I haven’t gone away. At least, not physically, but I feel lost and I suspect you’ve noticed too. So let’s just throw it out there and talk about it.
My mental health during my years of domestic abuse was shaky at best. I held on to one little nugget close to my heart that he could never shake, beat or kick out of me. The nugget that said “You don’t deserve this and you are loved.” I now know that nugget was placed there by God who didn’t want His child hurt, but had to watch because of that “free will” clause.
It was also the nugget that kept me strong through his suicide and the tragic aftermath on our little family. It kept me powerful and strong. I had to be fierce and in control, because I had 3 daughters who were 5 years and under that depended on me. There were times I was angry and very sad. I let them see this and we talked about it, because I wanted them to know that grieving comes in all forms and that is healthy.
Oddly enough as I remarried and settled into my new life, my nugget cracked. I no longer had to be strong. I no longer had to be afraid and always in “flight” mode. The longer things seemed to be fairy tale land, the more lost I became.
I lost me.
I had processed everything that happened for over a decade logically, I never let my emotional side look at it, because I don’t think I would have survived it. Without my permission, my emotional side has told me it’s time to process this. She didn’t even ask my permission or let me know it was coming. She’s a jerk.
So now that the Depression and PTSD has felt safe to finally come out, I don’t know who I am. Therapy is walking me through it, but I’m also in a state of medication regulation which is either making me a zombie, manic or constantly needing sleep.
I was talking to my dad and he said through the therapy and healing don’t let it take my wit or humor away. I promised I wouldn’t let it, but sometimes I feel I might have lied to him, because I feel so sad, angry, frustrated, etc. to find the funny like I used to.
I just want to me again. The funny one. The smart one. The confident one. The loyal friend. The fierce mother. The wife who manages to get it all done and who has her husband’s back. The one who sees the humor through the horrific. The one that encourages hope in others.
Without an army of prescription bottles to get me through the day.
Whoever she may be that God is creating to be a story of grace through pain. To be the one that understands the pain of others and offers them a story of mercy. The one who makes someone smile when they want to cry. The one that shows the smallest light can chase away the darkness.
Bear with me. I’m just trying to be “Me” again.