On the cusp of 2012, everything was copacetic. I was hopeful that I could maybe, finally, have a good year. An easy year. A year that was, for a change, about thriving, not surviving. All the pieces seemed to be in place - newly single (out of choice, rid of a burdensome relationship), exciting new opportunity at work, great friends, strong family ties... all I had to do was coast through it, right?
Wrong. In the blink of an eye, my world was shredded to pieces, turning this year into, without doubt, the toughest of my life so far. Only 6 weeks in, on a day that started out like any other, I had what can only be described as a pivotal moment in my life - an event that will forever divide my life into 'Before' and 'After'. What started out as abdominal cramping turned into an 8 hour stint in the ER, followed by a life-threatening diagnosis that ruptured the frail stability I had built and ended in emergency life-threatening/saving surgery, in which I lost not only an organ, but also any semblance of happiness.
The hopelessness and sadness that I experienced is indescribable. It crept into my soul, latched onto my spirit and said to me, "Things will never be the same ago.You will never be the same again." I felt something inside me break... felt the light inside me go out. The worst part was the acceptance that accompanied it - I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that who I was, and who I would be, was forever changed. There was no going back. The damage to my body - physical and mental - was irreversible.
The trauma brought with it a persistent feeling of complete and utter disconnect with everyone and everything around me. I didn't want to talk, laugh, have fun. Everything just seemed utterly shallow and meaningless in the wake of It. I didn't know how to translate my experience to anybody - I couldn't make sense of it, so how could I share it? What could I say that could possibly help people relate to it? I didn't know... I still don't know. All my relationships suddenly became an exercise in 'acting like myself' because it didn't come naturally anymore. Not knowing who you are is normal, but not knowing how to be... that's tough.
The emotional blowback from the surgery was so profuse and so severed, it threatened to engulf me. I couldn't anticipate the surprising intensity with which it attacked. I didn't know how to fight it. I floundered, I sank, I struggled with every minute of every day. Breathing felt like an ordeal I had to suffer... and suffer, I did. And finally, I did the only thing I could to survive it - avoid it entirely. I knew I couldn't beat it, but I had to get through it... for myself, for the people I love and who love me. Conventional wisdom suggests that tackling these things head on it the best approach, but I knew that I couldn't look this beast in the eye and come out alive. Not yet, at least.
So I did the best I could - I ignored it. I made jokes about it. I poured every ounce of energy into not thinking about it. I went about life with a casual thoughtlessness, knowing that my only chance was to "fake it till I make it." In the months that followed, I threw myself wholeheartedly into having fun, fun and more fun. Fun was the only weapon I had, and man, did I use it. I spent 6 nights a week going out to dinners, drinks, events, parties, shows... anything that meant not having to go home, alone. I slept on friends couches and worked insane hours, and did all the things I wanted to do, instead of what I knew I "should" do. I hope that maybe if I pretended everything was ok for long enough... eventually, it would be.
Eventually, I'd be able to be alone for longer than 20 minutes.I'd be able to sleep through the night without a sleep aid, and not have persistent nightmares. Eventually I'd wake up without panic attacks and cold sweats. Eventually I wouldn't feel crippling loneliness, or the urgency to be surrounded by people all the time. Eventually, I wouldn't depend on others for validation. Eventually... eventually... eventually.
And much to my surprise, it started to work. To some extent at least. Most days were still pretty bad, but a good day started to poke through here and share. I started to feel that maybe... just maybe... whatever it was that had broken, was starting to heal; the thing I had lost was coming back of it's accord. That the resilience of the human spirit is not mythical, but very very real, and had all along been protecting me and propelling me towards this next stage in my recovery - not happiness.... but a definite calmness. Like the storm that had been raging inside me for months was starting to die down, just the slightest.
I was hesitant to acknowledge it, but there was no denying it was happening. Until last week, that is, when the beast reared it's ugly head again.
I'm not too surprised by that - I knew the end was closer, but not here. I knew that there was a good chance that this might happen, but what scares me, is that this time it's different. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. It's not going to go away on it's own. It's not going to be treated by alcohol and ignorance. This time it demands my attention. Demands that I step in if I want to keep myself out of the deadly downward spiral. Demands that I take control of the situation before it takes control of me, because honestly, I don't think my soul or spirit can bounce back from another beating of this magnitude. I don't think I'll escape unscathed. Every trip back into hell is just a little bit darker, every journey back just a little bit tougher, and after the last one... I'm truly scared.
So somehow, I need to make a re-commitment. To my health. To my happiness. To my self. I need to find a way to beat back the oncoming storm, or risk going under.
Which, I suppose, is why I'm doing this.
"You can't change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails"
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