Faded Dreams

So May is Mental Health Month? Not something that ever really concerned me until recently. That being said, I think it has a much larger impact on me now given that I have begun the road to recovery from my own mental health issues. And if my story can help even one person then it's worth sharing.

Anxiety is no joke. I always had a manageable case of social anxiety growing up. You know, I was the kid that didn't really have many friends in school. I preferred to read rather than socialize. I hated being called on during class, presentations made my hands sweat profusely and made my stomach do backflips. I would hold on to a gum wrapper throughout an entire class just because I didn't want to be the center of attention when I got up to throw it away. I would suppress coughs or sneezes because I didn't like drawing attention to myself. School dances were a nightmare but for some reason I insisted on maintaining a sense of normalcy and... well, everyone else was going.

None of these things ever affected my daily life. Did they make me uncomfortable? Sure. Did I replay something stupid I said 10,000 times in my head and come up with a million better ways to have said it? Absolutely! But not once do I recall ever having an anxiety attack as a result. Although I'm sure those presentations brought me pretty close more than once.

Today is a different story. Today I fight off anxiety attacks a few times a week. What changed? Was there a turning point in my life? Did things just build up over time and eventually tip the scales? Was there some sort of traumatic event? Yep. That's it. That one, right there. Traumatic event. Flashback incoming:

Here's the thing, I had very few constant support systems in my life. Mom died at an early age. I had my dad, of course. And my brother. Had my best friend in the entire world that I had known since we were five! Gosh, she's a life saver. Probably more than she will ever know. Then I had my relationship. My other half. My S.O. We met in 2005 when we were 17 years old working a summer job at our local movie theater. Started dating in October of that year. Moved in together in December of the next year. We were the proud parents of two doggos. We spent 12 years of our lives together. Until it all came crashing down at once.

It took a only one session of speaking with a specialist for them to clearly define what had happened to me. PTSD. I always associated it with veterans and the like. People that experience extremely horrific situations on a regular level. But I guess everyone has their breaking point. So pretty much it was one loss on top of another that pushed me past mine. My best friend moved across the country. Not a huge loss... I still talk to her regularly. But part of my support system and really the only social life I had was chipped away. My dad died. Another chip. Lost my childhood home. One more chip. And then the big one. My whole world was shaken up when I lost my significant other. Then the fur babies. Things just piled up all within a short time period and I buckled under the weight of it.

I guess it started in the summer of 2017. That's when I felt my world begin to really fall apart. Bestie had recently moved. I came home from work one night and the S.O. was asleep, snoring lightly. I hung up my purse and took off my shoes. I went to wake him up when I realized that he wasn't snoring. He was gasping for air. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he couldn't breathe. To say I freaked out was an understatement. I called my brother who lived very close and he came over and asked if he had any history of night terrors. No. Seizures? Nope. So he helped me roll my boyfriend over just to eliminate the chance of choking on vomit. That's when we saw the lighter. And the aluminum foil. And the charred remains of some drug. We continued trying to wake him. I called his 'friend' that he had been spending so much time with lately. He couldn't tell me what the substance was, only that I shouldn't call an ambulance. He would come out of it, this friend assured me, and I wouldn't want authorities to find drugs in my home. What a dumb thing to believe but I was naive. Okay, so what now??? My brother and I started to carry him to my car so could make the short trip to the ER. We got about halfway through the house and my boyfriend just snapped out of it. Just popped up like nothing was wrong. Started asking us what was going on. I broke down crying on the floor. I told him if he ever did anything like that again it was over between us.

October of 2017 my dad is hospitalized. His organs are shutting down and he's on life support. For two weeks I drive an hour and a half each way every day to be at his side. Early November he passes away. I'm heartbroken but I've been through this before so I know I will recover. The funeral passes quickly this time. I guess I wasn't dreading it as much as mom's. Thanksgiving and Christmas come and go. I had moved back in with my father when he started to get sick. He left no will and the medical bills are substantial. My brother and I prepare to lose the home we grew up in. In the process of packing things I notice that my significant other is missing quite frequently. Spending the night at friends' places. Taking my vehicle.

After about a five day stretch in February of not hearing from him, having no idea who he is with, where he is, what he's doing, if he's even alive, I get on his computer to see if I can get in contact with his friends through Facebook. He hasn't replied to my texts or messages. He won't answer my calls. So I open his laptop and sign in. The first string of messages I see are to a woman named Angel. I know I shouldn't open it. I know I don't want to see whatever is in there. But I'd also like some peace of mind. After looking through months of lewd photos and videos sent between them I pick up my phone and text my best friend. I warn her to be prepared for an onslaught of ugly crying as I'm about to end my 12 year relationship.

