I still have days when my depression consumes my mind so I am unable to focus in class.
I still have days when my depression makes me obsess over the simplest things that don’t even matter.
I still have days when my depression looks at me in the mirror and calls me worthless, ugly, and pathetic.
I still have days when my depression makes me act out the “I’m fine” when I am really feeling the “save me.”

I also have days when my depression has gone on a day trip or extended vacation because it needs a break too. I know it is spending time with someone else’s depression, making their life even worse.
My depression will sometimes bring a friend to visit as well, plummeting my life into some ocean of darkness–
instead of just letting my head float above the water.


I also have days where I feel like I can do a million things in a day, and I actually  do them.
I have days when I am able to get up with my first alarm.
I have days when I get all my homework done, and have time to relax.
I have weeks where my depression is nowhere to be found.

I will always have good days and bad days. And that is okay.
It is important that I surround myself with supportive people who help me stay connected and engaged instead of drowning in my thoughts.

It’s okay not to feel okay. But don’t let that stop you from trying to reach “okay.”

I know nothing…and I’m okay with that

It’s crazy to me to look back at this past year, or even since the end of August when my FB post went viral. I have changed so much.

Especially since my winter break has ended, and getting myself into the routine of this semester. I feel more confident than I ever have. I don’t feel like the passive, quiet person that I have been pretty much my entire life. I feel comfortable stating my mind for what it is, uncaring if there is judgement. I feel confident in myself because I am finally taking the time to focus on who I am, instead of worrying about everyone else 24/7. I have always focused on other people and making them happy, fulfilling their needs, but I never took time to care for myself. Now, however, I feel like I am a better helper and friend because I am taking the time to care for myself as well. I finally am taking the time to reflect on what happened that day, or think about what someone said in class, and ask myself what that really means to me.

I can already tell that this semester is going to be a crazy one with the dynamic of classes I have, the several side projects I have going on, and preparing for the trip to Thailand. It is going to be a busy semester, but I am so excited about it! It’s the start of my senior year, and I could not be more ecstatic about it because I get to share it with the amazing people in my life. This school year (Fall 2015 & Spring 2016) has been made of classes to get my major (psychology) and minor (women’s studies). I love that these classes really make me question how I have lived my life up until this point, and the reasons I have lived my life how I have.

If we don’t face challenges in our life, or are never apart of conversations that make us question our entire existence, then we haven’t lived at all. When you leave college, you shouldn’t feel like you know everything…if they taught you right, you’ll realize you know absolutely nothing. And I realize that I know nothing…and that makes me all the more excited to learn.

I am endlessly creating myself. 

End of the year

Whenever we reach this time of the year, I always seem to reflect back on it, just as everyone else does.

This year has been a complete roller coaster.

So much has happened to me and for me in 2015. At the beginning of the year, I was struggling with how to deal with my depression; I was not seeing a therapist, and I was unmedicated. I was really struggling.

However, I am still so glad for the support and help I received from so many. Those people really are why I am where I am today. I have come a long way since then.

I can’t believe that the end of summer would turned my life upside down. Getting my ambigram tattoo is something I will always be thankful for. I cannot say enough how difficult it was for me to post. I literally had to look away from the screen when I pressed the “post” button because I did not want to back out of my decision. I knew it was something that I needed to do. I knew it was something that people shouldn’t be afraid to talk about, because it’s real. I am so glad that we can begin to feel more comfortable sharing our own stories; it won’t ever be easy, but it will always be worth it.

Looking back, I can say that some days Depression still wraps its tight grasp around my throat, hindering me from basic breathing.
Some days I feel like Depression is weights tied around my ankles, leaving me slow and unmotivated;
Some days it feels like it ran me a marathon, leaving my body and mind exhausted;
Some days it feels like it is just lingering… like the feeling you’re being watched after finishing a scary movie at night, but not knowing who is out in the dark.
And some days it feels like Depression has gone on vacation and left me house-sitting money to treat myself while it is away.

And here I am now, months down the road; I’m in a place I never thought I would be. I have reached so many people, and I will continue to do so with all of the opportunities that are arising. And I sure hope that some of you will join me.

Thank you all so much. Have a wonderful New Year!

The reason I write

For a good portion of my life, I wrote. I had an entire stack of journals, filled from front to back with diary entries or poems that I wrote to express myself. The reason for it was because I was young, and was not aware of ways that I could express it. I definitely did not know how to talk about it with my parents or my friends. I felt that I was the only person in the world feeling the way that I did, so I kept it hidden in the vast pages of spiral notebooks or “cute” graphic art journals.

I stopped for a time; writing didn’t seem to flow as easily as before. I always told myself it was because I was happy, and that I had only written when there was pain in my life. I could never seem to produce poems or entries describing my happiness because I didn’t know what that looked like.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying my entire life was miserable and I had absolutely nothing to smile about, but at the end of the day, there would still be a pit in my stomach.

So, when my focus was more on my happiness, I couldn’t put it into words. I didn’t know how to describe the embrace of a friend you hadn’t seen in a long time;
I didn’t know how to explain the butterflies that I felt when I saw my boyfriend;
I didn’t know how to convey how trees reminded me of home and my foundation.

But I do now, because I’m finally opening up and digging out the parts of me that I have been hiding; the parts of me that I have not dealt with or thought about in years. I have reason to write again.

The reason I write is to express things I feel that I otherwise cannot.

The reason I write is to put my feelings into words so I can process them easier.

The reason I write is to paint a picture for other people who may not understand what it’s like to struggle with a mental illness.

The reason I write is to help free myself of my insecurities regarding my depression. The more I actually express myself, the better I process it.

The reason I write ambiguous posts (like the last one) is to not leave you out of the loop, but to show you that I am progressing, even if I am unable to publicly talk about it. But I am talking about it, just privatelyAnd that’s okay!

