Shani

  I have been a member of ChristianBlog.Com for 9 years, 3 months and 11 days.

  I have published 95 blogs and 272 comments.

 My most recent blog was published: Feb 21 2018 04:19:40pm

 I currently live in: Australia.

 About Shani

Just a 27 year old trying to navigate my way in this journey called life.

I am. Messy. Unrefined. Imperfect. A total work in progress.

  My Newest Blogs
Waiting room anxiety
Shani
published . 2 min read
I sit down at the seat in the corner the farthest away from people and check the time.    09:10 a.m. Five minutes until my appointment.   Loud noises. People chatting. Kids screaming. Phones ringing.   OK, breathe. You got this. It s OK.   Hands shaking. Skin crawling. Leg bouncing. Tapping fingers.   There is no reason to be freaking out right now. It s OK. You are OK.   I feel people s eyes on me. I stare at the floor. Leg bounces faster. Fists clench.   I am not OK. This is not OK. I can t breathe.   I breathe faster. In through your nose, out through your mouth.  Just a little bit longer. I count my breaths. 1, 2, 3, 4.    People are still staring.   Why are they staring at me?     It s because you are having an anxiety attack and your nervous tics are getting worse.......
My old mate panic.
Shani
published . 1 min read
  My hands start shaking. I cannot breathe. I know these feelings. I have been here before in a safe place feeling like the whole world is out to get me. I am terrified of dying in this moment, sitting here in Barbs chair in the middle of exposure therapy.  I feel like I have nowhere to turn and I know there is no way I will ever get out of this. I know the only way this shaking mess can end is when I m no longer here.   I hate this. More than any other feeling in the world. I despise this feeling of choking on air without even opening my mouth.  The words I want to speak get stuck in my throat, making it even harder to breathe. The world starts to spin, even though I m not moving.   I cannot move. I am stuck in this moment, unable to see anything past what is......
3am ramblings.
Shani
published . 1 min read
It starts like an itch, and then my face is wet. It is not raining. The sky is clear, especially for this time of night. I am crying. Barely five minutes ago, I was fine.   The depression drowns out the mania and sometimes they mix like a cocktail, having the effect of making me sick. These mixed states are one of the very worst parts of my illness. I m at two different poles of my bipolar. Right now, it s nearly 3 a.m. as I am writing this, and my mascara is blurring because I am raw, vulnerable and simply do not know what to do but write. I write because I am scared. I am scared of my own mind. Am I truly feeling my emotions, or is it my bipolar disorder? Am I happy, or it is onset of hypomania? Am I angry and irritable because the situation warrants it, or am I nudging into a manic......
Lessons from the looney bin
Shani
published . 6 min read
When people hear, I ve been admitted to the looney bin, their automatic response is usually to stutter, change the subject or frown apologetically. It isn t exactly typical water fountain conversation. The problem with this response is that it would usually trigger shame in someone.    I ll let you in on a little secret.   I am not ashamed of being in the mental hospital. (Anymore)    When I entered here, I expected to fight the monsters inside my mind, but what I didn t expect was to fight alongside the bravest and most genuine people I ve ever come across.   I awake to the sounds of chattering nurses, high-pitched beeping machinery and rolling wheels against the grainy carpeting. Time for vitals! I hear as I will my eyes to open to the nightmare that is my reality.    Another......
My big old secret
Shani
published . 2 min read
Shani, I know you aren t going to want to hear this. But given your symptoms, I think your depression is really bipolar 2.   I sat there, looking at the psychiatrist, dumbfounded. No, no, that doesn t seem right. No way. My mind was spinning, trying desperately to comprehend his words. In that moment, nothing seemed to make any sense.   Bipolar. The word still tastes like Vinegar.    Now it s 6 day old vinegar.    6 days since the diagnosis and most are a blur.    Bipolar. Bi-polar. Manic Depressive. No matter how I say it, it doesn t get any easier.  I have tried to use mood disorder or depressed instead because in my messed up brain, I  think it will have less stigma, but i know the truth. At the moment of diagnosis, i have gone from being that person the......
My name is shani
Shani
published . 1 min read
My name is Shani and I m OK.   I might not be. In fact, there s a high probability that I m not. I won t admit that to you though, because I can t even truly admit it to myself. There s a voice inside my head that s screaming, desperately needing me to reach out, to let someone in, to let the people that love me be there the way they want to be, but the inability to let myself be vulnerable with anyone wins out every time. I can t show my weakness, that means I m not strong, and that is not an option, because that s all I want to be, for myself and for those close to me. So instead, I bottle those feelings up and push them down as far as I possibly can.   My name is Shani and I m OK.   You can see that I m not, but I ll continue to tell you that I am, even if there are tears streaming......
The monster and me
Shani
published . 2 min read
Before I could name you, I thought I was nothing more than you. The monsters I thought were living under my bed were nothing compared to you, the monster in my mind—a never satisfied monster named: Shame. No matter how fast I ran in the direction of self acceptance, you’d catch up and whisper, “You are innately wrong. There is nothing good about you. You don’t matter.” You left me with a painful weight in my chest after each perceived mistake. You left me with paralysing fear after laughing loudly or talking a bit too much. You left me with my hands shaking each time I was corrected no matter how gently. You left me to spend hours locked in my dark closet letting my tears soak the carpeted floor. Soon, you got smarter. You became meaner than the bullies. You......
You know me
Shani
published . 4 min read
You know me. I live in your town. I work in your community. I play sports, I support local charities and groups, I work hard and play hard and you say hi to me at the supermarket. You know me. You know I never served in a war, but you don’t know about the trauma that changed my life. I’ve never been in a war zone. Except for the one going on in my head. The war in my head is where my own body becomes my enemy as I struggle to slow my breathing, calm my shaking legs and stop the panic that invades every fiber of my being. I couldn’t hold a gun even if I wanted to. I know the science. Inside out, back to front. I know my body is responding physiologically to a perceived threat. I also know that right now, in this exact moment, there is no threat. But try telling that to my......
Stop apologising for existing
Shani
published . 1 min read
Sorry. Sorry. Pardon. Excuse me. Sorry. With the onset of depression and anxiety, “sorry” became my favorite word. Sorry for bumping into you, even if you hardly noticed. Sorry my hair sticks up on one side and I’m not wearing makeup. Sorry for laughing in really uncomfortable moments. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry for not knowing what I want to really do with my life. Sorry that my leg bounces up and down and it distracts you. Sorry for stopping training sessions because my heart is not doing what it used to do. Sorry for taking up space. Sorry for being sad or scared. Sorry for not smiling as brightly as you expect me to, or for not paying you the attention you deserve when you tell me about your day. Sorry for needing a ride instead of growing up and getting a license.......
Just another mental health blog
Shani
published . 2 min read
“You still don’t think you deserve therapy.” Barb, my psychologist finished our session with today. I sat in silence, staring deeply into her eyes. It hit me like a tonne of bricks, because she’s right. I instantly felt a nervous childish giggle creep up, which is my coping mechanism when I feel deeply uncomfortable. I’ve faithfully come to every session weekly for the last year and a half. I listen intently, take notes, do my homework, journal and take my medications mostly. In other words, I strive to be a “good patient,” one who she will enjoy working with. Is it because I’m a perfectionist? Partly. Is it because I really want to heal my trauma? Partly. But the truth is, a lot of my “overachieving” in sessions is simply a......
  Newest Blog Series
I have not created any blog series yet.