Tag Archives: Coming Out

Rock Bottom

rock bottom

Sometimes after you think you’ve hit rock bottom, you realize that you were wrong. There is so much further you can fall. That’s happened to me. I thought I had passed the worst. I actually wrote, “The draw of Death has released it’s iron grip on me. A little. I still think about it, but I know I made it through the worst.” How naive I was. How blind. Shortly after writing that, I learned the bottom can still drop out of rock bottom. You fall deeper into an abyss you didn’t see coming. You should have seen it , but you’ve become such an adept liar that you lie to yourself as much as everyone else. That’s me. The most adept liar I’ve ever met (and I’ve met some doozies!!)

I thought I was gaining ground, truly. I had found that adrenaline was a great escape from the Grief. I thought it was a healthy escape. It kept me active, engaged with my friends, enabled me to laugh, helped me feel the blood flowing through my veins again. Turns out the adrenaline was actually the dizzying affect of such a downward spiral that it turned me upside down, backwards, and inside out. I was in constant search of that rush. It was alluring and captivating. Incipient of the destruction to come. It began innocently enough, with a day filled with friends, laughter, and mayhem. A day unplanned. A day where the laughter flowed so freely and I felt like the Old Me again. It was the Old Me, but not the recently inhabited Old Me. red dress

This was 16 year old Amy come back from the recesses, from the darkest parts of my past, grabbing me in her arms and doing what she did best. Avoid feeling. 16 year old Amy is a nightmare wrapped in glitter and spKISSandex. She shines brightly, laughs boisterously, loves freely, engages easily, draws everyone in to her web. She’s hedonistic. She is the quintessential party girl. She’s a master manipulator, a liar, a deceiver. She has a selfish heart, and it’s only purpose is to avoid pain. She pays no attention to the misery left in her wake. I embraced her completely, not even realizing she was back. black dressThe psyche is a very clever entity. It creates all these self-defense mechanisms from trauma. 16 year old Amy is just that. She was created from years of trauma, mixed with a natural tendency towards mischief and needing to rebel against authority. She was born of internalized anger and rage. She was my Protectress. She is my restless spirit incarnate. She both saved me and nearly destroyed me when first she emerged. She did no different this time. 16 year old Amy has no business being anyone’s wife. She has no business being anyone’s mother.

When I found myself at the deepest, darkest bottom I have ever encountered, I had no choice but to look around at what I had done. With the depths of despair came the words from my Husband, “You need to leave.”  I hurt those that I was tasked with protecting. I hurt those that I love most in this world. I disappointed those who looked up to me. It was pretty sobering. Literally – as in it’s been 19 days since I’ve had a drink.

I reached out and begged for help – from the Universe, from Nolan, and from (finally) a grief counselor. Truthful truth is I had been crying out desperately for help for a long time. It’s not an easy thing to own up to your failures, but that’s what I’m trying to do. Being brutally honest with a counselor is so difficult. I don’t want to look in that mirror, but I have to. For as open as I’ve been about my Grief and this Journey, I hide 1000x more beneath the surface. The PTSD has been out of control for a long time. I’ve been self-medicating until a blackout blissfully removes all feeling from my heart. I’ve been told that my behaviors are a “Passive Suicide.” I can’t disagree with that.

I have failed utterly as a wife, as a mother, as a friend. I can’t take anything back. I know more than most that there are no magic time machines. No matter how desperately we want to go back, time moves in only one direction. It’s time I moved in that direction too. Forcing myself to face the feelings is something I battle every day. I want to avoid. I want to hide. I want to deny. I want 16 year old Amy to whisk me away to where the music is so loud you can’t hear yourself think. I want her to take away the pain. I can’t let her. I have to heal that part of myself as well. I’m learning that new trauma often brings up old forgotten traumas. Things you thought you had dealt with years ago resurface in a different light. <insert sarcasm font> It’s awesomely fun.

