Sometimes the deepest feelings are the ones I can’t name. They’re too heavy, too tangled. Its like trying to hold water in your hand, impossible to get a grip.
Are you struggling to find the perfect words to accurately describe the weight of your experience? I want to tell you something that I wish someone had told me a long time ago:
Your silence does not make your experience any less real or valid.
If you’re carrying something that feels too big to share, please remember that your worth and strength aren’t defined by words, but by the resilience you show as you carry the weight of your truth. Some wounds may never be spoken of, but you can still heal, and you can still find peace, in your own time and in your own way.
Well, the comfort I was receiving from the hot water bottle was wonderful. Except, it was short-lived. Through no fault of its own though! That hot water bottle was / STILL IS an incredible tool in my Skills Box.
A lot has happened lately. Maybe a slight percentage has been a genuine response to trauma and/or illness, and not something I had complete control over …. but when you choose to do something, YOU are the reason it happens. So whatever happens is your fault, isn’t it?
I’ve put my body through absolute torture these past 2 weeks and its going to take a while to settle from it all. Unless you deal with it on your own personal level, absolutely no one will ever comprehend what its like to live with a brain that wants me dead.
I can’t help but feel a little jealous … I’m actually more than a little jealous, but I digress … of the ppl I hear and read about who also deal with depression, PTSD, eating disorders, BPD, dissociation, and so on who have found ways to still live productive lives and can maintain a level of stability that is acceptable in other ppl’s eyes. I’ve been dealing with this stuff for several decades … and I have yet to discover what ‘stable’ looks and feels like.
I don’t get angry very often but right now I feel absolutely PISSED – at everyone and everything. All I want is to be able to eat, drink, sleep, and socialize with other ppl the way other stable, functional human beings do every single day. It really isn’t that much to ask, is it?
I want to live … and experience things outside of survival. That’s all I want. I’ve totally got the survival part figured out. Now, I just want to live.
I became an amputee in 2010, after losing my left arm in a motor vehicle accident. Recently I injured my right hand and wrist. I’m currently in the hospital, recovering from a second emergency surgery, so as you can see, I’m quite limited right now.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way! I’ve discovered that a little faith and determination can go a long way. Some days your biggest accomplishment will be something big and spectacular, while other days it will be simply moisturizing your face.
In the words of Martin Luther King Jr. : “If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”
I raise my hands and bow my head Searching for truth in words written in red They tell me that there’s more to life than just what I can see …
Well, I can’t quote the book, the chapter or the verse But you can’t tell me it all ends with a slow ride in a hearse You know I’m more and more convinced, the longer that I live That this can’t be …
Those words were shared in an email response that I received from my psychologist last week. It had been a difficult session and afterwards, I spiraled. I emailed her in the midst of my upset and her brief reply ended with those words – Hope strengthens, fear kills.
Yes. I am scared. Terrified – of my own brain. I have no control whatsoever of the way it reacts to things anymore. Its like I’m dealing with a completely separate entity. I’m going about my day as if im babysitting some overly dramatic child that can’t be left alone for 2 minutes or else it’s going to get into something it’s not supposed to.
I got up after a nightmare that night and spiraled into the danger zone. I remembered that Magda (psychologist) had pointed out a couple of wins from the previous week (which I really appreciated) and she said that what I was doing was helping me grow my window of tolerance. In my frustration that night, I was like, “F* my window of tolerance. I’m not doing this”.
I want to be numb. I want to go back to the days when I was void of all emotion. I used to be so frozen inside but it’s like I’m thawing out now. I don’t want my thoughts to be so loud or sounds to be so clear. When my head was heavy and foggy and I barely even remembered conversations I didn’t have to deal with any of this stuff. My brain dissociated for a reason.
I feel like I’m going crazy. The fear is strangling me. Choking me. Killing me …
I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to me. So much fear, that I’m going to just snap, go totally crazy, lose my sanity entirely.
