I just discovered that “nervous breakdown” is not an official medical term. It is, however, a common phrase that regular folks like me use to describe a variety of mental issues that millions of people suffer from every single day. Symptoms include: fatigue, insomnia, loss of interest in once-pleasurable activities, feelings of worthlessness, indecision… and the list goes on.
Looking back on the past six months of my life I can see that I undoubtedly suffered from this unofficial malady. From the vantage point that only precious time can bring I’m quite shocked to realize that this was not a case of having the rug pulled out from under me in one unexpected moment. I can look back and see myself spiraling slowly down. I can feel the shadow-pains from countless bouts of unexplained tears, panic attacks, and an unrelenting feeling of teetering on a ledge, about to go over, and grabbing wildly at anything around me to stop myself from falling. That one big little moment was simply the nudge that pushed me over the edge.
I can remember being at the bottom of the pit, staying in bed for days… weeks really. Not being able to muster the energy to do anything I once loved. No reading, no going out, no movies, no phone calls, neglecting my husband, children, family and friends… Just day after miserable day of me drowning alone at the bottom of my puddle of excruciating self-doubt, self-pity, and hopelessness.
And now, I am quite surprised to realize, some part of my soul has been painstakingly trying to claw itself out of the darkness. It is exhausting, slow, and painful. There have been many days that I’ve slipped back down. But I am trying. And in the trying I feel I must take some solace. At least I’m no longer a crumpled heap at the bottom. I am telling myself, at this moment – with the writing of these words – that it is okay to feel a sense of accomplishment for every inch I’ve climbed away from those miserable depths. It is okay for me to feel good about having a good day. And even if I can’t have an entirely good day, I will feel good about having a good afternoon, or a good hour, or even one good thought.
I must allow myself to celebrate these accomplishments, no matter how small and insignificant they may seem to the world. I need to focus on them because, right now, to me, they are the world. I don’t want to live my life drowning in cold despair. I want to feel the sunrise of hope caress my face and warm my soul.
I can remember the old me. The woman who loved to laugh, loved to love, and loved to live. She was so fearless and head-strong, yet so completely clueless. I feel a shadow of her pass through me every once in a while and I wonder what it will take to get back to that measure of blissful happiness. Perhaps that woman no longer exists. Perhaps she’s been through too much to be the same flippant, light-hearted person who felt the world was a song.
And if there is no way to recreate a carbon copy of that woman? Maybe that’s okay, too. Maybe as I struggle upwards, I am creating a new me. Someone who can laugh, love, and live while at the same time guarding her no-longer-too-sensitive heart. Someone who can look back at the mistakes of the past and see them as the rungs of the ladder that only she can climb. Someone who can again look to the future with eyes that sparkle with hope, yet are ever alert for the razor wire that threatens to trip her up once again.
Maybe, as I continue my climb toward peace, I can leave the broken parts of the old me behind. That bleak pit of despair can become the tomb in which I lay to rest the demons of my past. I can visit her grave if I so choose, but when I do it will only be to recall the fond memories, not to join her in the darkness.
And with this new awareness I send my apologies to those around me. To my husband: I am sorry the happy and hopeful girl you married disappeared for so long. I’m sorry to have left you feeling like you were not only fighting the battle of life alone, but doing so with a helpless, lifeless wife sapping your strength. There are not sufficient words for me to tell you how much I love and appreciate you for being the knight in shining armor that valiantly fought to slay my dragons even though I would have been perfectly happy at the time to let them incinerate me.
To my children: I am so sorry that you had to watch your mother fold in upon herself. I can only imagine how upsetting that must have been. I am so grateful that, instead of letting this pull you apart, you seem to have used it to draw yourselves together. You formed your own little team and your team is awesome. I realize that there is no way to go back and fix those months of having a mother who was barely breathing, yet not really living. So many chances missed, so many memories left unmade, so many regrets… But know this: even in my darkest days, you were the flames of hope that kept me from giving up altogether. You were the little voices in my head that wouldn’t let me let go, that kept encouraging me to look up and see that brighter days were still ahead and that there were still so many, many things worth living for. Thank you for being the wonderfully imperfect little beings that you are. I look forward to rejoining your world and watching you conquer it.
To my friends and family: I feel so bad about pushing you away. I didn’t know how to be myself when I was alone with myself and the idea of trying to be someone worthy of your friendship was just too much for such a long time. It is impossible for me to tell you how much it hurts to think that I have hurt you. To those of you who took a step back and waited patiently for my return, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And to those very few of you who refused to turn away from the ugliness, who held my hand and loved me even when I couldn’t love myself, I thank you from the depths of my soul.
To those I’ve lost: I am so terribly sorry for the promises that I will not be able to keep. There is an emptiness now within me that will always be a part of my heart. I hope the pain that comes when I hear your names will someday be more bearable, but I pray that it never fully goes away. If there ever comes a time when I feel nothing when I think of you, then it would be as if you never existed, as if our happy times had never occurred. And that would be a pain far greater than the pangs of sadness I experience whenever I realize that you are no longer there.
To life: Watch out! I’m ready to start living you again.
Postcards from Mosquitoville 