I’m taking baby steps forward. Tentative steps on broken glass. I know it will hurt, but I’m trying to tread gently. I took Nolan’s picture off the background of my phone and put Nason’s in its place. I’m hoping this will help keep my focus on him rather than my loss. I’ve given my notice at school and accepted a new full-time job. I have so many mixed feelings about this. I will miss the kids and the teachers so much, but school is fraught with triggers for me. I hear Nolan’s voice echo down the hall. I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, and it cuts me off at the knees every time. I need to spend my days in a place with no memories. I need to fill the hours. Home isn’t my safe place anymore.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to salvage the wreck I’ve made of my family. The only thing I can do is to take care of myself better so that I can take care of them. Please don’t tell me I’m strong, because right now I’m not. I’m broken. I’m bruised. I’m vulnerable. Maybe I will get strong. Maybe I won’t and this “passive suicide” thing will rear it’s ugly head once more. I don’t know what the future holds. I only know that right now, in this moment, I’m trying to be a better human being.

Smoke and Mirrors

smoke

When your child dies, you don’t lose them all at once. You lose them by increments, microscopic particles, little by little, bit by bit, second by second, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, year by year. The immediate absence of their physical body is shocking; traumatic. I imagine this is the same whether your child suffers an illness or is ripped from your arms in sudden tragedy. Even if you know it’s coming, nothing can prepare you for that moment when their breath stops, their heart quiets, and a silence fills your Soul never to have sound again.

This is what I’ve been going through and why I’ve been on hiatus from this blog. It’s been too much to carry – to heavy for words. I survived Mother’s Day. I survived a birthday. We survived Father’s Day. We managed to make it through Nolan’s one-year anniversary. The days continue to be wrapped in darkness. The panic attacks are back in full swing. The nights are filled with terrors only to awaken to find that is has become my life.

I’m losing Nolan in pieces. Sometimes it feels like he’s just not home, and I have to remind myself that he’s not coming home. I look for him everywhere, in everything. In every tree, in every leaf, in every whisper of the wind. I try to see him in every cloud and bird. I search each rock and flower and blade of grass to find something – something – that calls out to me from him. I was laying at the lake last week, just watching the clouds and talking to him in my mind. I could swear the clouds spelled “LIVE,” and I started to cry. The eagle chose that moment to soar over the lake, and I almost believed it was real. Part of me knows that he is still trying to reach me, but the bigger part is so wrapped in pain that it makes those signs easy to rationalize away.

Pieces of him drift away. Slowly, quietly. The emptiness is becoming familiar, routine. I still cry every day. Every. Single. Day. Endlessly. I see all the posts about Grief online and they don’t help. Grief is the price of love and all that nonsense. I call bullsh*t on that. Love has no price, especially the unconditional love for a child. Grief is what rises up and engulfs the energy that you used to spend on that child. All those thoughts about them, the physical energy in taking care of them, the emotional devotion directed towards them, your hopes and dreams for them – it all just hangs there like a specter hovering in your heart. It becomes Grief incarnate. It takes over every aspect of your life.

I am beginning to see the understatement that “New Normal” really means. It’s that Grief encompassing every part of you – mind, body, and Soul. It pushes out all color from your life. You actually become used to it. The constant battle of railing against the pain and trying to find the sun – and your Son – begins to feel familiar. Your shoulders slump under the weight of agony, your back curves, everything hurts, but you begin to desensitize yourself to the sensations. The fight is gone. Surrender is the only option.

All this goes on behind the smile and the “I’m ok,” in response to your “How are you?” All this happens behind the laughter of a joke you told or a memory you shared. Smoke and mirrors. People become more comfortable with that perception. They want you to be ok. They want you to be happy. They want you to laugh, and so you do. Only those who look beyond that surface, only those brave Souls who travel the same path really notice the laughter never reaches your eyes. They notice you always deflect questions about yourself. They know it’s self-defense. Self-preservation. Even with all my devotion to being brutally honest about this Journey, I have somehow become a Master of Smoke & Mirrors.