Fear. Its trying to kill me. The fear of uncertainty. Not knowing from one minute to the next what I’m going to think or feel. The fear that I’m not strong enough … that I might find myself completely alone and have to navigate it all by myself – again … that I’m going to collapse under all the pressure … fear that I’m going to start but never be able to stop crying …
Fear kills.
*Video clip of me in the midst of a panic attack*
BUT ….
she also said that hope strengthens. Hope. I need strength. I need hope. I’m not going to find either if I just wait around for it to fall into my lap though. So I must make it my daily goal to seek out hope. I know it exists in more than just the ink on my wrist. I see it around me. I see that other ppl have it. Its just that it never feels like there’s any for me.
If you want something in this world you have to go after it right? Well, I want to be strong. I want hope to fill me and strengthen me.
Me: God, I’m scared. I’m trying so hard not to be, but I am.
God: I know, my child. Do you want to talk about it?
Me: No, not really. Besides, you already know everything. Talking isn’t going to change it.
God: Let’s talk about it anyway. We’ve done this before.
Me: I know. I’m just so tired. I should be stronger than this. I can’t seem to get anything right.
God: *waiting patiently, never annoyed.*
Me: I’m just so tired. I’m never going to figure out how to live and manage all this. Its too much. I’m scared that I’m going to crack under all this pressure. My heart has never felt so broken before. I’m afraid that my attempts to recover are actually going to be what kills me. I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to cope with it all. I’m afraid of the things I’m having to process in therapy. I’ve spent years acting as if my nightmares are just that – things in my imagination. I have tried so hard to make it all go away. Its what my whole life has revolved around. But all that energy put into avoiding has been for nothing because here I am, having to stare it straight in the face.
God: Anything else?
Me: EVERYTHING ELSE.
God: Remember the other day when the smoke alarm was beeping in the kitchen and Buddy came running across the house?
Me: Yes.
God: When you heard him running, you started calling out to him before he even got to you … remember? Do you remember what you called out to him?
Me: I said, “You’re okay! You’re okay! Mommy’s right here.”
God: Why did you call out to him? Why didn’t you just wait until he got to you?
Me: Because I wanted him to know that I was here, and I heard him, and he didn’t have to be afraid because I was right here.
God: Exactly. I hear you, my child. I hear your thoughts racing like Buddy’s little puppy feet down the hallway. There’s another side to all of this and I’m already there. I’ve seen the end of it. And I want you to know that as you walk through all of this, you’re going to be okay. I haven’t turned my back on you. I’m right here. I always was and I always will be.
Me: *crying* Can you just wait here with me for a while until I calm down? Can you hold me and cover me in your peace before I go back to facing it all again?
After spending the last month in hospital on a psych unit, I’m in my own home tonight. I thought often of writing about my experiences while I was there but each time I would just stare at the blank screen and think things like …
Who really wants to hear about a hospital, much less a psyc unit full of crazy ppl?
What if I’m oversharing?
What if ppl start to look at me as a crazy person now?
Someone who knows me in real life might recognize me and then everyone in town will know things about me and will never look at me the same way again.
You get the idea. So I have not written anything in a month. I’ve kept myself locked up and silenced because of shame. Well, you know what? Screw everybody! I don’t care what ppl think!
Me and Buddy
Sorry, that’s not very nice of me. I don’t mean that. I really do care what ppl think. I care too much. That’s the problem.
I need to be a little selfish and think of myself sometimes. Particularly about writing. I love to write but I’m so focused on other ppl and what they think that it prevents me from genuinely expressing myself, both in real life and online. I want to work on changing that. I want to write from my heart. I want to be genuine and honest and tell things the way I want to tell them, without shame.
I just want to relax a bit and be myself. I want to let go of the shame and judgment. I truly am my own worst enemy.
It all started when I went for my regular Ketamine infusion, which is part of my treatment for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.
Felicia, the head nurse, asked if I was doing ok. She said I wasn’t looking like myself and that I was pale. I said I was good and that was all that was said.
