Almost seven years ago, my life fell apart. It wasn't a perfect life. We (my ex-husband and I) weren't even pretending we were happy. We went through the motions. Correction. I went through the motions. He disconnected more and more every day. I saw it. I knew it was happening. I cried, yelled, begged, pretended it wasn't happening. But that's not what this post is about. That's old news. It happened. He left. No forwarding address. No phone number. (In a rage, I had his phone shut off.) He left and didn't look back. I, on the other hand, wallowed, and continue to wallow, in the pain.
I don't like it.
I try to ignore it, pretend I'm over it, live life as if none of what happened matters. But night after night, day after day, it's there. It festers under the service. It's behind the smile. It's masked by jubilant social media posts. That's my fault. I let that happen to me. I let that pain become as much a part of me as my curly hair and the dimples on my cheeks.
Deep down - hell, on the surface - I know I'm depressed. I can see it in my eyes. I hear it in the way my voice shakes sometimes. I feel it in my bones. I carry it like a dead weight on my heart. I let it corrode who I used to be.
That sorrow is actual weight on my body. The folds that were never there. The circles under my eyes from countless nights of replaying the years we spent together.
It doesn't matter that 90% of those days were miserable. Depression paints everything roses (for me). He was great. That's what I sometimes tell myself. He wasn't. He did everything for me, for our family. Another lie I tell myself when I'm in the throes of feeling sorry for myself and how I ended up alone. He didn't mean it. He made a mistake. The list goes on...
The reality is he hurt me. He hurt my kids. He doesn't think about us. He doesn't think about me. So, why do I allow him to live rent-free in my head? The answer is depression.
Last year was the year that equalized society. Sure, the political differences, the social justice issues, the orange former occupant of the White House did everything to send everyone around the world spiraling in a sea of lies, depression, aggression, rage, mania, etc., etc., etc. But what the year also taught me was that what I was feeling (still feel) isn't because of what someone (he who shall remain nameless) caused my depression. It was me. I was the one who didn't take action. I was the one who swam in the sea of what-ifs. I ate the cookies. I cried until the tears ran out. I yelled. I screamed. I did everything wrong. My body took major hits. My lupus flares were worse than ever last year. All the pain built up and seeped out of me like freshly drawn blood.
There were days I wanted to die.
Let that sink in.
I let something that someone did to me destroy me.
That's a shame I'll live with for the rest of my life. I'm stronger than that. That's what I always told myself. I'd survived worse. I won't even get into the real traumas of my life. I'll just say, it's a miracle I survived.
Today, this year, I will do what I need to do to work on my depression and see myself out of the abyss. I have to. It took a long, long time, but after the year that took so much from us, it's time to treat me better and move forward, one small step at a time.
If you need help, I implore you to seek it. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is
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