Nolan’s Hands

hands

Recently, I went to pick up Nolan after he spent the night at a friend’s house. I remember pulling into the driveway of this house I had never been to before and being so desperately excited to see him. I could not wait for him to come out of the front door. I missed him with a ridiculous intensity that made no sense. He’d only been gone one night, for Heaven’s sake! When he finally came outside, I nearly shrieked. Ok, maybe I did a little bit. He walked casually to the car with that lovable smirk on his face. He was wearing his favorite plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled partway, and a pair of jeans. I remember looking at him and thinking what a stunningly handsome man he was growing into. He got to the passenger side of the car and slid in next to me. He looked at me and grinned. I said to him, “Nolan, I missed you! I had the most horrible nightmare that you died!” I held his hand up to my cheek and kissed it. I remember the feel of his warm hand against my face. When I looked at his hand in mine, I got confused for a minute. He didn’t say anything to me, just smiled a soft little smile, like he knew that I was going to fall but he couldn’t help me. He couldn’t save me from it, but he was loving me through it.  All of a sudden it came back to me. THIS was the dream. My life was the nightmare. I woke up in a sea of tears that I still can’t seem to stop.

I’ve always loved Nolan’s hands. From the moment he was born, I’ve had this bizarre fascination with them. The way he would hold onto just my one finger when he was an infant, the way he studied them himself as a baby, the way he learned to use them as a toddler all left me in awe. When he started building things and drawing, I would sit for hours with him and watch his hands. I always thought they were the most beautiful hands I had ever seen. As he got older and they started to become the hands of a man, I would still look at them and think about them holding his own child someday. I would think about those hands touching the face of his wife someday. No matter how old he got, Nolan would always let me hold his hands.

When I first was able to hold Nolan’s hand in the local hospital That Night, I knew he was gone, but in my deep shock, I thought there was a chance he’d wake up. I kept telling myself that when he was life-flighted to the next hospital, we would get there and find him awake in bed. There was no other vision I let take hold. When we got there and I held his hand again, I knew. I was still insistent that the doctors made a huge mistake and he would be fine. I remember thinking the neurologist couldn’t be taken seriously. I mean, he had a Minion shirt on! How could I believe this man when he said my son was not going to recover, that he had already passed away, while he was wearing a shirt with a MINION on it?? It had to be a horrible joke. His heart was still beating. How could he have already died?

It wasn’t until Nolan was settled into his room in the ICU and I crawled into bed with him that it hit me. When I had to physically lift his head to put my arm under it, and I had to physically manipulate his fingers to lace into mine, the reality broke through the cloud that he was, in fact, already deceased. As people came in to say goodbye, I talked to them as if Nolan wasn’t already….well….deceased. I didn’t want the kids to think of that while they said their good-byes. His heart was beating steadily, his body was warm. I know he was in the room, but he was not in his body or in that bed with me.

I spent the next two days staring at his hands. I saw the signs of death slowly taking over his body. A grayish substance began leaking from his nose and mouth. I would lovingly wash it away and apply chapstick to his lips. His coloring began to change. The scent of his body began to have a subtle tinge to it that I will always smell in my mind. His hands began to get smaller, thinner. I couldn’t lie to myself when I was witness to these changes all while his head lay on my shoulder and our hands linked together. Our bodies were pressed so closely, our legs entwined as if he had just fallen asleep with me as he had countless times before.

I remember seeing Nolan in his casket and thinking his hands were wrong. They were thin! His fingers were always so strong and his hands slightly wide. They had lost that and his skin clung to his bones in such an alarming way. They were freezing! I held his hands so long, the warmth from mine leached into his and they became warm again. For as long as I live, I will feel those icy cold fingers in mine.

I don’t think I have the words adequate to describe the feeling of waking from what you thought was a nightmare to find the actual nightmare is your life. I’ve been exceptionally fragile since The Dream. I’ve had to go into the bathroom at work to cry a number of times. I have a hard time being around the kids right now.  Controlling my thoughts is exceedingly difficult. Leaving work one afternoon, I had to stop as an ambulance went by. Hearing the sound in the distance getting closer immediately threw me back to That Night and waiting outside, screaming for help, and finally hearing the sounds of the ambulance in the distance. I wasn’t in my car anymore. I was trapped in That Night all over again. I’m not sure how long I sat there after the ambulance went by reliving that horrible night. Eventually, another car came up behind me and beeped. I’ve said it before, PTSD is no joke. You really are back in time while your body simply holds space for you to return.

