David Pliska David Pliska

A Setback Does Not Mean Failure

So…If you have been following along, you know that I struggle with mental health. The transition from residential treatment back to home has been difficult and filled with challenges. I am trying, and even though I experience setbacks from time to time, I am still moving forward.

Recovery is not a one-time event. It is not something you accomplish once and then never think about again. Recovery is a daily choice—a daily fight. Some days are easier than others. Some days feel impossible.

There are moments when I feel like I just cannot keep going, when the mountain in front of me feels too steep to climb. Those are the moments when it becomes most important to lean on a support network. Friends, family, therapists, helplines, or anyone willing to sit with you in the hard moments can make a difference.

This weekend, I had a setback.

I am trying to learn from what happened and reflect on where I might have reached out for support or used crisis resources before the urges became overwhelming. I feel guilty and ashamed about what happened, but I also know I need to practice radical acceptance. It happened. I cannot change that. What I can do is try to understand it and move forward.

In that moment, I felt overwhelmed and alone, like I had nowhere to turn. It is a sickening feeling. I know that self-harm is not a healthy solution, but the urge felt incredibly strong. I wanted relief from the intensity of what I was feeling.

Next time—and realistically, there may be a next time—I want to remember that I can ask for help. That is the difficult part: asking. I worry about being seen as weak or “crazy,” even though I know that reaching out is neither of those things.

The truth is, sometimes I just need help.

And maybe part of recovery is learning that asking for help is not weakness—it is courage.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

130 x

So…I have been struggling with self-harm urges since coming home from residential treatment. Until now, I had been able to manage those urges using my DBT skills. But yesterday and today felt different.

I fought them off for as long as I could, but the urges kept returning—stronger each time. I used the skills I have learned: STOP, opposite action, and intense exercise. I did everything I could to stay in control.

In the end, though, I relapsed.

At first, I saw it as a failure. But a friend reminded me that relapse is not failure—it is part of recovery. Healing is rarely a straight path. Sometimes we take a step backward. What matters is recognizing it, learning from it, and turning our focus back toward moving forward.

Recovery means continuing to try, even after difficult days. It means redoubling our efforts, using our skills again, and refusing to give up on ourselves.

What other choice do we have?

National Text Crisis Hotline: text CONNECT to 741741

More Later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Me 1. Demons 0.

So…I have been struggling lately with urges to self-harm and suicidal ideation. Today, those urges felt especially intense. But this time, I used my skills.

I practiced STOP and opposite action. I followed my safety plan. I distracted myself with a very hot shower and gave myself enough time and space to calm down and regain control of my thoughts.

I had the razor blade in my hand.

And then, something different happened.

I set it down. I backed away. I chose not to make things worse.

To me, this was a major win.

In the past, I probably would have cut—at least a little. But this time, I didn’t. Not at all. That matters. It may not seem like much to someone else, but for me, it feels huge. Progress is not always dramatic; sometimes it looks like putting down the blade and surviving the moment.

Anna, you would be proud.

The hard part is that even though I am getting help, the urges are still there. I am in treatment, and I talk with my therapist at PHP, but it is different from individual therapy. There is only so much support available in those moments when everything feels overwhelming.

And honestly, I don’t always know what to do with these urges. I’m trying. I’m using my skills. I’m reaching for help. But I am still struggling to understand how to live with thoughts that feel so loud.

Still, today reminded me of something important: I can survive an urge. I can pause. I can choose differently. And maybe healing starts there—one hard-earned victory at a time.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

PTSD and WET

So…I am currently attending a trauma Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) for treatment of PTSD related to events that happened during my childhood and teenage years. It has been a difficult road, but I am trying to do the work of healing.

According to the American Psychological Association, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is:

“A disorder that may result when an individual lives through or witnesses an event in which they believe that there is a threat to life or physical integrity and safety and experiences fear, terror, or helplessness.”

PTSD symptoms can include reliving traumatic experiences through painful memories, flashbacks, or nightmares; avoiding reminders of the trauma; feeling emotionally numb or disconnected from others; and living in a constant state of heightened alertness. It can affect sleep, concentration, memory, and even bring feelings of guilt or shame.

For treatment, my program is using something called Written Exposure Therapy (WET). According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs National Center for PTSD, WET is a short-term therapy in which a person writes about their traumatic experiences and the emotions connected to them over the course of five sessions.

The idea behind it is simple, though not easy: many people with PTSD avoid thinking about their trauma because it feels unbearable. Avoidance may help in the short term, but it often keeps the pain alive in the long run. WET works by helping a person gradually face those memories through writing, learning over time that the emotions, while painful, can be tolerated. The hope is that the memories become less overwhelming and less controlling.

