So now everyone in my family knows. They've all (well, enough of them anyway) witnessed first-hand just what happens to Jess when she goes through a heaping helping of trauma without cutting herself.
My Nanny (grandmother) recently passed away last month, and for about a month or so up until the day she died, I was down at her house with my mum and sister — eventually living there full-time — helping to take care of her. She had lung cancer which had spread throughout her body and into her bones, making every single movement a lifetime of excruciating pain. Her breathing had got to the point where sitting up in bed was a major struggle, even with our help. She was a 24-hour, two-person job. Relatives came and went throughout the weeks (my mum has 5 other siblings), but my mum and sister (who were already living with her) and I were constant.
Watching her go through the process of death was beyond anything I had ever imagined. And as devout as I am, I couldn't help but wonder, How could a woman with so much faith be put through so much torture? How could He do this to her? In addition to all the shit going on around me, I was starting to question the one source I had always fled to for comfort and guidance. I felt abandoned (and still kinda do).
So the day she passed, everyone was at the house (I mean EVERYONE), my mind was going a million miles an hour, and to make matters worse, people were trying to talk to me about the wake and funeral and wondering if my Dad was going. (I'm not on bad terms with my Dad, but he's really driven my sister and I away over the past few years…well really after he and my mum split…regardless, seeing he and my mum in the same room is like waiting for a faulty grenade to blow up.)
I'd been doing relatively alright throughout the day, mostly because I was distracted just about all of the time. But later in the day, when the subconcious storm was finally coming to a head, I was out having a smoke on the back deck with mum (I had picked it back up since living there =_=), and I don't even remember what we were even talking about, but I knew I had become VERY dizzy. I put out my butt, walked in teh door and sat in the nearest chair in the diningroom to try to stop the world from spinning. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, in the midst of one of the most severe panic attacks I can ever remember. I'm fizzying out (my code for the bizarre "ticks" and repetitive motions that accompany the attacks), rocking back and forth, hyperventilating and stuttering like I could not fucking believe! I couldn't get a single sentence out of my mouth whatsoever. All I really remember is that I didn't want my little sister to see it. She's affected by my psychoses the most, and she has enough on her plate to deal with. Not to metnion, she's the most important person to me in the whole world.
I think at one point my mum shoved an atavan down my throat (I can remember choking on something), and then somehow I ended up in her bed upstairs, in the dark. I didn't know how to come downstairs afterward. I don't know how long I was out for, or who brought me up there. I just knew that they had seen me. They knew what I'd been trying so hard to hide from them for such a long time. How was I supposed to look anyone in the eye after that??
Somehow I managed, and now I'm back home. Pretending like life's back to normal. "Normal"…yeah. I dunno. I'm done with this blog now, I guess.