I went to a fundraiser for the football team knowing that I really wasn’t strong enough to handle it. It was important to DH, so I went with him. It was alright at first. I struggled but was able to make eye contact with people and even have a few short conversations. They played a video recap of the season that I had seen before and was forewarned would be played again. I knew it would be heartbreaking and that I shouldn’t stay to watch it, but knowing I would catch just a couple glimpses of Nolan on the screen made it impossible for me to walk away. Thankfully, as soon as it began, my Warrior Women surrounded me. I cried through it, ruining my makeup that I had carefully applied to mask my suffering. I sat there falling down the rabbit hole while 3 sets of hands literally held me up. It was a powerful moment. After the video ended, I ran from the room. I had a few minutes of breakdown and then I scolded myself to get it together. I think I fooled those Warriors. I went back to the function room and frantically searched my bag for my anxiety pills. I hardly take them but always carry them just in case. Well, except for that night, I carry them. I didn’t have them with me so instead of leaving, I decided to self-medicate. I know enough addicts to be well aware of what a bad choice this is, but in the moment, I needed the pain to end. I’m becoming very skilled at fooling people. To all outward appearances, I was laughing and dancing and acting silly and seemed to be having a good time. I wasn’t. I was dying inside but wasn’t strong enough to get myself the help I really needed. I continue to work on this.

I was successful in self-medicating to the point of complete blackout. I’m not proud of it, but I’m honest about it. I’m human and I am trying to figure out how to stay alive in a world without Nolan. Luckily enough for me, I have no recollection of the latter part of the evening. I know many teenagers are reading this, and I’ve hedged about sharing this part of my struggle, but I’ve sworn to myself to be brutally honest. Kids, this is a bad idea. It ends up being harder in the long run. You can’t escape the pain this way. In fact, it makes it a thousand times worse.

The floodgates are open and I can’t seem to close them. I’m still extremely fragile. I’m walking on very thin ice that could swallow me whole at any moment. I’m having a lot of flashbacks during the day. I don’t get much sleep at night. I gave up caffeine a week ago and have no idea why. Seriously. No idea. It might appear that The Dream set off a downward spiral and hurt more than it helped. While the downward spiral part is true, I believe The Dream is helping. It is making me face some areas that I need to really work harder to control. I pray a lot. I am watching myself more closely. I am committed to making choices that will help me become stronger each and every day. I don’t understand about the caffeine, but for some reason, I feel guided to do so. I’m following my intuition. I’m trying so much harder to trust the process. I’m trying to trust that Nolan really is loving me through this.

Last night after obedience classes with Ellie, I met the daughter of the breeder who gifted us with Ellie. We talked for a bit about Nolan and how Ellie has been such a blessing to our family. I’m thinking of having her licensed as a therapy dog since she seems to be able to tell when both Lucy (our epileptic rabbit. I know. Only in my family!) is going to have a seizure, and when I am brewing a panic attack. When I left, walking across the dark, muddy parking lot, I found a coin. I know it was from Nolan, acknowledging that he had heard all I said and was loving me through everything. I trust that is true.

While The Dream did send me on a spiral, holding Nolan’s hand again, even for a such a brief moment, is worth any Hell I have to walk through afterwards. He challenged me in life, and he continues to challenge me in death. Being Nolan’s mom is an adventure that never ends.

