I once saw a show where the son stormed out screaming at his mom 'I HATE YOU!' She then replied to herself, 'Good at least you have some emotion towards me and that is better than nothing. I can live with that.'
At the end of September of 2010, I had sunk into such a deep depression that I felt nothing. I had no emotion left to give. I didn't care about anything. I lived each day but I really didn't care about anything. My children only went to school because it took more energy to keep them home. I did what was needed to survive. I spent many days not even showering. Sometimes that was because it hurt to even wash my hair. I think it even was a chore to even remember to breathe. I felt nothing. I cried very little and only because crying made the headaches worse. My pit was never ending. I was falling into nothingness. I remember very little from that time. I probably became a real-life zombie. I ate to just feel something. Not brains but food. My family was worried I would commit suicide but to be honest, even that would have taken up too much energy. I just didn't have it in me. I think I even morbidly joked with my doctor at the time that I was "cheaper" staying alive than dead because I had no life insurance. If I died, my burial cost would be hard on my family. To be honest, I didn't even care. I stayed at home as much as possible. I wore sweats as much as possible. I just moved as little as possible. I tried not to take pain meds if I could help it because Vicodin made me "feel" angry and that was just not going to happen. I'd rather live with the pressure of my headaches and the pain that to feel emotions or even care.
I remember the night very well. It was our school's homecoming. It is a BIG deal in our family. Our children dress up in our school's colors. I take pictures. We go to the game. We cheer wildly ~ win or lose. But that year, I didn't care. The family went. I stayed at home. I can't even remember if it was at the end of September or the beginning of October. My birthday is the beginning of October and I don't even remember it that year. I just had no feelings. Either way. I was a walking dead woman. It was then that my family had had enough. I had even scared my younger siblings who do not scare very easily. They were so worried that I would do physical harm to myself which looking back is sort of laughable because I was so tired of it all that I had no energy to do anything. I really didn't even care about life nor death at that point. Regardless, my parents had "hatched" a plan with my husband and they came and got me. At first, they were going to take me to the ER and have me admitted to the psych ward. I told them NO! I was not going to sit there and explain my diagnosis to people who didn't understand and didn't know how to treat me. I was tired of being a "freak" to the medical field. I was already on antidepressants. I kept going on and on about how I was NOT going to take my life. I was just tired...really, really tired. So, instead, my parents took me to their house to spend the weekend. Away from my house where I had made myself a prisoner and away from my kids. I was to have no contact with my family and to just rest.
I did take some medication that night and was told just to sleep as long as I needed. Between Friday night and Sunday morning, I estimated that I slept for close to 20 hours. Most of it was unmedicated. I was just tired. Tired of life. Tired with all the new medication. I had not listened to my body. I was depressed and beyond it all. I slept even more on Sunday and went home that evening. I was beginning to understand what I needed to do to "survive" this new me.
In early November of 2010, my brother needed someone to go with him down to the Gulf Shores of Mississippi so that my nephew's mother's family could celebrate his birthday. My family new I needed a break. I was able to book a room in a neat hotel off the beaten path. It was an old plantation house and had peacocks that roamed free. I needed some more time alone to figure it all out.
Emotions are hard when you don't understand what your future will hold. Who are you angry at? Was it my fault? Could it all have been preventable? I felt helpless and hopeless. Down and broken. I really didn't know where to go or who to turn to during this time. Then the age-old one question always remains ~ Why?
I sat on my bed and looked into the mirror. On the vanity sat the row of prescription meds all facing me. I looked at me. I looked at them. What a mess I had become. I used to be so strong. I used to be so capable. Now I was just a broken woman sitting alone in a room staring down at bottles of prescription drugs wondering what in the world had my life become? I started to pray. "God what is it you want from me? Was my time with Jesus after the surgery real? What do you want me to do with my broken body and my life? What am I to become?"
I just sat there after that prayer. I didn't know what else to say to Him. I didn't know what else to pray to Him. Complete healing? To get off all those medications? I just didn't know. But in the stillness and quietness of that moment, I heard "Write a book about it. Share your story. Be the light to those that have broken bodies." WHAT?!? ME? I didn't think I could do that. "GOD! I am NOT worthy of that!! I wouldn't even know where to start." Then, I heard it again "Write a book about your journey. Be the light to those that have broken bodies." I started crying. I just didn't think I could do that but I did think more on it.
The next morning, I was eating breakfast. How would I even explain my situation to others that the could understand? They look at me and see someone who doesn't look sick. It was a beautiful sunny day. The peacocks were out. I cannot describe that moment when I looked down at this beautiful watch my grandmother had given me. My grandmother passed away in January of 2007. In December of 2006, she gave me a watch that is costume jewelry but it is beautiful. In August of 2010, I notice the time was a little off. I fixed it, but a day later, the time was off again. It kept losing time. I knew the battery was dying. I had two choices at that point. One, I could take it off and either throw it out or put it away to never be used again. It would be useless if it was dead. Or, I could take it in and have a new battery put in. It was running slow. I could have kept fixing the time but it would have still lost time until eventually the battery would have died. On the outside, it still looked beautiful. No one else knew it was broken, but me. I didn't yell out it and scream "YOU ARE A WASTE OF SPACE! WORK RIGHT OR I'LL THROW YOU AWAY!!" I didn't pray for complete healing of the battery. I knew that God could fix the battery and keep it running for eternity. I didn't bash it or call it ugly names. I just took it to a person who could fix it. They put a new battery in it. It is still working to this day. Not all the parts are it's original parts, but I still love it. I still wear it. It still means something to me. I pray it is never lost to me. It has a little scratch now where the jeweler opening the back accidentally did to get the back open. It has character now. Only I know that part. No one else looking at that watch knows that it is broken or once was broken on the inside or has that little scratch on the back. So, if I treat that watch like that, how much more am I worth? Or anybody who has a broken body worth?
I was blown away sitting there at that table staring at the beauty of God's work. I knew then I would write that book. I just didn't know how the story would go or when I would start it. I was starting to see dawn for the first time. It was slowly emerging over the horizon for me. My darkness was ending but it was a long way from being over.
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