I had thought that February was unkind to me, March turned out to be even worse.
I shall spare you the details, as they are extremely private and painful (though things have, in the end, worked out and steps are being taken in the healing process, and to ensure that it never happens again), though I suspect the small handful of people that read my blog know what happened. It wasn’t just me that it affected – there were other people involved directly besides myself, and the weight of what happened was felt by all that are close to us. I feel like I would be doing everyone a disservice to everyone who this touched to mention exactly what happened in a public forum.
But it happened, and it was easily the worst two weeks of my life – and I do not say that lightly. There were many days spent crying, many nights spent sleepless … and also crying. Some mornings I couldn’t get out of bed, and every morning I woke up in the midst of a panic attack. I was the lowest that I’ve ever been, and considering my recent depression diagnosis, I felt everything that much harder. There were days that I didn’t want to be alive. Not that I would have done anything, and I promised those close to me if I had the slightest inclination of wanting to hurt myself that I would get help, and it thankfully never came to that. But it didn’t stop me from wishing on occasion that I simply didn’t exist.
As difficult as those two weeks were, I learned so much.
I learned in the kindness and love of those closest to me – not that I didn’t already know that, but for the first time in my life my parents weren’t easily accessible when all I wanted was to go home and get hugs from them. We made do with phone calls, but it certainly wasn’t the same as having hugs from two of the people I love most in the world. Two of my friends basically adopted me for two weeks, let me into their home, one of whom fussed over me on a daily basis akin to the fussing of a mother, and dragged me all over town with her, and let me cry and talk her ear off late into the night. She’s a saint, and one of the most wonderful people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.
Everyone who I encountered in those two weeks who knew of the pain I was going through was there for me in some capacity. No one handled me with kid gloves, and everyone had their own brand of “being there” for me – even people I didn’t know that well. One offered her spare room in the event that I wanted a change of scenery from my friends’ home. People offered their time when I knew that they were so very busy. I received a lot of hugs, tea, and candy.
I learned that I am truly a strong person.
People have always told me how strong I am, and I like to think that most times I am in agreement with them. There are very few things that I can’t get through, can’t do. But I certainly didn’t feel it for a while. However, after three days of wallowing in sadness, I found my resolve, and I began to fight. I am just that – a fighter. I can’t back down from something without knowing first that I didn’t at least give it my all. I don’t quit. I knew that if I just walked away from what was happening that I would never forgive myself. So when I felt a little stronger, I fought. I laid out everything on the table, made my thoughts and feelings known. In the end, it worked out in my favour, but it easily could not have as well. But after I did that, I felt so much better about the situation. I did what I could, and it was out of my hands, but knowing that I simply didn’t walk away helped me so much. And while I’m so incredibly glad that things turned out the way that they did, even if they hadn’t, at least I knew that I did what I could.
I’m credited with saving what I almost lost. Were it not for my strength, my desire and willingness to fight for something worth fighting for, I easily could have lost it, let it slip through my fingers. I could’ve let the hurt and betrayal consume me, and done little else. It would have been so easy to just lie down and die, as it were. But that’s not for me. That’s not my style. Few things that are expected of most people are. I was never one for conformity.
The pain, resolve, happiness, love, and gratitude that I have experienced in the past three weeks have been a stark and eye opening reminder. Though my depression is nowhere near to being gone (and I have made peace with the fact that it may be part of me always), the sadness, the panic attacks, and the restlessness have begun to ebb away. I have never felt more alive than I do right now. Though there are things and feelings that I feel like I am seemingly having to relearn because they were a a little damaged, it’s a work in progress, and I’ve always felt my best when I am working toward something.
Through the hardest of times in our lives, even if things don’t work out in the end, we get through it. We come out on the other side seeing the world in a whole different way – new sights, new sounds, new smells. I’d like to think that I would’ve come to this conclusion even if I wasn’t in the position that I’m currently in, and I know that I would have, it just may have taken a little longer.
But no amount of words can express how wonderfully happy I am that I don’t have to.
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