Time Marches On

time

Last night I had to take an anxiety pill for the first time since Thanksgiving. I thought for sure I would need to medicate myself to deal with Christmas. It was hard, but I was “ok.” Last night it just hit me – again. Nolan died! You’d think this would have sunk in by now, but it still comes out of the blue and takes me out at the knees. He died! How is that possible??? When will I wake up from this nightmare? My son died! NOLAN died! How did this happen to HIM? It’s so horrible. Walking into that bathroom day after day and night after night, where he took his last breath, is a mighty slap in the face every time. Sometimes I absorb the blow better than others. Last night it knocked me out.

This morning I woke up with a migraine – the kind of migraine that makes you nauseous, dizzy, achy. The kind of migraine that makes the light hurt and your skin supersensitive. Usually my first step is coffee and motrin. This morning I couldn’t force myself out of bed. I lay there waiting for DH and Li’l N to get up. Thankfully they did, and the quiet solitude allowed my mind to just drift. I didn’t want to take the pain away. I lay there waiting, praying, for that loud “pop” in my head that I’ve read about. I prayed for the pain Nolan described in his last precious minutes on this earth. I prayed for the dimming of the world around me. I begged for my heart to just stop beating. I cried out for that little tiny bubble on my artery to let go. Let that blood flood into my brain and blot out everything. Just let it happen. I told myself I wouldn’t call out for help. I wouldn’t try to hold on. I imagined DH coming to find me, thinking I was still sleeping. I imagined my life insurance solving our financial troubles. I called to Nolan to come and take me with him. Please, Nolan…just take me with you… But it didn’t happen. He didn’t come. That stupid little anneurysm stayed intact. I’m held here against my wishes.

My desk calendar still shows July. I haven’t been able to tear that page off. I don’t think I will. I’m packag1231141425-1(1)ing it up with the shrine from the dining room table. I began that process yesterday. You remember, the lovingly dubbed “Extracting Head from Ass” project. It’s actually a lot harder than I thought it would be. That’s probably what started my downward spiral. Each time I put something into the bin, I had to leave to break down. After putting 3 things away, I called it enough for one day. Anyway, this calendar will go into that bin. Eventually.  I can’t let it go. How ridiculous is that? It’s been written all over, doodled on, scribbled on, and yet I can’t throw it away.

Tonight we all change our calendars over. A new year begins tomorrow. A year for fresh starts, new beginnings, a blank page. You know what? I don’t want a new year. I don’t want to live in a year that Nolan doesn’t get to see. The thought of his passing being “last year” devastates me. I didn’t expect this. I won’t exist in the same year as him ever again. His life will be in “years past.” Forever. I don’t want to see the new year. I don’t want to live in a different year from him. But I don’t have a choice. I’ve surrendered already. I’m trying to relax into the abyss and trust the process. I don’t want to. I really don’t want to.

My plan for tonight was to stay home, under the covers, and pretend it’s not happening. We all know Denial is a dear friend of mine. Li’l N, however, has asked that we attend a party. He doesn’t ask that of us often. I’m going to struggle no matter where I am. If I force him to stay home and struggle with me, is that fair to him? If I send him off with DH and stay home alone, is that fair to him? He needs to see me being strong. He knows I hide in the bathroom and cry every night. He always asks to come in, and if I tell him “not right now,” he sits right outside the door and waits for me. He will greet me with a hug and a quiet “Are you ok? Do you need a pill?” He needs to see me being strong. So tonight, I will *probably* go to the party with him. If you see me there, forgive the distance in my eyes. While you rejoice the new year, please forgive my tears. I know I won’t be able to stop them. It’s just part of the journey.

I’ll share these words written in 1990. They are as true today as they were then. Strange how things come full circle.

The leaves fall as the days pass
And the sand falls through the hour glass
The sun shines, no clouds are near
But in my heart I drop a tear
I stand alone every night and day
And deep inside I feel betrayed
All love is lost, my Soul is sad
I dream of happiness I once had
When life was beautiful and everything looked bright
And I was never left feeling alone at night
Now the rain comes and my heart is cold
And forevermore I must stand alone.

Green-Eyed Monster

green-eyed-monster

There. The Christmas tree is by the fire pit. The pine needles are vacuumed up. The presents are (almost) all put away. Done. It’s over. I survived. Mostly.