I haven’t started the writing portion yet. That begins this week, and if I’m being honest, I’m anxious about it. Writing about trauma feels intimidating. I know there are things I have spent years trying not to think about, and now I am being asked to put them on paper.

At the same time, I’ve been struggling with urges to self-harm. The urges are there, and they are loud some days. But I am using my DBT skills—especially opposite action and STOP—and they are helping. I haven’t acted on the urges. That matters.

This part of healing is hard. Really hard. But I am still here, still fighting, and still trying. I can beat these demons.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Little People

So…for a while now, I’ve been creating little “Little People” drawings. What started as something simple has become surprisingly meaningful to me. I find drawing them incredibly relaxing, and it has turned into one of my favorite ways to cope when anxiety starts to creep in.

There is something calming about putting pen to paper and focusing on tiny details. It helps slow my mind down, gives me something gentle to focus on, and offers a healthy distraction when things feel overwhelming.

If you’d like to see them, you can find my collection on my Little People page. And if one speaks to you—or if you’d simply like one of your own—please let me know. I’d be happy to send one your way.

Little People Drawings

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David Pliska David Pliska

Anna

Dear Anna,

I could really use a friend like you right now. You’ve been there before, and you understand in a way most people never could. The demons are calling again, and I’m struggling to resist.

You never encouraged me back then, and I admire you for that more than you probably know. But that was another time, and everything feels different now. I’m alone, and they keep whispering my name. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep fighting.

There’s something seductive about it, isn’t there? The feeling on my skin, the rivers of color, the strange sense of release. Part of me is afraid I may return there again.

I wish I’d had the chance to say goodbye properly. So if I never hear from you again, goodbye, dear Anna. Goodbye.

Until another time,

David

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David Pliska David Pliska

I told Brittani

I told Brittani that I was okay.

I told Brittani that everything was fine.

I told Brittani that I didn’t need help.

I told Brittani that I could make it through.

I told Brittani that I would be back.

I told Brittani that I was safe.

I told Brittani that I wouldn’t hurt myself.

I told Brittani that everything was out of the house.

I told Brittani that I wouldn’t do it.

I told Brittani that everything is locked up.

I told Brittani that I wouldn’t end it today.

I told Brittani that I can do it alone.

I told Brittani that I wondered if it was worth it.

I told Brittani that I would see her on Monday.

I will, won’t I?

Maybe.

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David Pliska David Pliska

back where I started

So…I am home from residential treatment, and in many ways, it feels like I’ve landed right back at square one. The strange part is that I’ve changed a lot, but home hasn’t. The same stressors, the same environment, and the same pain that sent me to treatment are all still here waiting for me.

I came home with new skills, new insight, and the beginning of healing. I’ve started to work through some incredibly difficult things. But something still feels off, like a piece of me hasn’t caught up yet. Maybe that missing piece is simply learning how to exist outside the safety of treatment.

The adjustment has been harder than I expected. With that, difficulty has come intense anxiety, and when my anxiety gets high, it often brings persistent thoughts of self-harm and suicide along with it. A really terrible combination.

This week, I started a new Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) focused on trauma. I think it will be a good bridge between residential treatment and outpatient therapy. It gives me structure, support, and a place to continue doing the work. Still, I’ve found myself minimizing how bad things really feel.

On my daily check-in sheets, I note that I’m struggling with these thoughts, and I’ve already had a couple of conversations about safety. The staff means well, and I know they care. But I’m terrified that if I fully tell the truth about how often these thoughts show up, I’ll be sent right back to inpatient or residential treatment. So I soften it. I downplay it. I say enough to be honest, but not enough to feel dangerous.

At home, we’ve taken steps to keep me safe. My medications are locked up, and there are no sharps in the house. But today I had to pick up a prescription refill from the pharmacy: a bottle with 130 pills in it.

I sat there staring at that bottle for an hour.

Part of me wanted to take them, and admitting that fills me with shame and guilt. But I didn’t do it. Somewhere inside all the noise and fear and pain, there was still a small part of me fighting to stay. Right now, that small part feels worth holding onto.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Links-a-go-go

Here are some helpful links and phone numbers:

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David Pliska David Pliska

The Great Dialectic

At the heart of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) is a simple but transformative idea: the word “and.” It’s a small word, but it holds immense power. “And” allows two truths to exist at the same time. It doesn’t erase, minimize, or replace one feeling with another—it makes room for both. In that space, healing can begin.