I remember lying back on the stretcher while they prepped me, putting heart monitoring stickers on my chest, attaching a BP cuff to my arm, oxygen in my nose … I was shivering and could feel tears running down from the corners of my eyes but i had no emotions. It was strange because that doesn’t usually happen. They took my hand to start an IV and I heard a faint voice in my head whispering – don’t touch me.
I remember turning my head to the side and just letting myself drift away. Don’t have any more memories about the treatment than that.
Once the infusion was done they wanted to talk to David. Felicia asked him how I’ve been doing lately. David later told me that he told her I’ve been purging a lot, that I’ve been quite depressed and that he’s been worried. Apparently she told him that I’m not looking well. That I was pale, my eyes were dark, and my lips were almost grey.
I was awake, my eyes were open, but I was non-responsive. My neck and head were spasming and I was staring off with no reaction when someone spoke or touched me. So they decided to keep me an extra hour to give me more fluids and more time to let the meds wear off. David asked if they felt I had taken anything and she said no because my vitals were all good. But they did bloodwork just to be sure.
An hour later Felicia called David back in and told him that he needs to take me to the ER. Apparently I had been mumbling some things that no one could really pick out but Felicia had heard me say something about this being the end and it was almost time to die …. I don’t remember any of that. I’m just telling what I was told.
So they put me in a wheelchair and David registered me in the ER, where I sat/slumped for 9 hours. David said I kept falling to the side as if I couldn’t hold myself up. He had to ask for a pillow and blanket to put around me to secure me a bit. He said I was in a completely different world.
Then they called us in to a small room that had nothing but 2 chairs bolted to the floor. And that’s where I spent the next 26 hours. It was nothing short of brutal.
Tears are burning my eyes now as I write that. I think it’s cruel how this was handled. They took me from the OR after having a procedure done and forced me to sit up on hard seats for a total of 36 hours. I was hallucinating. I was in terrible pain and developed a migraine. Had multiple bouts of vomiting. And I started experiencing opiate withdrawal because after I took my meds Thursday morning, I wasn’t given anything until Friday night. By that time I had missed 6 doses of morphine. It was torture.
David had to leave at one point. We had taken our dogs with us that morning. So David spent the entire day going from me in the hospital to the dogs in the car. He’d switch every hour. Take them for a walk, a drink, get them a snack then settle them in the car again before coming back in with me. But they couldn’t do that all night. So around 10pm he spoke to the staff. They assured him that I would be in safe hands and would be looked after so he left to go home with the dogs. Just before he left, he brought me in Zoey’s blanket from the car because he’d been asking for a blanket for me for 2 hrs with no luck. So I just kinda dozed off, sitting up in the chair, with Zoey’s blanket over me.
At one point I started to be more alert and I was really confused. I needed to use the bathroom but there wasn’t one so I left the room and just wandered around a bit. I went to the nurse’s station and asked if there was a bathroom and he said down the hall on the right. I roamed the hospital for a while. Took the elevator a few times, and eventually made my way back to that room. I called David, upset, wanting to know what was going on. When he realized that I was still there in that room – alone, he drove back to Grand Falls again at 4am. In the meantime, while hyperventilating and being trapped in that space with the chairs bolted to the floor, I clawed/scratched/cut my neck.
David came, and he channeled his anger into fighting for me. He took me outside for some air then went and found a vending machine and got me a sandwich and water. I hadn’t had anything since 7am the previous day. Thankfully there was one nurse there on Friday that had a bit of respect and showed some compassion. She even gave me a little bit of her on personal toothpaste so I could brush my teeth. No one gave me a breakfast tray but she made sure there was one for me by lunch time. And she also contacted the necessary ppl to get my meds ordered.
Then my psychiatrist came. It was still another long painful day sitting in that chair but by Friday evening I was admitted to the psyc unit.
And I’m still here. I am much more stable than I was over 2 weeks ago but still have a ways to go. Have no idea what is going to come out of this.
