Be Careful, It’s A Trap

Living with depression is such a finicky thing.  Each day is different from the last and will be to the next.  You can’t explain it to people because there are no words.  How do you put into words the feeling of being in a tornado of chaos when everything around you is absolutely and completely fine and in order?

I’ve dealt with it for 20 years now.  It’s a process that doesn’t seem to have an end.  There was a poignant moment in my life when I was 13 and told my mother at 10:00 at night that I would not be going to school the next day.  I remember the night I called the emergency hotline at a local hospital and made an appointment for myself for the next day.  That phone call probably saved me.  The first of many times.

But it is during those dark and completely clouded days that I can find myself.  Sitting in the dark, surrounded by the light of numerous candles and sad music, I find what I seem to lose at other times…my voice.  And the ability to express feelings that otherwise would stay hidden.

I’m not crazy.  I can’t control it.  The maddening thing about depression for me is that my triggers change based on my life circumstances.  The Divorce has triggered feelings and issues I never would have thought would be a problem.  I am suddenly awkward around others.  Being around people who are happy all the time is pure torture.  Being around people who are mad all the time is painful.

I have purposely not dated yet because I don’t want anyone to see this complicated side of me.  I don’t want to meet anyone who won’t be able to hold me while I bawl hysterically for no reason and continue to love me anyway.  In fact, I am not sure I even believe that exists.  Time will tell.

Depression knows no age limits, no race, no income status, or sex.  I am grateful that since Robin Williams death, people are more apt to at least talk about it.  It’s life – just with a complication that needs to be reigned in once in awhile.

I take it one day at a time and devote everything I have to my children when I can.  They make me happy.  They keep me sane.  They are my lifesavers.

Encourage, engage, entertain, and foster the discussion.  The stigma needs to go away.

So to those who see me on bad days – I’m sorry.  It’s only a moment in time.  My black hole will soon be filled with candlelight and once again my voice will ring loud and clear.

The Mirror

 

When you look in the mirror what do you see?

Look harder.  Now what do you see?

Look hard enough and you see flaws in your appearance.

Look even harder.  Stare in to your eyes.  Now what do you see?

Bigger flaws.  Flaws deep down in your soul.

I blame myself.  I am punishing myself.  I don’t like who I have become.

I hate the mirror.

Divorce is never easy.  It seems people assume that because you instigate a divorce you gave up or were over it.  Neither is further from the truth.

Unless you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, be them heels, boots, sneakers, or flip flops, you have no right to judge me.  If you had, you would see the struggle, the fight, the tears and the hopelessness I’ve felt.  I didn’t take the easy way out.  I fought and fought.

We’ve all heard it.  “No one said marriage was easy.”  I knew it took work.  What I came to realize is that no relationship should not take as much work as I was putting into them, be it a marriage or a friendship.  I fought hard.  Numerous times.  In the end you have to choose which path is best for you and your future.

I have abandoned myself.  I don’t know who I am.  I’ve lost my identity.  I am no longer a wife.  The only title I have for myself these days remains as “Mommy.”  While I love that title, what else am I?

I’ve sacrificed so much.  Great jobs came and went.  Hobbies couldn’t be joined.  I am nowhere near my family.  I stay in Quincy for my children and my job.  But isn’t there suppose to be more to life?

The biggest obstacle for me has been that I love the man…even today.  To my core.  And he can move on.  He already has in a way.  I let him.  Only to discover my already broken heart shattered .  In 365 pieces.

Like a mirror that cracks and breaks, my heart has done same thing.  I am broken.  My insides are sharp.  You can’t glue a mirror back together.

I am not writing this for sympathy.  I am not writing this for attention.  Rather I am writing this because writing is a gift.  Writing is what I studied.  It is the gift God gave me.  It is my greatest strength.  The ability to express myself when my vocal words fail.  I also write because I like to believe my thoughts or stories can help someone else.  I feel alone.  And I know there has to be others out there that feel the same.  What we all need to realize, in one way or another, is that we really aren’t.

Starting today, I will be take a deep breath and try to dry my tear stained cheeks.  I will attempt to move forward one day at a time.  Aptly named, my blog will chronicle my journey for the next 365 days of truth seeking.  Each piece will be picked up and examined.  A new coping mechanism will be formed and the days that follow will bring new healing to each broken piece.  Like a mirror, some pieces are bigger than others.  The bigger pieces will be easy to fix.  The smaller ones will take time.

And so my journey begins with a single question.

Now what?