You hear how holidays are the worst time of year for many people. Obviously to those grieving or mourning, but also to those who suffer from depression or mental illness. It’s the time of year when we are supposed to surround ourselves with family and friends. We are supposed to count our blessings out loud. For those who are missing pieces of their Soul or whose loved ones are gone (yes, I know they’re not really *gone* but we can’t hold them or touch them or see them, so that counts as gone), this is a very difficult time of year. I’ve been isolating myself since Thanksgiving. I’m having trouble counting my blessings. I’m jealous of you. Yes, you. You, who are buying presents for all your children. You, who have to hurry up and clean your house for family. You, with your stupid Elf on a Shelf. You, who are complaining about “I wants” from your kids. You, who are running around like crazy to make it to all of your children’s performances, activities, sports, etc. You, who are posting incessantly all your family photos of smiling faces and holiday joy.

I’m jealous. It’s not just a little jealous. It’s the ugly jealous. It’s the kind of jealous that makes me want to reach through the computer and punch you in the face. It’s the jealous that makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and claw your eyes out. I feel rage. I feel violent, and for those who know me personally, you know I’m the least aggressive person. It’s hard to admit this. Nobody wants to hear it. We’re supposed to be filled with love for our fellow man this time of year. I’m filled with anger, aggression, violence, agony, sorrow. I hate you right now. Even though I don’t really hate You, I hate everything about your life. I hate your baking wcrazy womanith your children. I hate your Christmas carols. I hate your picking out a tree as a family. I hate your cookie swaps. What’s so special about you that you get to keep all your children while one of mine lays in the cold, frozen ground? Why do YOU get to spoil your son rotten, when he has been bullying my Li’l Man? How dare you throw in my face the happiness in your home! That’s how Facebook has felt to me this season. My filters, never really high-functioning, are on the fritz. So I’ve stayed offline. I haven’t responded to texts or emails. I haven’t answered the phone. It’s safer for all of us that way.

You wouldn’t know any of this by looking at me. I’m becoming so good at hiding my feelings. I’ve had loads of company at my house, and I’ve been “fine.” I’m smiling and joking with you. I’m open and welcoming to you and your family. I actually do appreciate the house filled with people because it’s just too lonely when there are only 3 of us. Inside, however, all this ugliness swirls around, eating at the very core of who I am. I have this darkness inside of me that left unchecked will blacken my heart. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t know how to stop, though. I’m praying that these emotions will prove transient as emotions usually do. I hope. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I’m working on a personal project I’ve dubbed “Extracting Head from Ass.” I have to find a way to fill my days again. I feel the whispers telling me to start moving. I don’t know in which direction to go. I’m starting small. I need to get my house in order. It’s been in limbo Since. My dining room has become a Shrine to Nolan’s passing. I still have tupperware and dishes left behind from his Service. (If any of it is yours, and you want it, come get it!!) I have all the sympathy cards we received. I have all the funeral cards. I have everything “Nolan” on that table.

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So it’s time to clean it off. It’s time to package it in boxes tied with beautiful ribbons. It’s time to put his passing away. I’ll never put him away, but all this memorabilia is holding me encased in stone, and I have to figure out how to move. Did I say I was starting small? Untrue. The first step is the longest stride.

Courting Death

silentI woke up at 1:15am with the words of a poem I wrote back in 1990 on my mind. I haven’t thought of that series of poetry in so many years. Grief is strange. It brings up such seemingly random thoughts. Immediately, my mind started writing. I really do need to get myself out of bed when that happens and just let the words pour forth. Maybe then I’d get back to sleep. Anyway, it seemed such a random thing to bubble to the surface. I’ll share those words with you now. Please keep in mind that I was a mere 16 years old.

Isolated and alone
In a crowd of friends
My smile is forced
I don’t want to pretend.
There’s nowhere to turn
No one seems to care
Just turn around
And you’ll see me there.
All by myself
Always alone
As my heart of warmth
Turns slowly to stone.