For me, this concept has been life-changing.

When I was 13, I experienced sexual assault. The impact of that moment didn’t stay in the past—it followed me, shaping years of depression, anxiety, and internal struggle. For a long time, my experiences felt all-consuming, as if there was only room for pain.

But through treatment, I’ve begun to understand the power of “and.”

I can acknowledge what happened to me and recognize that I am still here.
I can feel pain and allow moments of peace.
I can carry my past and move toward healing.

This idea—this dialectic—has given me something I didn’t have before: permission to be okay, even while holding difficult truths. It doesn’t erase what I’ve been through, but it changes how I live with it.

“And” didn’t fix everything. But it gave me a way forward.

  • It was not my fault and I sometimes still feel guilty.

  • I did the best I could in that moment and I wish things had been different.

  • I did not deserve what happened and I am still carrying the impact of it.

  • I am not to blame and I am allowed to feel anger about what happened.

  • Someone else made harmful choices and I am the one doing the healing work.

  • I survived the situation and I didn’t deserve to have to survive it.

  • I feel strong and I feel deeply hurt.

  • I feel angry and I feel sad.

  • I feel numb sometimes and I also feel overwhelmed at times.

  • I feel shame and I know the shame does not belong to me.

  • I want to forget and I want to be understood.

  • I feel broken sometimes and I am still whole as a person.

  • I feel scared and I am learning ways to feel safe again.

  • I lost control in that moment and I am regaining control now.

  • I felt powerless then and I am building strength now.

  • My body remembers the fear and my body can also learn safety again.

  • I feel unsafe sometimes and I am learning how to protect myself now.

  • I was vulnerable and I am resilient.

  • What happened hurt me and it does not define who I am.

  • Healing is hard and I am capable of doing hard things.

  • I am still affected and I am making progress.

  • Some days feel heavy and I keep moving forward anyway.

  • I am healing slowly and slow healing is still healing.

  • I am allowed to struggle and I am allowed to grow.

  • I can carry pain and still create meaning in my life.

  • I feel afraid to trust and I want connection.

  • I feel guarded and I still care deeply about others.

  • I was hurt by someone and not everyone will hurt me.

  • I feel distant sometimes and I am capable of closeness.

  • My body was hurt or violated and my body still belongs to me.

  • I feel disconnected from my body sometimes and I am learning to reconnect.

  • I feel shame about my body and my body deserves care and kindness.

  • I feel uncomfortable in my body and I can learn to feel safe in it again.

  • I feel weak sometimes and surviving took strength.

  • I judge myself harshly and I am learning to be compassionate with myself.

  • I feel damaged and I am worthy of love and respect.

  • I feel alone at times and I am not alone in my healing journey.

  • I struggle and I am still worthy.

  • The past cannot be changed and my future is still mine to shape.

  • I carry memories and I am not trapped in them.

  • I feel afraid of the future and I am taking steps forward anyway.

  • I have been hurt and I can still build a meaningful life.

More Later…



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David Pliska David Pliska

On my way

So…There’s something surreal about leaving a place that has held you together for weeks.

Today, I’m on my way home. I left the treatment facility at noon and now I’m sitting at the train station, waiting for the next leg of the journey. It feels like a transition in every sense of the word—not just physically, but emotionally too. I’m carrying a lot with me as I leave: gratitude, uncertainty, pride, and, if I’m being honest, a bit of fear.

I have mixed feelings about going. On one hand, I’m genuinely excited to be home, to step back into my life and reconnect with the world outside of treatment. On the other hand, it’s hard to leave behind a place that has been so safe and supportive. The people I met here—especially the other residents—became an important part of my daily life. There’s something uniquely powerful about going through something difficult alongside others who truly understand. I’ll miss that more than I can easily put into words.

But this isn’t the end of the work—it’s just the next phase. I’m moving into a trauma-focused partial hospitalization program, and I know there’s still a lot ahead of me. That’s both intimidating and grounding. It reminds me that healing isn’t a single moment or a finished milestone—it’s a process that unfolds over time.

More than anything, I want to take a moment to say thank you. To the people who supported me throughout this experience: you showed up for me in ways that mattered deeply. I leaned on you—sometimes heavily—and you met me with care, patience, and consistency. That kind of support is not something I take lightly. It made a difference in ways I’ll carry with me long after today.

I wouldn’t be where I am right now without that support. And while I’m stepping forward into something new, I’m doing so with a stronger foundation than I had before.