I don’t have the vocabulary to be able to adequately describe what I am feeling right now. There are simply no words that could do justice in explaining what’s in my heart.
Today was a good day. They’ve been few and far between lately but today the positives just seemed to accumulate, and for that, I am ever so grateful.
Now tonight … it’s hard to even breathe because I am just so overwhelmed. I love nature. I love being outdoors. I live with salt water mere feet from my doorstep. And I love summer nights. Lately, though, I have been so full of darkness that there has been little room for much else. My craving for peace and calm has been so intense that it has morphed into a physical ache.
Tonight as the day came to an end, I felt myself being quickly swallowed up by the darkness once again. I went out and sat on the back patio, to take in a few moments of fresh air before calling it a night, and the sky was incredible. I turned off all the outdoor lights on the house and positioned my chair to get the best view. I sat back and was simply in awe.
The stars were brighter than I ever recall seeing them before. Not a cloud in the sky, just hundreds and thousands of tiny sparkling lights. The longer I sat there on my patio in the dark, the more overwhelmed I felt. Sheer gratitude to be able to sit and see such beauty, with the sound of the light waves on the beach in the background. To be living and breathing and seeing and hearing is a blessing I am so often guilty of taking for granted.
I thanked God, for reminding me that no matter how dark things may appear, there’s always something beautiful waiting for me to experience. I am 42 years old and in my entire life, I’ve just seen one single shooting star. But tonight, in 2 hours, I witnessed 11 of them. ELEVEN!!!! It was like watching a screensaver on a computer screen.
I feel renewed. I feel refreshed. I feel … hopeful. My cries of desperation seemed to fall on deaf ears lately but I’m now reminded that things are not always as they seem. I believe I was given the opportunity to have this experience tonight so I could be reminded that God never turns a deaf ear to me. Not one tear that has fallen from my eyes has gone unnoticed. And that even though my mind has been full of so much darkness lately …
A lot of us have been close to the point of not being here today. And if you’re reading this right now, I just want to say that you have more strength than you realize. Not everyone who woke up yesterday were here to wake up today. Surviving myself has been one of the biggest battles I’ve ever faced.
The fact that you are st;ll here is an incredible accomplishment and I want to be the one to tell you that I am so freakin proud of you!
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of safety. It came up in a therapy session a few weeks ago and I’ve come to realize that I don’t know how to recognize what safety ‘feels’ like.
I know that I’m almost always on guard. I don’t know if it’s fear, anxiety, or nervousness, or what it is, that I’m usually feeling but I certainly don’t think it’s safety. It also seems like there are lots of situations where I FEEL like I’m in danger but the facts state otherwise. How does one bridge the gap between real and perceived danger? I am not living in a dangerous environment by any means but it’s like my body thinks I am.
It’s incredibly uncomfortable to be in a state of hyperarousal most of the time. And exhausting. Lately, it seems like I’ve been having an overwhelming amount of trauma surfacing, especially on a somatic level, but I have very little capacity to create any sense of safety in the midst of it. It’s wreaking havoc on so many levels. I wish there any way that I could somehow learn how to feel safe.
I feel so stupid saying that. To admit that I don’t know what ‘safe’ feels like seems so ridiculous and it feels awful.
My head feels unnaturally heavy. It takes effort to just hold my head up straight. Letting it rest against the back of my chair while I rock brings relief. I feel like I’m stuck inside a cloud of thick fog. Going to different rooms in my house, walking on the beach, out in my garden, even to the shower, it follows me.
Things sound different. Far away. I often need David to repeat himself because I didn’t hear what he said. Music doesn’t sound right unless I’m wearing my earbuds, which I’ve been doing a lot of. Having the loud music playing directly in my ears helps drown out the constant dialog.
The level of pain in my body this evening cannot be described. I just don’t have the words. I feel as if all I can do is sit here and keep reminding myself to breathe.