Ultimately, the reason I write is to share my experiences with you, hoping that you find comfort in my disclosure, even though it’s painful. I hope you feel not so alone.

I now know that my friend’s embrace felt like being wrapped in a blanket, sitting by a fire, and reminiscing about the time you spent with that friend under that same blanket talking about where you were going after graduation; bittersweet.
I now know that the butterflies weren’t contained in my stomach, like they always say; they consumed my insides, fluttering their wings to tickle me until I smiled.
I now know that the trees’ branches were like outstretched arms–much like the arms of my friend–pulling me into my foundation, my home; their height reminding me how small I was, showing me that there are so many places to climb, explore, visit, or immerse myself, and all I needed was the wind to sway those big, wooden arms in the right direction, releasing me to do great things and become someone that my younger self would have looked up to.

I now know that I don’t need sadness to fuel my drive because it was comfortable and safe; I now know that have so much potential at the end of my fingertips and in the words of my voice. I am glad that I have found my true reason to write.

Today was incredible

And I just want to share it with you!!

So I woke up this morning and saw that mine and Kris’ (my professor) poster was accepted for the 2016 CAPS Conference in March in Los Angeles! We get to present on the data we are collecting from the viral post, including some data of the shares, comments, and private messages. We are also going to look at content of the comments and messages. I am SO excited to continue this information!

Also, I received an email today that the Fall/Winter 2015 George Fox Journal article is printed, AND I’M THE COVER! I didn’t know that I was going to be the cover!
Displaying IMG_9188.JPGGFU J cover

I’m incredible excited! The journal has not been officially released to the school yet, so all I am going to post is the cover until they release it to the public, and the digital version. I will share it on here and my Facebook when it is released!

Anyways, I just wanted to share some of my excitement! Overall, I’m glad this week is almost over because this week was very busy for me, so it was a great way to sort of end my week. I’m excited to see where this goes.

On another note, though, there have been a few things on my mind lately (that I cannot disclose), and I’m at such conflict about what I should do. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to make these things public, but I know my family would be at such conflict, or be upset. I am sorry, family, that I have kept such secrets from you.

I will let you readers know that I had finally disclosed something to my therapist about something that happened years ago that I have never talked about. I also have sought out someone outside of my therapist that has gone through something similar; I am excited to talk with them about it because–even though I’ll be terrified–I can feel that it is something that is well overdue, and I am anxious to hear a first hand experience from someone I actually know and care for (even though I would never wish it upon anyone).

I just want to thank every one of you: to my friends and family who have been by my side for so long, helping me overcome  so many struggles, and loving me no matter what; and to all of you readers and followers that I gained from the viral post: you guys encourage me everyday to keep fighting, and keep talking about my mental illness, so we can begin to see the change in our world. And I am amazed to see the impact that I have had on so many people; I am so thankful for it. I am so encouraged to see and hear so many people seeking help or speaking out. Every time you do, the stigma falls; it becomes less and less of a problem.

Thank you, every one.


For my Learning class (yes, the class is titled “Learning.” Yes, I hear it being made fun of all the time. It’s about Learning theories, get over it!) we have to write a research paper analyzing a behavior with two of the theories that we have learned in class (behavior can include abnormal illnesses like depression or OCD, or normal behaviors too). I decided I wanted to write mine on self-harm because I think it would be an interesting topic to look into because of the cause and effect of (for example) cutting; it’s cathartic, or it’s one thing the individual can control.


I am looking at self-harm, not specifically cutting, so I Googled common ways that people self-harm, and I came across “carving.”

And I remembered something…

I used to do that.

Do you remember when I said in an earlier post that I would carelessly shave and “accidentally” cut myself? Well, this is different from that. I completely forgot I used to carve into my skin. I still have some scars from where I carved hearts in different places on my body, like my arms or legs. There is one that is still prominent on the side of my right knee.

At the time, I never saw this as self-harm. I used pencils and would draw and redraw and retrace until the spot began to indent into my skin, or break the surface. And then I’d keep going.

I did this in middle school and in high school. It never even hurt me.

I remember my mom being upset at me for doing that to myself, but like I said, I didn’t see it as self-harm. When I carved the one on the top of my wrist, people at my high school saw it during class; I didn’t even try to hide it. Because I didn’t see it as self-harm.

So then, is is self-harm?

Yes. Yes, it is. It was me mutilating my body, in which I found joy in. Do people who self-harm in other ways think it is particularly bad at the time? Not necessarily. Like I said, it’s something they have control over, or it’s a cathartic experience.

I remember looking at the scar on my knee this summer, and it was almost nostalgic. I don’t know why it almost brought happy thoughts to my mind, but it was a time where I had control of what was going on with or happening to my body.

I guess I will explore what this really means.



I know it has been about a week since I posted anything, but I have good reason.

I’ve done more personal journaling or “drafting.” What I have been writing about this week is something that I cannot share with the world yet. It’s something I haven’t really shared with anyone (I’ve only ever told two people). No one in my family knows, and my best friend doesn’t even know. But it’s something I had to finally dig up this week and stop choking it out of existence. Because it did happen.

I just sat and wrote well over 1000 words on what happened…and there is still so much more that I could say. I have never written about it before. I have kept all of the details and emotions that came with it, and its lasting effects without a word to anyone, or even paper.

There are things in my life that don’t just involve me and my secrets; there are some serious things that other people did that really effected me. But it’s not my place to say. It’s more of their secret than mine. There have been many people close to me that have really hurt me because I was involved. I can’t write to the world because then they would be exposed. But this blog isn’t about pointing the finger and saying what everyone did wrong; it’s about my journey to recovery, trying to sort out everything in my life.