The next message I send is to him after 10 phone calls at 4am on February 28, 2018:

You have until noon to bring my car back to me or I will report it stolen.

He calls back in less than 30 minutes. He's in the driveway before 8am. We make arrangements for him to stay in the guest room until he finds a place to live or until the bank forecloses because I'm not heartless and don't want him to be homeless. I find a place to move into shortly after and start a new chapter in my life.

A new chapter filled with insomnia, an eating disorder, depression and anxiety. See, somehow, after all that my brain decided that it was my fault the relationship failed. Because when I asked him why he did it he said he was bored. And in my mind that meant he was bored of me. I was boring. So I began to use negative self talk as a coping mechanism. I hid the breakup from my family, friends, and colleagues for months. I was ashamed. I stopped eating because my depression told me he didn't want me because I was fat. I went from 170 to 130 pounds in less than two months. I stopped sleeping because I couldn't turn off the negative thoughts. I started to have anxiety attacks when the thoughts became overwhelming. I would go to Angel's profile and look at her picture and berate myself for not being as pretty as her, or as fit, or as intriguing. I would wonder why I wasn't enough. I would clench my fists so tight my fingernails cut into the palms of my hands. My heartbeat would start racing. I would start to hyperventilate and feel sick. It got so bad that a friend from work had to tell me to go talk to someone. He knew something was up and I honestly don't know if I would be here today if he had not intervened.

Oh yeah, and Valentine's Day too!  J and I started our day by loading the car with two totes of books that I had selected to give away.

We made the long and arduous journey to a local Little Free Library (www.littlefreelibrary.org) which was almost empty.  Of course, we packed it full and drove on to the next one. 

After a few more stops at local LFLs we decided to grab a sweet treat.  Who can say no to ColdStone ice cream?! 

I left a BookCrossing (www.bookcrossing.com) registered book at the bus stop and we walked across the shopping strip to browse one of my favorite bookstores. My Valentine's gift was a surprise book shopping spree.  I limited myself to five titles since I already have so many to read!  On the way back to the car I dropped a few more from my tote into the Better World Books (www.betterworldbooks.com) drop bin. 

We ordered a pizza and headed home. Of course, we watched an episode of Supernatural while eating pizza. Then, in the spirit of Book Giving Day, he proposed that we read some of the books that we had gifted each other.  J is not much of a reader so I was shocked at first, then quickly agreed.  I finished off the night by offering up a four book set on the BookCrossing forum, inquired about hosting a book drive for Book Harvest in Raleigh, and signed up as a volunteer to sort books at the Books For Africa warehouse in Atlanta, GA. 

   It’s odd that after sixteen years my heart still knows when to twist itself into countless knots.  September 14, 2000 seems like a lifetime ago.  In some ways it actually was a lifetime ago.  So much has changed since then.  Despite that I’ve found myself in a rare mood recently and could not place it.  I guess some things are a constant no matter how many lifetimes pass by.  At first I thought that I was just experiencing a case of loneliness as it’s been a while since I’ve had some time to myself.  I’ve been distracting myself a lot lately; trying to remain active and occupied, and now that I look back I can see that it was just a defense mechanism.

   There it was, painfully clear on the calendar hanging from my bulletin board.  Bold letters right under that MX photo… S-E-P-T-E-M-B-E-R.  Well shit.  Instantly, I began to berate myself.  “How could you not realize?!"  "Of course you feel awful!"  "Did you really forget?”

   Truth is… you never forget.  Your mind, body, heart and soul will not allow you to forget.  Fifteen years ago that loss was a sharp, stabbing pain.  The debilitating kind that renders you completely helpless at times.  Raw emotion just surging uncontrollably from a fresh wound.  Sometimes you can stitch it closed enough that it’s not the first thing on your mind when you wake up in the morning.  It’s still there though.  That ugly, crude, tender bit of flesh that you just know will leave a repulsive scar.  Fast forward a few years and you get to the point that it’s less hideous and fresh.  There is a chance that you may go a few days without remembering that pain.  The scar is there, but sometimes it goes unnoticed. A few years after that and you’ve almost got that broken shard of your soul under control.  It’s no longer that heart-wrenching, incapacitating, agonizing sorrow that it used to be.  Now it’s become a dull ache.  The anguish is still there but it’s a faded sort of grief that’s much easier to manage.  But you will never forget.

No, it will never go away.  But honestly, I don’t want it to.  If, every once in a while, those stitches rip open and that rawness becomes new and real again… I can deal with that.  It lets me know that I haven’t forgotten her.  That she’s always going to be with me.  And if my memory of her is threatened by the years that go by I want that wound to open back up and scream, “Hey!  Look, you can’t forget!”

Margaret Lomax