Sleep finally came at two ‘o’clock in the morning. Blogging did help ease the flow of the constant flood of thoughts swirling in my head, I was able to get them under control and meditate. I sat quietly in the cool night air and focused on the rain that gently seemed to wash the anxiety away. I was able to think clearly and started tracking back to see when the hyper-vigilance and internal rage seemed to re-appear and everything started to make sense.
June 21st was the week that saw both the anniversary of my son’s birth and death. The following week I witnessed a stranger attack my property manager, someone who keeps me and the other occupants of my apartment building safe. It is interesting that the day of his attack the police officer who came to take my statement asked if I required victim support. I had declined, as I did not feel it was required; I was not upset, or shaken. Better to say I was not aware I was upset or shaken. Clearly I was, I just suppressed it.
A little background: When it was discovered I was pregnant I returned to a psychiatrist who had tried to assist me with depression. I did not want children, ever. By the time my son was born, I had accepted that my life was about to change and while not happy about the idea of being a parent, had come to accept it. Years later when he died I reached out to my family for support, a family that had not supported me my whole life, as per normal the support I required was not there. Even my then husband internalized everything surrounding our son’s life/death, never talking about it.
I have been a victim of violence. I was doing a good deed in driving an acquaintance home as she was far to impaired to drive herself. As I reached for her purse that she had dropped on the ground, the man who had hoped to take advantage of her drunken state attacked me. He ended up breaking my molars his strikes were so hard. I went to get my mother to go to the police with me, she brow beat me all the way to the police station, informed me that somehow this attack was my own fault. It was not until she opened the door of the police station for me that she actually saw the damage done to my face in the light that illuminated the police station door, at which point she finally shut up. As we left, her only words were not of caring nature for me, but of concern to what people would say.
The day I went to court to confront my attacker, the only person who stood with me was my lawyer. No family, friends, or witnesses came, again, no support.
Therefore, it would seem the events of June might have brought forth a few issues.
I live with depression; it is a roommate that has been with me since I was very young. I simply live my life knowing it is there but will not permit it to dictate my comings and goings. I do not want to rely on medications to keep depression at bay, choosing instead to use the tools I have learned to share depression’s toxic world.
I know there will be times when the depression takes over and slams me to the ground, but I will not stay down as I did for so much of my life, I will continue to get back up and fend it off.
If blogging assists me getting through this phase them I will spend hours typing my thoughts out, empower myself, take ownership and keep a positive outlook. History has shown me I can rise above the smothering, life sucking oppression that my mental illness inflicts.
I remember the first time I saw a professional, I was not yet twelve years old but I understood something was wrong in my head. I remembered the relief I felt at finally having someone who would listen and seemed to understand. Sadly, my mother did not like his findings and ceased my visits telling me it was just sibling rivalry, nothing more. At that time, I withdrew further from the world around me and lived in a self-imposed prison of isolation.
I had to learn very early that I am alone in this world, no matter who I am friends with or married to, one thing remains constant, only I am responsible for me, my own best friend. And friends make sure one gets the best care possible, pulls one off the sofa when one wallows in self pity, tells one the truth regardless of how hard it may be to hear, and gives one a darn good kick in the ass when required.
Hmm, wonder if I should seek treatment for multiple personality disorder. Just kidding.