So...what actually happened?

Part One

I decided to start and maintain this blog for a few reasons. One, I know my writing will help someone at some point, even if that is only one singular person. Two, I want my kids to have something to look at and read and be proud of. And three, what I went through and how I survived is an important part of my life now; I got a second chance, a “do over”. To be blunt, I am not the same person I was before all of this happened. This post could be triggering.

I would compare my problem-solving skills to my favorite video game, Tetris. I would scratch off just enough of the surface of an issue to label it “taken care of”, allowing just a little more room. I would quickly find a place to barely squeeze a puzzle piece into, just in the nick of time, making room for what would fall next. Work on what I could, as quickly as I could, and then move on because more is coming…solve it and get ready. I did not have the time or space to process and heal from anything. I am the one everyone relies on.  

A couple of weeks before my brain shut down, I acknowledged my “cup” was approaching overflow. Every single day, I heard…

“You have too much on your plate”.

“You are too busy.”

“You have too much going on.”

“You are burning the candle from both ends.”

“Something is going to have to give.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

There were some days where I felt like I could not breathe. When the overwhelm started to tighten its grip on my voice, my breath, my heart, I would try to meditate but it would be half assed. I would read something spiritual. I would cry alone (too afraid to be weak) and do anything to block out the feelings of unworthiness or struggle and remind myself that I am the strong one.

What I did not realize is, I was giving and spreading breadcrumbs. I was giving little, tiny bits of my energy and love to everyone, including myself. No one, not even my children were getting all of me. I did not know that I was something worth giving. I would ask the Universe, “why isn’t this enough”? “What am I doing wrong?” I would answer myself with, “I’ll work harder, because there isn’t anything I can’t accomplish”.

The realization that something might not be right set in about a week before my “mental minute” erupted. I remember saying, “I’m having a difficult time”,  “I am becoming overwhelmed”, “I am starting to feel like I am drowning”. When you spend an infinite amount of time establishing yourself as the person who can handle it all, those phrases are heard and simultaneously pushed aside.

Twice, I woke up in the middle of the night sweating and out of breath…I was panicked and anxious in my sleep. That’s how bad it was.

I have spent my life being a people pleaser. Always saying “yes” and agreeing, I would do anything and everything to keep the people I interacted with content. I was juggling, too afraid to be honest, too chicken shit to hurt anyone’s feelings.

On a Wednesday morning in September, all the pressure of “who” and “what” I am supposed to be came crashing down. Hard.

I remember being in my office, surrounded by inspirational messages that I had written on post it notes, just a few days before. I was processing feelings about my weight, my eating habits and body image, cataloging everything I had eaten the day prior.  The last clear thought I remember was “I do not have it in me anymore to pretend I am ok”.

“I don’t have the strength for this anymore”.

I remember being told to lay down.

My awareness and memory of the rest of the week is fragmented, like little snap shots. I still struggle to piece it all together.

I did, however, take A LOT of notes and when I came out of the fog, I read through the pile of psychotic ramblings. I could not believe what I was reading, partially because I did not remember writing it and partially because of how raw and honest I was. In my dissociation, I lost my ability to bullshit myself.

For example:

            Unsure if I am truly seeing through the fog or not, I am struggling with accepting what is real and what is not. Trying to piece myself together after the past few days, I realize that I am stuck in a phase of in between. I don’t know what is real and not real and that makes me feel panicked, scared, and unsure. I don’t want to be alone. I’m too scared. I don’t trust that I can make decisions that are important for myself, my safety, the kids. I feel like I should not be left alone with my brain. It’s a frightening place to be.

I could not take care of myself, and I could not parent my kids. The beautiful, incredible human beings that I brought into this world and relied on me every day had no idea that I was cracked, crumbling, and broken. In my heart, I felt that they deserved so much more than I could give.

My senses were all dull. I could not hear clearly, taste anything, feel physical temperature changes or touch. I was told my basic reptilian brain took over; survival was all I could manage and that was iffy at best.

During the week that I was having a legitimate and diagnosed out of body experience, I barely ate. I slept all the time, cried, vomited, online shopped, responded to group text messages, and figured out ways to text out of work so I didn’t have to talk to anyone; I could barely form a sentence that made sense. I lost my ability to be strong, to care.  I lost my motivation, spark, and purpose.

I think one of the most difficult components to accept in all of this (aside from grieving the people I have lost since September) is the fact that I thought I was already on the right path. Over the summer I was working hard to reinvent myself; a rebrand if you will. I had no idea that time would be the considered the calm before the storm.

Stay tuned for part two.