Good morning, good evening, and good night! I am very excited to be back online with you all. I have so much to say, and even more to be thankful for. A big thank you to my followers and supporters for the well wishes and prayers over the course of my absence.
Before I went offline, I know there was a pattern you all could see in my writings. I created this blog site as a positive outlet for me, yet my writings became darker and more emotionally wrecking as the time went by. My writings became more sparse and depressing as one year bled into the next. Eventually, it stopped. I understand that many of you may have noticed this pattern and continued offering your support. For that, I am forever grateful.
As much as I would have liked to begin fresh with a new year, I was in the darkest tunnel I could have possibly imagined myself being in. I had to make the hardest decision of my life on the turn of 2018-2019. It has been over a year, yet that choice continues to haunt me during the day and leave me curled up at night. I understand it was for the best, but going through such difficulty without support has been shattering. (I miss you, my little one)
Earlier this year, at the turn of 2020, I would have loved to say that I was ready to show myself to the world again. I was almost there; I was so very close. One slap in the face sent me spiraling backwards into a place I had not been before. In all my years of depression, I never saw the fork in the road. Last January, I was there.
I had the choice: continue in self destructive behaviors which have been hindering my growth, or focus inwards and upwards to get in touch with my spirituality. I chose the latter.
It has now been 3 months since I made that conscious choice to continue forwards. I have struggled endlessly to let go of the threads tying me to the past. It has been an intense journey of self-identity. I learned a lot about myself. With the help of my amazing therapist, I was also able to tackle the root of every single action, thought, and feeling that I had. That was what helped me the most.
Truly, how can I come to love myself, appreciate who I am, and build a better version of yesterday, if I did not understand myself. How could I have expected others to understand me, when I did not even know myself. It was a selfish request, to ask to be held and cared for when I could not reciprocate that for myself. I do not blame myself, though. A mind with mental illness is not one to be judged.
The first time I felt this fog could have been lifted was in September of 2019. With the help of my therapist and my family, I took a much-needed vacation to myself and enjoyed time in the wilderness of the Midwest. I was truly on top of the world.
It was such a breathtaking location. I breathed and breathed and breathed. I soaked it in. I could not stop wondering at the beauty of the world. I could not stop wondering at what I could not see before.
It crossed my mind a few times; I wish you were here. Let us come to this place together. If you were with me, I would —— That was completely acceptable. I had come here to heal, and avoiding and pushing my thought away would seal them in the fragile jar I hold all my trauma in. So, I felt.
I felt, I lived, and I breathed. I wished you away and out of my heart.
I tried my best, I really did. I was okay. I felt okay. I did things I thought I would love. I completed a 1,000 piece puzzle. I went on a hike. I treated myself to nice desserts and foods I craved. I relaxed in the sauna and outdoor hot tub in the cabin. I watched some of my favorite movies. I felt like I could do this. I could tackle the world.
Funnily enough, I also went on a chair lift. I thought this might be good to be in the fresh air, exposed and vulnerable. I left that for the end of my vacation. I built up my courage and bought my ticket. Mind you, I am absolutely terrified of heights.
I had a few realizations, suspended in midair with nothing but a loose bar keeping me in place. I was scared stiff. I was terrified of dying. I did not want to fall; I did not want to die. I did not want to die. It hit me so hard. I did not want to die.
Then came the tears. I was horrified and ashamed, that I could have wanted to leave such a beautiful place. I was in complete shock that I could not even see the beauty of life or of this world. That was my first breakthrough.
By the time I made it back home, the high of living in the mountains wore off. Winter settled in and with it came the need to feel your arms around me once again. In my hometown, everything reminded me of you. And with that reminder of you came a reminder of what I lost and what I had to give up. It was a very difficult transition, attempting to live a normal life. However, that journey gave me hope. If I had broken through once, even just to see the glimmer of what a life without a mental fog looks like, then I believed it could happen again.
I am now at that point.
The clouds have cleared and I am able to see the sun. I can relish in the beauty of this world and I can love. I can love because I have loved.
I loved and I loved and I loved
I loved myself to a point where I know that no one can treat me harshly ever again. I know this because the hardest person on me was myself. I will not allow myself to be stepped on, used, abused, nor neglected. I will not allow myself to turn into my enemy.
There are so many words on the tip of my tongue,
burning, pushing, crying to get out.
I find some spill over the edge of my lips, but it is never enough. Never enough to satisfy the need of communication.
There is so much to be said, with so many things I wish to clarify.
There is an aching desire to spill my thoughts and have my feelings gazed upon.
Yet if I were given the opportunity to speak again, I would be at loss of what to relay.
For these words come in many forms.
What would I speak of? Where would I speak from?
The sharp edges of the broken pieces of my heart?
Or perhaps the softness of my lips as I remember yours?
It may be from the tenderness of my touch as I think of your skin against mine.
These words may also overflow from my eyes in the form of tears as I remember the betrayal of those I loved most.
How will I choose to speak my feelings, given the opportunity?
Just as a bag bursts at the seams when too full, so do my lips as they part and the words come tumbling out,
too many rumbling inside of me to ignore.
In a case like this, I would have one wish.
Not to speak eloquently.
Not profess my undying love.
Not to announce my pain.
My wish would be for you to understand the mess I am portraying.
My wish would be for my words to match my feelings and actions so that you may understand how I am feeling.
My wish would be for you to realize how I am living.