Personally, I think the path to happiness is paved with appreciation for the simple pleasures in our lives. Making this list today reminded me that I am surrounded by a beautiful tapestry of joy. I’m so often blinded by so much darkness around me that I tend to forget that beauty still exists. From the warmth of sunlight to the gentle nudges from my dogs, each thing adds a unique hue to the blend of beauty that resonates within me.
It’s there. Joy does exist. I know there is more to me and my life than darkness, mental illness, pain, and suffering. During a hospitalization, a very rude psychiatrist once told me that I am ‘leaving behind a terrible legacy’. Those were his words. And that has stayed with me. Not exactly the kindest thing to say to a suicidal individual. But, I digress.
During a session with my therapist on Tuesday, she said something along the lines of there being more to me than just being a complex case. So often I’ve been labeled as difficult … unique … challenging … complicated … and my favorite – complex. More often than not it’s all doom and gloom, jumping from one crisis to the next, with me. Ppl don’t think of beauty … or courage … or strength … or determination … and certainly not joy or happiness … when they think of me. So in a way, I guess that psychiatrist was right after all. If I died today, the legacy I leave will not be a joyful one.
So I decided to take some time to reflect on what brings me joy on a personal level. The following list is what I came up with and it has really opened my eyes to be able to see that beauty does exist in my life. My struggles are what others see. And more often than not, it’s what I see too. So if you are anything like me, I challenge you to take a few moments to intentionally think of the things that bring you joy.
But don’t be discouraged. It has actually taken me a few days to write this post because happy things don’t naturally come to mind for me. But if you be patient and intentional I think you will be pleasantly surprised by what you come up with. And please, feel free to leave a comment below and share, even just one thing, that brings joy to your life. Let’s shift the conversation for a moment and flood my blog with beautiful things! We could all use some of that today. 🦋
My relationship with God. I list this first and foremost because other things would not be possible without it. It’s not only a source of joy, it’s my everything. My life revolves around my faith. It’s where my hope, my comfort, and my strength radiate from.
The warmth of sun on my face.
Hearing ppl laughing out loud, especially kids. It’s infectious. When was the last time you heard someone laughing and you didn’t smile in return?
The smell of homemade bread. It reminds me of my Nan.
The way words and harmonies go together to create music. Everything about music brings me joy.
Nature. Anything and everything about nature brings me joy. Especially the awe-inspiring sight of sunrises and sunsets. Each time it’s like watching the Master Artist paint a new picture just for me because at my unique location and position I’m the only one with that particular view.
The talents that some people possess just blows my mind. Witnessing creative expression, whether it be through a song, video, dance, writing, painting, etc That brings me joy.
Being able to perform a random act of kindness. I love paying for the next person’s coffee order in Tim’s drive thru.
The love and affection I receive from my 2 dogs.
Being productive. The sense of achievement I get when I check something off my to-do list.
Dancing. Losing myself in the rhythm and movement of music. Actually feeling the music in my body.
Rainy days. The calming sound of heavy rain on the window. Not the misty, dreary kind of rain. But rather the kind that just pours from the heavens.
Discovering new books. Finding a work of literary art that leaves me wanting more after the last word is read (or heard, as most of my books are in audiobook format these days).
Random encounters. Striking up conversations with strangers that leave lasting impressions.
Hugs. Embracing (and being embraced) by another person and feeling their warmth. I’m not a touchy-feely kind of person but a genuine hug from someone I trust is something I actually crave sometimes and it brings me joy.
Scented candles. I love the soothing ambiance of the flickering flame and the fragrances they give off.
Watching the stars. It’s so enchanting.
Learning something new. Especially when it turns into a hobby. I learned about Neurographic art through a random tiktok video and it has since turned into a wonderful hobby and it brings me so much joy.
Acts of generosity. I love the feeling that comes with helping others.
Animals. No explanation is necessary because everything about animals (especially dogs) brings me joy!
It is in cherishing these things that I find joy and contentment in the midst of the challenges in my life. It is through gratitude that I unlock the doors to genuine happiness, and each day becomes an opportunity to celebrate the blessings that bring light and joy into my life. Fostering an attitude of gratitude is what allows me to savor these moments.
