I Am Stronger
Once upon a time I used to sleep broken. Days seemed long after my marriage ended so I would get home ready to crawl into bed. But after I would put little man to bed, I'd lay on the couch (sleeping in a bed seemed pointless...I still sleep on the couch to this day) staring at the ceiling. And all the deadness I forced throughout the day would disappear, and I would just cry for hours (yes, HOURS) until that illusive sleep finally took me to an evening of nightmares and uncertainty.
Music used to be my solace. I bought a keyboard with 88 ivory and ebony keys, 150 synthesized instrumental sounds, 80 beats, and a plug in for headphones so I could play endlessly without disturbing the neighbors. I pounded out the saddest songs in those days in minor, demented scales and chords. The heart can break completely in one instant moment but can take nights and nights to heal. I didn't heal during the day. It was in the evenings that I began to heal as I sang to myself, talked to myself, and prayed on my knees.
There are many things that still haunt me. I still wake up in the middle of the night usually 3am, crying for the things I lost. Dallace, my baby angels, my family. I still suffer from some post traumatic stress. Just last month I went to a CPR/first aid class and had a mini breakdown and got snot all over a mannequin. All I could see was my brother's blue lips and I still remember the smell on his body. I was fighting the urge to run and was doing okay until the instructor said, "It's different in real life...you cannot predict success. You can only try your best and leave the rest to God." Cue tears and snot. Those that were laughing and making jokes are fortunate to have never learned how so very true that phrase is; lucky bastards.
In all the years I'd been taking CPR classes, no one taught me how to deal with an unsuccessful attempt at saving a life. No one tells you you'll blame yourself or that guilt will grip onto your soul until it crushes your will to live. No one teaches you how to get help. I stumbled through life barely wanting to go on. I couldn't enjoy the love of the family still remaining because I was so crippled by the guilt and shame of losing one brother.
The only reason I am still here, I swear, is because of the grace of God, my son's need and love for me (there is no purer love than the love of my son), and therapy and Xanax. Xanax kept me dead especially for the part of my life where it was very difficult not to feel like a complete loser and utterly useless. When life was unbearable because I felt like such a damn loser. Many people said Jesus will save you; and while I do believe in His redeeming grace, I swear if I had not drugged myself for that part of life, I would not be here today. It was only when I was numb that I could look upon the cross and count on it. I had to change my way of thinking. Because when you're that down and blue and depressed, every space in your mind drinks up negativity like water in a dessert. All your thoughts turn to black. Xanax made space for that tiny tunnel of light, allowed it to save that very small part of me that wanted to hang on and fight.
I would not recommend being on it forever. Just until you can change your way of thinking because I supplemented my use of it with exercise, diet, meditation, and discovering new things I liked to do like crochet, cake making, and rediscovering my love and passion to write. I did stop taking Xanax when I reached a better point in my life. Because it does make you numb. A little too numb. I let too many people walk all over me or manipulate me because I was so numb and didn't care about anything. So I slowly took myself off and found other therapeutic ways to deal with the heaviness of my anger, sadness, and guilt.
I'm not even sure why I'm sharing this. Maybe it's part of my therapy. I never told anyone and I don't know why I'm telling it now. But I feel the universe is asking for me to tell this part of my story. Someone out there might want to hear it. And that's the only reason I ever write these days. Because someone needs to hear it. People always ask me how did you do it? How did you survive? Slowly. One lonely step at a time. One sad step to the next. Until I found a better path and learned I am stronger than I'd ever been before because I did lose all the things I thought I could not live without.
Life is unpredictable, and it almost never turns out how you envisioned. But it's still worth the breath to live and you'll frown and cry some days; but often enough, you'll laugh and play like nothing bad ever happened to you. The universe will always balance out my life like that.
Music used to be my solace. I bought a keyboard with 88 ivory and ebony keys, 150 synthesized instrumental sounds, 80 beats, and a plug in for headphones so I could play endlessly without disturbing the neighbors. I pounded out the saddest songs in those days in minor, demented scales and chords. The heart can break completely in one instant moment but can take nights and nights to heal. I didn't heal during the day. It was in the evenings that I began to heal as I sang to myself, talked to myself, and prayed on my knees.
There are many things that still haunt me. I still wake up in the middle of the night usually 3am, crying for the things I lost. Dallace, my baby angels, my family. I still suffer from some post traumatic stress. Just last month I went to a CPR/first aid class and had a mini breakdown and got snot all over a mannequin. All I could see was my brother's blue lips and I still remember the smell on his body. I was fighting the urge to run and was doing okay until the instructor said, "It's different in real life...you cannot predict success. You can only try your best and leave the rest to God." Cue tears and snot. Those that were laughing and making jokes are fortunate to have never learned how so very true that phrase is; lucky bastards.
In all the years I'd been taking CPR classes, no one taught me how to deal with an unsuccessful attempt at saving a life. No one tells you you'll blame yourself or that guilt will grip onto your soul until it crushes your will to live. No one teaches you how to get help. I stumbled through life barely wanting to go on. I couldn't enjoy the love of the family still remaining because I was so crippled by the guilt and shame of losing one brother.
The only reason I am still here, I swear, is because of the grace of God, my son's need and love for me (there is no purer love than the love of my son), and therapy and Xanax. Xanax kept me dead especially for the part of my life where it was very difficult not to feel like a complete loser and utterly useless. When life was unbearable because I felt like such a damn loser. Many people said Jesus will save you; and while I do believe in His redeeming grace, I swear if I had not drugged myself for that part of life, I would not be here today. It was only when I was numb that I could look upon the cross and count on it. I had to change my way of thinking. Because when you're that down and blue and depressed, every space in your mind drinks up negativity like water in a dessert. All your thoughts turn to black. Xanax made space for that tiny tunnel of light, allowed it to save that very small part of me that wanted to hang on and fight.
I would not recommend being on it forever. Just until you can change your way of thinking because I supplemented my use of it with exercise, diet, meditation, and discovering new things I liked to do like crochet, cake making, and rediscovering my love and passion to write. I did stop taking Xanax when I reached a better point in my life. Because it does make you numb. A little too numb. I let too many people walk all over me or manipulate me because I was so numb and didn't care about anything. So I slowly took myself off and found other therapeutic ways to deal with the heaviness of my anger, sadness, and guilt.
I'm not even sure why I'm sharing this. Maybe it's part of my therapy. I never told anyone and I don't know why I'm telling it now. But I feel the universe is asking for me to tell this part of my story. Someone out there might want to hear it. And that's the only reason I ever write these days. Because someone needs to hear it. People always ask me how did you do it? How did you survive? Slowly. One lonely step at a time. One sad step to the next. Until I found a better path and learned I am stronger than I'd ever been before because I did lose all the things I thought I could not live without.
Life is unpredictable, and it almost never turns out how you envisioned. But it's still worth the breath to live and you'll frown and cry some days; but often enough, you'll laugh and play like nothing bad ever happened to you. The universe will always balance out my life like that.
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