I’ve read through that series of poems for the first time in many years. The theme is so much the same of what I am feeling now; the isolation and loneliness. As I reflect back, this is something I’ve battled my whole life. I grew up in a very abusive and dysfunctional home. I learned quickly to keep my silence, to not ask for help, to hide my feelings. I tried to commit suicide for the first time when I was 10. Luckily enough, I wasn’t too smart about it. The rod I tried to hang myself from fell down. I never told anyone. I planned about a thousand other ways to do it, but I never had the guts to go through with it.

When I was in 6th grade, a wonderful teacher (and by wonderful I mean a horribly crotchety woman who should never have been allowed around children) told me that I was “not deserving to be a Group 1 student.” This was back in the days when kids were grouped only by skill level. To me, that confirmed everything that I had been told every day of my entire life. “You’re stupid.” “You’re ugly.” “You’re worthless.” “I hate you.” “You ruined my life.” “I wish you were never born.” Yada yada yada. What did I do that caused her to deem me Undeserving? I refused to stand up in front of the class and give an oral report for a science project. I did the project. I did the research and the work and wrote the paper. I simply would not, could not, stand in front of a room full of people and talk. I had spent 11 years silencing my voice. I was told every time I spoke that I was stupid, ignorant, an idiot, etc. How could I possibly stand up in front of the class and show everyone just how dumb I am? I took the F, and I stopped caring about school.

By the time I became a teenager, I had given up on suicidal thoughts. I wasn’t even brave enough to do that. I didn’t, however, give up on courting Death. I courted Death like a hungry beast starving. I teased it. I begged it. I tempted it. I asked for it. At 14 I met another wonderful teacher (and by wonderful I mean a horribly crotchety man who should never have been allowed around children) who kicked me out of class for being unable to answer a question on history. This was the very day I returned to school after almost a 2-month absence with Mono, being in and out of the hospital repeatedly. Nice guy. He kicked me out of the classroom and sent me to the library to do a report on whatever the foolish question was. I wrote his report. Triple spaced, one very long run-on sentence, ending with “A$$hole.” I gave up entirely on school that very day. Again, he confirmed what I had been told millions of times.

I chased Death with a passion after that. There really wasn’t anyone there to help me. Nobody to notice. Nobody to reach out. I honestly welcomed Death should He finally answer my call. I did whatever I wanted to. To outsiders, I looked like just another stereotypical teen going down the wrong path. To my friends, I was the life of the party. I was the girl that would do anything without apology or regret. In truth, I was a broken child. In truth, I just wanted to die.

I’m not sure why all of this came up at 1:15 in the morning. Something about the synchronicity of the feelings I have today maybe. I’m no stranger to isolation and loneliness. They are like long lost companions come home again. Or more like long lost relatives I don’t really want to visit coming again. I know what they look like. I know how they feel. I don’t really want their company. I find my mind falling back into patterns of days gone by.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about suicide Since. I’ve thought it through carefully. I still couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do that to my children. That’s not say I wouldn’t welcome Death with open arms should He finally decide to claim me. I would. I would go willingly, happily, completely without hesitation. I probably shouldn’t say that out loud, but this is me. Unfiltered. This is real. I did warn you this was an ugly journey.

I’m both a broken child and a broken woman. It’s my belief that these pervasive themes that encompass you throughout your life are purposely part of your path. It’s something I have to learn to overcome. There was a time I thought I had. Now I know I learned to think, act, and feel differently, but I never actually overcame any of it. I’ve made my peace with the actions I suffered in the past. I’ve given forgiveness to those who hurt me – for me, not for them. I found a strength through those trials that many people never need. I have to somehow find that strength again. I used to say that I’d been through the worst Life could throw at me and came out tougher because of it. Be careful what you say. Life replied with “Oh yeah? How about THIS?”

