This one won’t be an easy read, it may cause tears and it definitely tackles some hard subjects that might be triggering for some. If that is you, if you are in a bad place right now and can’t read sad things, please skip this today. Come back another day when it’s easier to read, and less raw, and I wish you well. I hope this paragraph is long enough to prevent any distress, because here it goes…
It’s been too long since I’ve written, for so many reasons. Because although I am not depressed, I absolutely suffer from horrifying and oppressive depressive episodes, and they really, really suck. And the demons crawl out their boxes and say horrible things and provide vividly horrible images. And they get hard and heavy and did you know that extreme emotions make narcolepsy symptoms worse? So then as your mind is feeding you awful ideation images, your head feels like a bowling ball about to fall off your shoulders. So you lay down and hope that it will be better, and get up to find the bowling ball is still there.
It always surprises me, every Spring, the depression that comes along. Then Facebook reminds me why I am sad. You see, even though I have my little girl, I gave birth to a baby that was already lost on March 30th, 7 years ago. During the two week period between her birth/death day and her funeral, which very few people attended because it was too sad for them (and that is ok), Easter fell exactly between. And I cannot help but remember following behind my little boy as he hunted for eggs, holding an empty belly wishing there was someone still there. I cannot help but remember the earth shattering utter emptiness that did not leave for months. It didn’t leave until I had hope for a baby again, and then the fear set in.
Unfortunately traumas are brought up by so many things, including seasons, holidays, and so much more. Although it is my mission here on this blog to encourage positivity and self-worth and leave you on an encouraging note, sometimes I think it is equally important to tell you it is ok to hurt. And honestly, I don’t think that I could continue writing if I weren’t transparent about the fact that sometimes I just hurt, too. It’s been 7 years, hopefully next year I remember to let the wave take me so that it can go out to sea again, rather than sitting stuck, fighting it on the shore.