I want to write a self-help book because I have found one easy trick to curing depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. It’s called dying, and I cannot recommend it enough. Twice is even better, to thoroughly cement the teaching. I jest, but not really.
Ever since dying twice, I’ve mulled over how to talk about this. I know it sounds like a humblebrag to say that I suffered walking non-COVID-related pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and an ischemic stroke within twenty minutes without a scratch, but it’s basically true.
There is no way for people to relate to what I went through. I know that. It’s why I rarely mention it. In addition, I know how it sounds when someone peddles something that isn’t relevant. I know how impatient I used to get when people said to look at the bright side of life or that life was precious or that we only had one life to live. I hated that bullshit because it sounded so sanctimonious. “You don’t know me or my life. Don’t tell me to be grateful!” That was me whenever I heard anything of that ilk.
But. Here’s the thing.
They weren’t wrong.
Here me out. The one thing that I’ve learned from my medical crisis–well, the biggest thing. I’ve learned plenty–is that life is really fucking short. I can’t say we only have one life to live because I’m on my third, but in terms of relative time, 50 years is a blink of an eye.
Before I had my medical crisis, I suffered from depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. I had an almost-crippling depression that made it dififcult to get out of bed in the morning. I had anxiety that made me almost paralyzed with indecision. And, I hated my body with an intensity of a thousand suns. It started with my mother putting me on a diet when I was seven and nagging me all my life for being a fat cow.
Taiji helped with all three of these to a certain extent. Before I started it, I could not be in a crowd of people for many reasons. Too many emotions pouring into me; too much physical contact; too much noise. My depression told me that everyone hated me, and my anxiety told me that no matter how I talked to people, I would get it wrong.
As for the body hatred–I refused to look in a mirror. Even when I was doing my grooming, I would studiously ignore it. I hated my face and my body, and I refused to let people take pictures. My mom used to complain about that, too. That I would not let her take pictures. Well, geez, Mom. Youv’e told me in not so many words that I am hideous and grotesque because I’m fat. You’ve done this my entire life. I can’t imagine why you would be shocked and surprised that I don’t (didn’t) want my picutre taken.
I detested my body and face. I thought I was just too disgusting to live. Fifteen years of studying Taiji (at the time of my medical emergency) got me to studiously neutral. Meaning, I would say I was neutral about my body and face, but I didn’t really mean it.
Taiji DID help me become more comfortable about moving through a crowd and talking to people. it helped me set boundaries and not get so mad when provoked. In other words, I slowly improved on these three big issues through Taiji.
Then, I died. Twice. I spent a week in a coma. My brother was counseled that he should think about pulling the plug (on the life support machine) and planning my funeral. My medical team was much more diplomatic than that, I’m sure, but that’s what it came down to.
I can’t even imagine the scene. My friends and family members have told me how they felt during that fateful week. Here’s a hint–not good. K said she dithered about coming while I was in the hospital or waiting until….Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she was thinking. Until my funeral. She’s a teacher with limited time off. There was no way she could have come twice. Ian said that he was making deals with a god he didn’t believe in if only I would be spared.
I had friends on Twitter offering to take care of me if I needed it when I got out of the hospital.I was blown away by all the love. It might have been because I was bombed out of my mind because of all the drugs, but it made me tear up to read all the messages of love. I’ve often said that the three things that got me through my that dark time were love, luck, and Taiji.
When I got home from the hospital, I realized that my depression was 90% gone, my anxiety was 60% gone, and my body hatred was completely gone. I looked out the window at the sun shining in the clear blue sky, and I cried. It was so breathtakingly beautiful, I could not help but tear up.
The biggest thing I realized is that my body is fucking amazing. When I was in the hospital, the nurses helped me with going to the bathroom when I was weak and wobbly. They literally wiped the shit form my ass afterwards. They treated me with care, respect, and made me feel safe. It’s such a vulnerable position to be in, and they were careful not to exacerbate that. There was only one nurse I felt didn’t give a shit about me, but that wasn’t even a negative thing. It was just clear that he did not consider wiping my ass a pleasant part of his job, and for that, I could not blame him. But he was fast and efficient, so I had no complaints.
When I got back home, I decided I was cute AF. I got new glasses a few weeks after getting home, which only added to my cuteness. Normally, I bought glasses that were utilitarian. Black-rimmed rectangle or oval-shaped glasses. That was it. They suited me, but they weren’t anything sepcial. This time, I fell in love with a pair of glasses that were not like me at all. They were cat-shaped (which is me) and plastic. The top of the frame is white with balkc polka dots. The frame under the eyes is black with white polka dots. There is one arm of each and each arm has a pink heart on the hand because the glasses were designed by Betsey Johnson. They are not my style at all, and I tried to set them aside as I looked at the other glasses. I could not stop thinking about them, though, the entire time I looked at other glasses. After twenty minutes of ‘looking’ (but really thinking about the funky glasses), I decided to treat myself. I got another pair for free–which are my computer glasses. And, yes, they have a black frame and are rectangle shaped.
I have plenty more to say as usual, but I’m tired and done for the day. More tomorrow!