So here I am—somewhere between where I’ve been and where I’m going next. Waiting for a train, yes—but also, in a way, learning how to move forward. More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Almost

So…I have about a day and a half left at this residential treatment facility. It’s hard to believe that after two months here, I’m almost at the finish line. During this time, I’ve learned so much about myself and developed a toolbox full of DBT skills that I know will continue to help me long after I leave.

Even with all of that growth, I feel a little nervous about going home. Here, I’ve had support and care around the clock. The environment has been intentionally safe—no sharps, constant supervision, and people available whenever I needed help. That level of safety has allowed me to focus on healing, learning, and practicing new ways to cope.

Lately, though, as my discharge date gets closer, I’ve noticed my anxiety increasing—and with it, my urges. I’m doing everything I can to resist those thoughts and not give in to them. It feels like the closer I get to leaving, the louder those internal struggles try to become.

Another patient and I were talking about this recently. She shared something that stuck with me: when you’re almost out, the demons try to claw you back harder than ever. It’s a powerful image, and in many ways, it feels true. This final stretch isn’t just about waiting to leave—it’s about being resilient and staying committed to the progress I’ve made.

I’m leaning heavily on the skills I’ve learned here. I know these thoughts and urges may not disappear entirely, but they don’t have to control me. I can keep them at bay. I can sit with discomfort, use my coping strategies, and remind myself that I am stronger than the urges that try to pull me backward.

This last day and a half feels both exciting and intimidating. It marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another—one where I take everything I’ve learned and apply it in the real world. That thought is scary, but it’s also empowering.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

A day helps

So…I have been struggling with anxiety due to changes in my medical insurance. When I first learned about the change, my mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios. That’s a pattern I know well—my brain tends to assume catastrophe before I have all the facts.

I’ve now had a day to sit with the anxiety and think more clearly about how this is going to work. The reality is that I have been fortunate. My insurance has helped pay for my stay at this residential treatment facility, which I am incredibly grateful for. It’s also important to remember that I am not losing insurance coverage altogether. I simply need to complete the COBRA paperwork and pay the premium to continue my coverage.

Even knowing this, the anxiety and worry still show up. That catastrophic thinking creates a lot of stress, and it’s something I recognize as an area I need to keep working on. This is another opportunity to practice the skills I’ve been learning—pausing, looking at the facts, and reminding myself that not every problem is a disaster.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

5 days to go

So…I have five days left in my treatment program. I’ve learned a lot and made significant progress. However, I found out yesterday that unexpected things can still throw me off balance.

I learned that my health insurance will end at the end of this month, and I will need to apply for COBRA coverage. This will reset my insurance, and I will have to pay my $1,500 deductible again. This situation has caused a lot of anxiety.

I am scheduled to start my next program on Tuesday, May 5, 2026, but I’m not sure how that will work. My COBRA insurance will be retroactive to May 1, 2026, but I won’t have paperwork to prove coverage right away. I don’t know if they will allow me to start the program without proof of insurance, or if I will have to wait until I receive the actual insurance card.

This entire medical leave process has been stressful and confusing. It feels like nobody has clear answers, and I’m left in the dark wondering how I will pay my bills. I applied for the Minnesota Paid Leave program and for long-term disability. My Minnesota Paid Leave benefits were approved, but HR says the leave dates may be incorrect, and I might have to repay some of the benefits. My long-term disability was supposed to begin on March 27, 2026, but they are still determining whether I qualify.

It all feels very overwhelming and makes my anxiety worse. I am in a depression and anxiety treatment program and trying to focus on my recovery, but these issues make that very difficult. I’m doing my best to sit with the anxiety and breathe through it, but it keeps building.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Nine Days to go

So…here’s a quick update. I have been in the program for almost seven weeks, and I am scheduled to be discharged next Thursday. During this time, I have learned many distress tolerance and emotional regulation skills. According to my doctor and therapist, I have made progress in all aspects of my treatment.

I, on the other hand, feel nervous about going home and leaving this safe, structured environment. I know that eventually I have to return to my life and start putting things back together. Maybe it’s not about picking up where I left off, though—that wasn’t working for me. Instead, I need to reevaluate what was working and what wasn’t. I need to advocate for myself and build on the things that were helping.

It’s going to be a challenge. Another important thing to remember is that there is another person in this equation—my husband. How can we rebuild our life together? That is the million-dollar question.

More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

Past Patient M

Dear Past Patient M,

Things around here just aren’t the same without you. Every once in a while, I see you out on a walk, and it reminds me of the conversations we shared and the time we spent together on the unit. Sitting in the cafeteria and sipping my coffee feels lonely now.