I had my Ketamine infusion on Thursday This time was harder than the others have been over the past few months. Maybe because I was dehydrated …? I don’t know. But … I honestly did not think I was that dehydrated though. It never even crossed my mind when I went in there. I could tell that one of the regular nurses started to get frustrated. She said my veins were even smaller than they usually are. It took her quite a while to locate one that she would even attempt to put an iv into. She started sweating and I felt soooo bad. I wish I could have just pointed to a spot anywhere on my body and said, there’s a vein! But there were literally no visible veins to be found.
So then came the manual search. She was gentle, like she usually is, but even just running a finger over my skin and some light tapping hurt. I felt as if I was covered in bruises. Except I wasn’t. I was just cold. After her 3rd failed attempt she called over another nurse who started with my hand, then worked her way up my arm, poking and patting and rubbing to try and get a vein to swell up enough for an iv needle to thread into. She said something about my arm being cold and commented on the fact that I appeared to be quite dehydrated. Something about the elasticity of my skin. I can’t remember exactly what it was that she said.
By this point the shivering had started. The first nurse took my socks off and started rubbing the top of my foot while the other one made several attempts at what she thought were strong veins. I had been fighting with every bit of strength I had to hold back tears but after another failed attempt at yet another promising vein – in my foot this time – a sob came out of my mouth. It actually took me off guard because I was not expecting it. I thought that the imaginary valve in the back of my throat was secure in the closed-off position but the force behind that sob blew right through it.
Somewhere along the line a 3rd nurse had come over and was rubbing my other foot. I didn’t remember her coming. It’s like she just appeared. She rubbed my leg and said, I’m only going to try once and if I don’t get it we’ll have to call Jackie. Jackie is one of the anaesthesiologists in the hospital and has been called on more than one occasion to come and place an iv in me. She’s never had to poke me more than 2 times and more often than not she got it in on the first try.
So that’s what happened. They called Jackie. In the meantime the nurses tidied up around my bed and got me a clean, warm blanket. They had used the other one to catch blood that had ran down my arm. They said they were going to give me a little break and then left me alone for a few minutes. I turned over on my side and held the blanket against my mouth and nose. I didn’t want anyone to hear me cry.
I stared at the curtain and just started praying. God, I can’t handle this … It’s too much. It hurts … it hurts all over. It doesn’t usually hurt this much. I don’t want them to touch me anymore. God, please … this is torture … I can’t …….... I know you’re here. You’re always with me. You tell me you’ll never leave me and I can come to you anytime. Well, I’m here and I really need you to be here too right now. God, please … make it stop ...
Jackie pulled up a chair and sat at the foot of my bed after a brief look over my arm and not finding anything of interest. She started rubbing my foot with her hands, to try and warm them up, she said. She told me to try and relax and to take a few deep breaths. With that little bit of compassion from her, I felt a fresh stream of tears run down from the corners of my eyes. She told me that if I take a few deep breaths it will help the blood to flow better through my veins and that my blood needs oxygen to flow properly.
Every time I tried to inhale my breath kept catching in my throat, which in turn led to a small gasp to get it back. It took several attempts before I got a good breath in but it really helped. I had started to feel like I was floating away. After a few good breaths I started to feel the bed beneath me again and I could feel Jackie patting the top of my foot. She spoke and told me to, stay really still now. I instantly lost my breath again. I felt the needle pierce the top of my foot and she slowly went deeper. I heard the click of the release button, indicating the iv was threaded into the vein and could be released from the needle. It’s in, she said. You need to breathe ….
And that’s all I remember. That was around 11am on Thursday. The next clear moment was when I felt Zoey’s wet nose against my arm around 9am Friday morning. Ketamine has that effect on me. It tends to wipe my memory clean of almost everything for 12 – 24 hours following the infusion.
