My baseline is my breaking point.

My baseline is my breaking point these days. My therapist described my affect as “frazzled,” which is not a bad way to summarize it. Honestly, it is very difficult to put the intensity of my feelings into words, but here goes nothing.

When I wake up, I feel on edge. My chest feels tight, my heart rate feels slightly quicker than usual, and my brain is overwhelmed. My fingers are shaky, my appetite is depleted, and I feel physically and mentally exhausted. The best way to summarize is that at any point in time, my mind and body are anxious, stuck at a point of fight or flight. Then, with any given stressor, I react. Sometimes, I get defensive and argumentative, but usually, I disappear. I will hide in a corner, cry in a bathroom stall, or lock myself in my room. It’s been like this for a couple of weeks now, but as the symptoms worsen, people notice the behavior changes, which makes it feel worse somehow.

People keep telling me to “just breathe” or “calm down.” It makes me so frustrated.

How do I explain to someone who hasn’t experienced severe symptomatology what it is like in my brain in a way they would understand? How do I explain it to someone else when I struggle to understand what is happening to me? How do I get people to understand when I hide away that my behavior is not manipulative but rather my mental and physical capacity completely shutting down? How do I get people to see that I am not being purposely disrespectful or trying to interfere with their day, but instead, my brain and body are reacting as I try to survive the moment?

I am constantly ridden with guilt – I should be able to manage the symptoms better; I should be able to control the physical reactions; I should not disappoint the ones I love.

There are so many hidden scars that people will never see.

I was walking with a friend recently who experienced a “flight” episode, and he was asking me about my mental health because he was interested in trying to understand me and the behaviors he saw. As he witnessed the appearance of some of my scars, he said the simplest yet most powerful thing. “It must be very scary to live like that.”

It is scary, very scary. It is scary when something unexpected happens, and my brain cannot process any changes, unpredictability, or stressors, and then I feel out of control. It is scary when that loss of control turns into panic and I hide away with tears streaming down my face, unable to go near people. It is scary when only maladaptive coping returns my control over the overwhelming emotions. It is scary when my brain turns dark, pitch black, and I am fighting to hold on to one tiny flicker of light to put on a fake smile and try to seem “ok.” It is scary when I feel so isolated in it and don’t know whom I can talk to. Will they understand, care, and still want to be around me if they know the intricate web of darkness that has appeared?

Sometimes, I wonder if putting so much of what I am experiencing onto someone else is fair. I have one person who I genuinely trust, and I know that should be a good thing. But is it fair to them to experience the raw honesty of the pain? Probably not. Someone else cannot be my lifeline – but it feels so nice to feel like I am not drowning alone; someone is helping me stay afloat.

My therapist says that I don’t have to live in a place where my breaking point is my baseline.

I feel stuck here because I don’t know what I can change. How do I choose one aspect of my life over another?

I remember in 2019, after I was discharged from the psych ward, I had a brain map done that revealed my brain was operating at fight or flight as a baseline. I remember when the therapist explained this to me, and I learned that was why I am constantly overwhelmed and struggle to handle any stressor, no matter how small. A simple change in plans that most people could adjust to, my brain received as a physical threat to my safety. My brain and body are reacting as if a lion is chasing me. I’ve noticed my brain and behaviors resorting to something I had previously worked so hard to overcome, which feels too much to handle. Five years of progress to end up back in the same mental space – I keep asking myself, with what I know now, do I have the tools to get through this again?

I wish I knew what triggered the setback.

Is it my intense travel schedule? Is it the time zone changes—switching between EST and PST every few days—too much? Is it the redeyes or my sleep schedule? Is 2-5 hours of sleep averaged per night depleting my energy? Is it my lack of appetite—eating at most once a day? Is it the academic pressure of school and a perfect GPA? Is it the intensity of battling with perfectionism? Is it the stress and pressure of building a nonprofit from the ground up alone? Is it the fear of failure? Is it the demands of my organization? Is it the demand and stress that comes from caring for my grandmother living with Alzheimer's? Is it the guilt I feel every time she cries, begging me not to leave her? Is it the cruel heartache of watching her decline as I feel powerless and angry with the world? Is it the fact that all my roles are separate full-time jobs, but I am just one person trying to manage it all? Is it symptoms of my depression, bipolar disorder, and/or anxiety disorder? Is it just me? Is it a combination of all of it?

But, again, if it is a combination of any or all of it, what am I willing to give or change to improve the situation? Where is there space to make a change? Adding more sleep takes away from another responsibility; removing travel time changes either my school or caregiving roles; letting go of a 4.0 can impact an acceptance into a doctoral program if I pursue that in the future. What am I willing to give up to be able to regain control?

How important is my mental health and well-being to me?

Back in 2019, there were so many tools employed to help me. I attended therapy 4 times a week. I was rarely left unattended, and I went to the gym 3-4 times daily to constantly exert all my anxious and restless physical energy. I did meditation and breathwork. I read a book every day. After a few months, I returned to school and focused most of my energy on studying. I started building a nonprofit and kept myself working toward a future goal. I colored cards for myself and hung sticky notes with affirmations, positive quotes, and reminders all over the walls of my apartment.

It certainly did not feel easy then to get to a place where my baseline wasn’t survival mode, but looking back, it seems easier than right now. It’s probably because I am in the trenches right now, and most things feel impossible. My therapist recommended that I start with sleep because I mentioned that my next chance to get sufficient sleep is Thursday night. Until we meet again in 2 weeks, her goal for me is to sleep 6 hours a night, 4 times per week, AND to let go of the idea that “team no sleep” is a healthy way to meet expectations put on me by myself or others.

I know that I will get through it. I know it will get easier. I know I have it within me to get out of survival mode and back to a functional baseline. But I also know it won’t be easy; it will take a lot of conscious time and effort, and I will have many bumps along the way.

Putting this into words to say out loud is a colossal task, but writing makes it all make sense somehow. It’s like I am 12 years old again, sharing the deepest thoughts and pieces of inspiration in my daily life.

I am getting tired – I am feeling anxious. I wonder if other people feel this way. I wonder if anyone reading this truly GETS it. I wonder if anyone else has gone through this, too.

I will end this journal entry with a reminder to myself:

“It doesn’t have to be this way. It will not be this way forever. I will get through this, one moment at a time.”