I hope you’re finding the help you need on your new unit, and I hope you’re doing well. I miss you. If you ever need someone to talk to or need anything, you know where to find me.

Take good care of yourself,
David

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David Pliska David Pliska

A new art project

So…I recently finished my last art project and was given a new one to create. This time, I started by reviewing my treatment goals. After that, I met with the art therapist to discuss them, and she assigned me a new project called The Coping Wheel of Emotions.

The goal of this project is to find a balance between ten emotions—five distressing emotions and five goal emotions. For each distressing emotion, I need to identify two coping skills to help manage it. For each goal emotion, I’m supposed to choose two behavioral activations—actions that could help bring about that feeling.

The emotions also need to be represented visually by blending three elements such as color, shape, size, pattern, texture, symbols, images, or words. Finally, everything has to be arranged in a way that shows how the emotions are related to each other.

At first, I started by choosing emotions from an emotion wheel and trying to balance them as opposites. But the process felt cold and impersonal. So I decided to take a few liberties with the rules and focus instead on emotions I actually experience. That changed everything.

I ended up identifying thirty emotions that feel real and relevant to me. Then I ranked them from the ones I feel most often to the ones I feel least. From there, I came up with the idea of creating an accordion-style book that would display the emotions from most to least felt.

To show the intensity of each emotion, I plan to use color shading across the top of the pages, moving from dark to light. Emotion number one will be the darkest, representing the strongest intensity, while emotion number thirty will be the lightest. Each page will include words that define the emotion, along with the required coping skills or behavioral activations. I’ve also created a unique symbol to represent each emotion.

I chose to use six-inch by six-inch square pages. What I didn’t realize at first is just how long thirty six-inch pages become when connected together—really long. That also means the book will end up being very thick. I may need to adjust my plan a bit as I move forward.

Thankfully, I still have time to work on it and figure out the details. I didn’t expect this project to be such a big undertaking, but it’s definitely going to be a challenge. At the same time, I think it has the potential to turn into something really meaningful—and maybe even something pretty cool.

I’ll upload pictures when it’s finished. More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

The latest update

So…I know it’s been a while since I last posted. I’ve been going through some really challenging things lately, and that has left me feeling drained and overwhelmed. Much of the trauma in my life happened during my teenage years. I know that was a long time ago, but I bottled up those feelings for 43 years, and it takes a huge effort to finally bring them into the light.

Feelings of shame and guilt are hard enough to deal with on their own, but when they’ve been repressed for so long, it becomes an even greater challenge. These feelings started breaking through and caused me a great deal of anxiety and depression. As much as I tried to keep them at bay, I just couldn’t.

My therapist and I have been digging into these thoughts and feelings, and I’ve been using a strategy called Thought Challenging to explore my negative thoughts and emotions. This strategy helps bring cognitive distortions to light and allows me to reframe negative thoughts into more balanced and positive ones. It’s not an easy strategy to use—it takes effort and practice.

In addition, I’ve been working on self-compassion. I’ve realized that I am often not kind to myself and tend to use a lot of negative self-talk. As I’ve continued working on this, I’ve noticed that my self-talk has started to become somewhat kinder.

I am still experiencing feelings of depression and anxiety, but their severity is gradually decreasing. I still have troubling urges, but they are happening less frequently than before. I continue to make progress, even though sometimes it’s slower—and harder—than I expected.

But I’m going to keep working on it. More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

A new painting

So…Here is my latest painting. It is watercolor and sharpie on watercolor paper. So I’ve been playing with the motif of a mask. The masks we all wear. The inner and outer masks. The outer is what we portray to people and the inner is what we keep to ourselves. I find that I wear a mask and I can’t let my guard down. I can’t let anyone in. It is one of my treatment goals, to start to let people in. To represent myself as I am and not put on the happy mask is a huge challenge for me. I’m starting to begin the process. Wish me luck. More later…

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David Pliska David Pliska

A New Painting

So…I’ve been doing art therapy throughout my stay in residential, and it has become one of my favorite activities. This particular project, however, was created during open art time. During open art, we’re allowed to create anything we want using the materials available.

I chose to make a painting and worked on it over several open art sessions. It has become one of my favorite pieces.

To begin, I divided the canvas into small squares and painted each one a different shade of blue. I tried to make every square unique. The color blue represents sadness, and the variety of blues represents how everyone’s sadness is different, yet similar—because they are all still shades of blue. Since they are all connected by the same color, they reflect how our experiences of sadness connect us to one another. Everyone feels sadness from time to time. The lighter shades represent milder sadness, while the darker blues represent sadness that feels deeper and more intense. Here it is. More later…

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