It has been 4 months since I got back on my Wellbutrin and about 3 months since I got back on my Lamictal. I had not been on any medication since I left that psych hospital back in 2017. I was so angry with my psychiatrist for "betraying" me, sending me off like that. Of course, I understand why he did. Legally, he was obligated to. But it makes me upset the circumstances that led to said event. I was not suicidal or homicidal. I was severely sleep deprived to the point of psychosis, whisked away in the darkness of 3 am to I didn't know. And the fact that I was so angry about it that I went off my meds in protest. To somehow prove that I wasn't sick and struggling. And you know, I was so good at lying to myself that I forgot I needed help. 7 years. 7 years of unnecessary destruction and struggle. But, alas, these are the things that teach us. These are the things that grow us (if we are so inclined to actually learn the lessons instead of repeating them....which I did repeat until I finally fucking got it).
I must admit, I feel like these past few years has somewhat damaged my brain. I feel, mentally not together in the way I used to. Which is crazy to say since now I am almost 30 years old. It's not that I don't feel like I haven't matured, it's more so that I feel so emotionally damaged to the point that it feels almost like a trauma. I think I had been going through so much that parts of my brain had to shut down in order to just simply survive. I'm trying to wake up these parts of myself that shut down.
I used to write on Quora. Very eloquently if I may add. These days, I feel like my writing is quite lazy. Even this blog. I shut it down here and there. Just not even having the energy to write my heart out. And you know what is super fucking awful? The only time I could get anything meaningful and soul-truth out was to write letters to all these assholes I let in my life. Literally, each asshole, I wrote pages long letters. Some to share my anger and hurt for the things they did (or didn't) do. Some to beg for love and commitment. Some to try to close out pain and trauma. Some to give hope and motivation. Some to take accountability for their actions. And each of these letters were for naught. Useless to them! I would pour my soul out and it meant nothing to them.
It disheartened me completely. In so many ways, it broke me.
And so, I needed to be honest with myself. I needed to sit with myself and face my hard truths. I needed to hug and hold myself and apologize for abandoning myself. For allowing these horrible people into mine and my kids' lives. And for giving them so many damn opportunities to do the right thing, in which they would disappoint me every time, causing deep and searing wounds. Taking all of these red flags and stitching them into a quilt, lying to myself that it was okay. I was safe. I was warm. Inside I was screaming. But I had nothing left in me at the time to do anything about it.
Then the year 2022 came along which was the beginning of coming home to myself. Finally it was the birth of my last son. Which is ironic because I had just conquered life's biggest physical challenge: Giving birth. And yet, the events that took place gave me fuel to finally DO something and get the fuck out! Which is precisely what I did.
I needed to get my family back. I needed to finally go home to myself, whom I think had been waiting for me back in Tahoe. I left her in the rivers and the lakes and the trees. I think I felt myself slowly dying for many years. I remember a moment in the psychiatric facility when I had been sitting in that strange looking outdoor birdcage we had. I had written something about how it felt like there were ashes and embers in my body; like the fire in my heart was being extinguished. And how I was peering out at the birds in the trees and how ironic it was that I was the one in the cage now. Maybe in that moment, I lost myself. Because everything that took place after I got outta there didn't make any sense. Like, everything I decided or did was not something I would do. A monster had taken over, and I didn't even know it.
The monster was my own fucked up brain. Does psychosis damage your brain at all? Mania? And remember how, years ago, I had shared that Paramore song and had realized in the music video that mental illness was not to be conquered but rather surrendered to? To know that you can't defeat mental illness without killing yourself? Well after the psych hospital, instead of embracing all aspects of myself, the light and the dark and everything in between...I pretended that those dark aspects weren't really there at all. Being surrounded by critically severe mental patients, I told myself I wasn't crazy. Not like these people were. I dismissed my severe mental conditions just because, on the outside, I didn't appear to be crazy. And then I proceeded to run away from myself. Well, attempted to at least.
In doing so, I lost M. I lost my home, a home that may not have felt perfect, but was my home and a place where I had safety and stability. Where we had togetherness and support. I lost all of that. And tried so desperately to get it all back in a different place and with different people.
What came of it all was, ironically, found within myself. And I, having finally loved myself, was able to come home and give others the love I now carried. And in a healthy, balanced, and fulfilling manner. Love was restored with M and I that I never thought was possible, given the circumstances.
Everything I ran from, everything I was searching for, had already been mine to begin with. And I just couldn't see it at the time. And boy, when I finally realized it, everything came flooding in, flashing in my head like bolts of lightning, the booms of thunder they caused were calls from my soul to come home. I had gone through this intense grieving process. I was on the edge of a precipice at this point. How was I going to proceed, knowing that I could lose it all; sacrificing a dangerous situation for a potential near future filled with loneliness and longing for the past. The overwhelming feeling of wanting to take it all back. And the acknowledgment that I never would be able to, which is the worst part. And I did. I decided to leave the danger and trade it for a potential life of regret and agonizing remembrance. Like a woman trapped in time, unable to leave her faults. I decided to have faith.
And I drove that day, feeling like I could breathe a bit better. And the wall of hail we drove into, when I had to pull over to the side of the road. So incredibly loud, as if the hail was giving a deafening applause. My kids and I looked at each other in wonder and silence, taking it all in, little smiles beginning to form on our faces. We couldn't see out the windows, and I prayed to God that some truck wasn't going to ram into us. This moment inside the car was filled with awe, fear, faith, and courage. We were one mile closer to where home had been this whole time. For the first time, I looked ahead without looking back.
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