Butterfly Pea Flower Tea
TW: brief mention of suicide
Butterfly Pea Flower Tea, on its own, tastes like shit. I would say it tastes like bland dirt but I’ve heard others say it tastes like green bean water or asparagus. Its appeal is just the vibrant blue color and the novelty of becoming purple when it reacts with lemon juice. Some of my favorite boba drinks, though, have Butterfly Pea Flower Tea in them. Those drinks always have lemon too — the Puppy Love from Calibear Cyber Cafe is lemon and passion fruit flavored and the Galaxy Iced Tea from It’s Boba Time adds strawberry lemonade to the Butterfly Pea Flower Tea.
On Monday, my Galaxy Iced Tea with mango jelly and aloe vera was the only good part of my day. I was incredibly depressed and all I wanted was to get out of my own head. I was sick of trying so hard and having to put in an enormous amount of effort every day merely to keep myself safe. And at that point I wasn't even doing it for myself. It would have been a lot easier to let go and drown in my misery but I kept going for all the people that care about me and believe in me whenever I’m unable to.
As I reflect on Monday, I find myself very grateful for how adept and supportive my IOP clinicians are. Suicidality was a concern on Monday and instead of jumping straight to hospitalization — like most MH professionals would — when I said I was unsure if I could keep myself safe, my therapist did the absolute most to ensure my safety while remaining outpatient. She consulted with one of her colleagues before staying an hour past the end of her workday to counsel. She was with me while I called my parents to tell them what was going on and encouraged me to communicate exactly what they could do to be most supportive. She then helped me come up with a plan to stay 100% safe till IOP the next day and workshopped it till I answered with a confident “yes” when asked if I could keep myself safe.
Throughout the evening, things got better and then worse again when two of my friends couldn’t be there for me in the way I requested. I was already extremely dysregulated and I couldn’t handle that rejection, so I called my IOP’s emergency clinician/therapist, whom I’m also super grateful for. After hearing what happened, she challenged my expectation of friends as mental health support. She claimed it’s a “beautiful transition” to move away from expecting a friend to act as a “therapist or a meal coach or a suicide hotline” because I have more professional support than I ever have. When she put it that bluntly, it felt like splitting the beam. I guess I have expected a lot of friends in the past. But that was almost normalized at my high school — a ton of people were openly struggling with their mental health so people just understood. What even is a friend who doesn’t offer mental health support?
Of course, there’s so many other things I appreciate from my friends. Laughing, gossiping, chatting, partying, plus all the different ways there are to hang out. I just can’t help but wonder if these friendships will ever feel complete when I don’t feel supported at my lowest. According to the same therapist, my lowest is at a very heightened intensity compared to the average person so the average person is not going to have the capacity to be there for me in those moments. She is encouraging me to lean more on my care team instead of repeatedly having my needs not met by friends. To be fair, I do have a lot of professionals in my corner. There’s my primary therapist, my emergency therapist, the third IOP therapist, my psychiatrist, my dietician, and my pediatrician. A large part of me continues to feel ashamed about needing so much help. Every time I reach out for additional support, it feels like more evidence of my unworthiness. Friends feel like the “normal” support system, so I wish I could lean on them more. I guess I need to come to terms with my friends not being able to fulfill all my needs. It wasn’t normal that at my high school everyone and their mother was depressed, anxious, or both. It wasn’t normal that people at my high school wouldn’t freak out if you said you were suicidal because they understood feeling that way versus intent to act on it are two completely different things. It wasn’t normal for people at my high school to know more about mental health than the average undergraduate psychology student.
On Thursday, I had my individual therapy session and we talked a lot about my interpersonal issues, where they come from, and what to do about it now. I tend to be very other-focused and in the process, devalue myself. Even at my lowest, I’m able to show up for and support others in ways a lot of people aren’t at their highest. That’s probably part of where the cycle of high expectations and disappointment comes from. If I can do it for them, why can’t they do it for me? What I have to work on now is moving away from the habit of considering others and their feelings way before my own so I can devote more energy into taking care of myself and my needs. But that’s fucking scary. I feel like I am Butterfly Pea Flower Tea and my friends and family are the lemon juice. I’m bland and worthless without my connection to others. Pouring into others and giving more than I get is how I’ve stayed afloat this long since it gives me purpose and joy. Of course it’s scary to shift from something I’ve practiced my whole life. The first step, though, is doable. And that’s to start to notice. Notice when I’m prioritizing others over myself, notice when I’m casting myself into the Butterfly Pea Flower Tea role. Once I’m aware and noticing, I can begin to try and change it. Something my therapist constantly tells me is “Siona needs a Siona.” And she’s right. It’s time to give myself the care and compassion I’m always giving others.