So, I’m working on it. Every day. Every moment. I’m striving to find that inner strength to carry me through once again. I’m not going to silence my voice even with words nobody wants to hear. Somebody out there feels the same, and maybe my words will open their floodgates too. I know this blog is followed by some teenagers who may be able to relate to my childhood. I thought about this before writing. Should I share this intimately? I decided (obviously) that yes, I should. I’m not the first to court Death as a child. Neither would I be the last. If you are reading this and are having any of the same feelings I did, please reach out. To me, to a truly wonderful teacher (not a horribly crotchety person who should never be around children), to a trusted adult, to ANYONE. Scream it from the rooftops! Never silence your pain.

Naked in front of the crowd

 

stagefrightI thought after the last few days of heavy posts that I would put something a little lighter up today. Maybe share a laugh about Nolan. I do that. I get so far into the dark spaces that I have to let some light shine through. Sometimes I use humor or sarcasm to do that. Sometimes I use beer or wine. Don’t panic, I’m not an alcoholic, but come on. We all do something. Sometimes I use loud music. In this instance, though, I feel like doing so would be running scared. I feel a major breakdown coming on. Saturday will mark 3 months since the World went Dark. My plan was to share the details of Nolan’s passing on that day. I’m not sure if I can. Now I’m wondering if I even want to. We have been so open about everything in regards to Nolan that the last private moments we’ve kept are the graphic details of what actually happened that night. I know I said I promise I would tell you his story, but now I don’t know if I can keep that promise. I think I will just have to wait and see.

I have bared my Soul to you 3 days running now. You have reacted with nothing but compassion, support, and love. I owe you more than running scared. So I will stand before you, naked in front of this crowd, and tell you why I really started this blog.

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Another family who lost someone to a Brain Aneurysm was holding a fundraiser. They were selling sweatshirts that were designed to honor their Hero and raise awareness. My family worked closely with the Kat-Walk and Karo 5K for Maine Brain Aneurysm Awareness in September. https://www.facebook.com/KatWalkKaro5k. We brought them a team of over 130 people and raised over $7500 in funds to go towards their efforts. I bought the sweatshirt from another suffering family to support their efforts to raise awareness. And I felt like a hypocrite.

Here I was talking about what happened to Nolan and what happened to other families. Here I was going around talking about the signs and symptoms of brain aneurysms. I was touting statistics and treatment options…and I was keeping this secret. I’m carrying that same silent killer inside me.

I told my older kids about how I felt like a hypocrite and thought I should just come out with it. One of my daughters suggested starting a blog rather than just put it out on Facebook. It felt right. One of my daughters shared her concern about how people are still staring at her in public and she didn’t want even more attention. I tried to assure her that people aren’t staring like “OMG Do you see what she’s wearing???” I tried to assure her that people are looking at her in awe that she has the strength to be up and out and still moving. I think people look at all of us and wonder how a body can contain and carry such heavy Grief. Still, my amazingly strong daughter said she supported my sharing this personal journey.

So, Did you catch that? Typical of me, I slide something really important in and then move right along hoping you miss it. I can’t let you miss this. Here it is again. I’m carrying that same silent killer inside me. I, too, have been diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. There. It’s out there. Folks, this can happen to ANYONE.

I have seen a neurosurgeon who suggested I wait a year and see how it goes. That was good enough for me and my friend Denial. For some reason, I keep hearing a whisper between breaths that I shouldn’t wait and I should go for the further testing now. Denial doesn’t like that plan. It’s only in honor of Nolan that I am listening to this whisper. I wish I wish I wish I had known the symptoms and taken him to the doctor. I’ve been told time and again that there really was nothing that could be done. His condition was so severe that no doctor would touch it, and even attempting to would most likely leave him in a perpetual vegetative state if not killing him instantly. Mine is not nearly such a big deal. Denial says it’s not a big deal at all!

The day of my initial test, I made a comment that came across as hurtful to one of my children, but I didn’t mean it to be that way. It was an honest statement. I said “I almost hope I do have what Nolan had that way I won’t have to worry about living another 60 years without him.” In hindsight, that was a horrible thing to say. But it was true that day.

The old cliche is true. Be careful, my Friends, of what you say and what you wish for. You just might get it.