My head felt like it had been smashed against a wall when I lifted it off my pillow this morning. I did a quick body scan to see if there was pain anywhere else. Nope. All clear! The first 24 – 48 hours after my Ketamine infusions are the closest I get to being ‘pain-free’. Today offered little space to appreciate the low pain level though. It was a freaking emotional roller-coaster inside of me today. Tears began shortly after I got up. I was washing my face and noticed that one of my earrings had fallen out at some point. This big wave of sadness just swept right over me and tears started falling. Wasn’t expecting that!
A little while later I was laying back on the couch and David was sitting on the opposite end. We were watching an episode of Station 19 on TV together and there was an intimate scene between a husband and wife. More tears … and no words to explain.
And that’s how the day has been. Little random things causing waves of tears. I was outside planting some things my therapist gave me, and tears were flowing. I accidentally bumped my leg, more tears. David called out and asked me to come outside so he could show me something and I cried while I walked out across the garden. Then just before I got in the shower I sat on the bench in the bathroom and cried even more. Like seriously. There was no end to the tears. And it all felt like it came from a gut-wrenching sadness that had tremendous force behind it. It could not, would not, be stifled.
The day is over now. It is late, or early, depending on how you see 3am. I’m reluctant to go to bed, as I sometimes find being in a horizontal position also heightens my emotions. And I’m feeling pretty raw as it is. But we are going out of town tomorrow, for the night. On Sunday our God-daughter has her very first communion and we’d like to be there with her. My face is swollen. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy. And my mood is all over the place. But the very least I can do is attempt to get a few hours of rest. Even if that means just lying still, with my eyes closed, while my brain continues trailing off.
Stillness is not effortless for me. It takes work sometimes. Wellness takes effort and I’m trying my best to do what I have to do, even when I don’t want to. Do what you have to do to make it to see one more sunrise. 🌻
I wondered why the clocks didn’t stop On that day. My world stopped spinning When I walked into the bathroom and found you submerged in a bathtub full of bloody water. I wondered how the rest of the world could keep going Without you here. You took a piece of me with you On that day. But I forgive you. I’d forgive you a million times over if it would bring you back to me.
I sweep the shower curtain aside. A few water droplets fall from my hair before gliding down over my bare chest. My skin is bright red from the hot water. Steam rolls out through the window that was slightly ajar. It’s been a busy weekend, but it’s over now and we’re back home again.
It’s mid afternoon and David is in lying down, trying to catch a nap before he heads in to work tonight. Last night was a late one for us. Being the designated driver David spent the early hours of the morning taking ppl home. It was almost 4am when our heads finally touched the pillow. 5 hours later we were back in the car again. Thank God we are home. So while he rests, with the dogs curled up beside him, I go off to shower and calm myself down. In my own shower. In my own bathroom. In my own house. Safety.
The scalding water distracted me from the thoughts that had been swirling around in my mind. The tension that was trapped in my body that had been brought on by so much overstimulation, washed off me freely, mixed with the coconut body wash.
But the second I stepped out and my foot touched the towel that was on the floor, something didn’t feel right. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Goosebumps covered my arm and legs. The frantic beating of my heart became confused with memories of someone pounding on the door. Oh my god … there was someone else in the house.
Fear wound itself around me at the thought and circulated within my mind until it flooded my entire body with panic. I pulled the bath towel tighter around me in a lame attempt to suffocate the terror. Then, I reached for the doorknob and my hand lingered there. I couldn’t turn the knob, my mind was bombarded with images of who could be waiting for me on the other side of the door.
I pulled my hand away from the door, my lungs …too paralyzed to breathe. My shoulders trembled as I held back the cry that was threatening to escape from my throat. I forced my hand over my mouth to block it. Backing up, I felt the bench on the back of my legs and I let myself fall onto the seat. What the heck is wrong with me??!
I reached for my phone on the sink next to me. Placing my thumb on the screen it recognized my fingerprint and unlocked itself. I instantly searched for David’s name and opened up a new msg window. I knew he was asleep but assumed the sound of his phone receiving a new msg would stir him. ‘Are you awake?’
I stared at the screen, silently pleading for him to pick up his phone, a feeling of something dreadful happening consumed me. No response. I msged him again. ‘I’m really sorry for bothering you. I know you’re tired, my honey. But can you get up for a minute?’
Still no response. I thought of calling instead. The ring is louder than the new msg notifications. But that would mean I would also be required to speak. I couldn’t do that. My voice was currently non-existent.
A sob got stuck in my throat and my body trembled. I felt the sting of tears on my cheeks. Panic was pulsing through my veins. I thought to myself, “This is insane. There is nothing out there. There is no one out there! This is ridiculous. Why am I so scared??” I remembered that I needed to breathe. I have a tendency to hold my breath in moments like this and have been working on becoming more aware of it. I take in a small, shakey breath through my nose. “That was then … this is now. That was then … This is now.“
I repeated the familiar words to myself several times. I stood up from the bench I had been sitting on, and reached for the doorknob again. As my fingers touched it panic surged, threatening to drown out the mantra i had just been repeating to myself. Thatwasthen … this is now. Slowly I turned the knob and opened it ever so slightly. My chest burned from needing to exhale, but the grip of terror was strangling my throat.
I paused, waiting for that looming, dark figure to inch his way into the bathroom … but he didn’t. And suddenly I realized that it had happened again. My brain had forgotten where we were.
It’s 2024 … you’re in your own house … David is here … he’s asleep … you’re here in your own bathroom …
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. My lungs began to relax and I took a few shakey breaths. I grabbed my robe and pulled it close around my body, letting the towel fall to the floor. Feeling ashamed and broken I left the bathroom and went to our room. I quietly positioned myself on the bed next to David, sound asleep. A few silent tears fell before I cuddled in closer to his back. The warmth of his body against mine reminded me once again …
My mental health has been on a steady decline for a couple of months now. There’s been a lot that’s happened, in succession, and the stress of it all has been accumulating. Trying to manage both physical and mental illnesses why all this life stuff has been coming at me was too much and I crashed. As a result, every area of my life is now suffering.
A little over 2 weeks ago something inside of me just cracked and I attempted to end my life. In a moment of desperation, needing the mental anguish to just stop, I chose what I thought would be the solution.
After spending the past 2 weeks in the hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit, here I am sitting in the car with my husband, as we travel to his parents’ place for a 60th birthday celebration (tomorrow). I was discharged yesterday, after being cleared as well enough to leave. I feel a million miles away right now. Certainly not in the frame of mind for a party. I really don’t want to be around people.
Can I just say one more thing?
Our health care system here in Newfoundland, Canada is … I’m biting my tongue here because every word coming to mind could get me banned from WordPress … so I’m just going to say … it SUCKS.
It’s sad. Based on my own experiences my heart aches for those needing services. If it happened to me then I’m sure it’s happening to countless others.
In my opinion, if someone almost successfully takes their life and then sits in front of you and says they are not able to function because they are so mentally unwell, I don’t this it’s even sensible to suggest they develop a better sleep routine and that you’ll chat with them in 6 to 8 weeks.
You did not come this far for nothing. I promise you. And deep inside your heart, you know it too.
Yet all the setbacks and all the obstacles and all the dark paths you have faced along the way make you question if you have truly made any progress at all.
Do you remember at the beginning when you could barely see the next moment? Now look at you.
You have grown. And taken chances. And fallen. And gotten back up.
And i think that if you were to be honest, you would admit that occasionally when the light shines just so onto your bedroom walls, you can see a glimmer of something. Something that wasn’t there before.
A dream, perhaps. Or a heartbeat that rises up from a place you never thought you had. You are not just trying. You are doing this.
And every step forward is a step in the right direction. Keep going darling. You’ve got places to go.
Remember, in order to get there you have to actually be here. So don’t throw in the towel just yet. Just you wait and see. Your sunshine is on its way. It won’t keep raining forever.
Her Complex Musings 
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