A Wiser Me, Hopefully

I have been writing this posting for almost 3 weeks. But, instead of posting it, I have just saved it, and left it there, too embarrassed to press "Post". It has been a very long time since I have written. Really, it's been a long time since I've made any contact with very many people. I kind of feel like I fell off the face of the earth, pushing people away as I went. Pushing my family, friends, and even my husband away. Instead, I smiled. Just smiled. I never let anyone know what was going on. I never let anyone know how I have REALLY been. Never letting anyone know the changes that have been happening, more rapidly than I could keep up with, at times.

Well, since then, thanks to my husbands insistence and force, basically, I have been seeing a therapist. YUP!.....I'll let you take that in for a minute.....ready? Ok. A lot of my friends and family had no idea that I have been talking to someone, or on anti-depressants. So, I'm sorry if you feel angry at me for not confiding that in you. For those of you who know me, the thought of ME seeing a therapist, is crazy in itself. Me asking for help, has never been in my train of thought, but now, I have no choice. I have to do this. My therapist, and my husband, both agree, that I need to be writing again, and have been nagging me about it for a month and a half now. I didn't want to. I was scared to death to keep writing. I've always felt that if I am going to do this, I am going to be brutally honest, no matter what, because they are my feelings, and my situations, and my take on those situations. It's my therapy. It's my journal. It's my story. So, because of an issue I had a while back, I decided that if I can't be honest, and uncensored about my feelings, then I wasn't going to do it at all.

Over that period of time, stopping writing, I slowly stopped life. I slowly became more withdrawn than I already was. I became uncomfortable around big groups of people. I became scared to leave the house. I was scared to let my kids be without me. I became scared of being left alone, in the quiet of my home, at night, with my own thoughts. I started to become a bit of a recluse. I concentrated a lot on keeping the house very clean, keeping my husband happy, spoiling my kids, and just doing for others. Right around Thanksgiving, I started having really terrible thoughts, worse than the normal, "I'm not good enough", "I'm not perfect", "I killed my daughter, I'm a murderer", all of those things. I started having major anxiety about every little thing. Anything and everything anyone put in front of me, was just too much to handle, and too much of a stress. I wanted nothing to do with anything anyone had for me. I stopped life. I lived for my family, and that was it. I felt I didn't deserve any happiness.

It went over board when I started having suicidal thoughts. I felt like I was a huge burden on my sweet husband, who was working himself so hard with his career, taking care of the family, when he was home, and trying to take care of me. I was causing him so much stress, and worry, and it was killing me......and him. I saw what the loss of our daughter had done to my children. What it was doing to my Sarah-Bear. I hated that, in my mind, I had brought this darkness into such a sweet and vibrant life. I hated that I had changed her and Lucas, and shown them a portion of reality, instead of keeping life magical, for as long as I could. I took responsibility for that, and still do.

Allan was noticing all of these rapid changes, along with a rapid weight loss, due to not eating, because of a lack of appetite, and decided to contact a therapist for me. I refused. Also, if you know me, you know I am probably the most stubborn person that has ever lived. I just wanted to figure this out on my own. I felt like it was weak to seek help for this problem. I agreed to go, however, to make him happy, and ease some of his stress. Deep down, I knew I couldn't do anything to help this, and I was drowning. I knew that, if given 6 more months, I would be in an even worse spot. I was scared of myself, at that point.

So, I have been seeing a therapist. It's been a few months of me seeing her once a week, of me trying different anti-depressants, and now, she, along with my OB, has recommended that I see a psychiatrist, to help with all of this, along with seeing her. I am still VERY angry at the fact that I cannot fix this myself, and I still have major anxiety every night that I have to take a pill. I shouldn't. It's not weak to see a doctor when you're sick, or take an antibiotic to help your body fight off infection. It's helping! I am very supportive of anyone seeking help, for these issues........except myself. I am the one that helps other people. I am the one that is strong for others, offers advice, drops everything to come help them, smiles, and hugs, and brings food when they need cheering up. I am never the one that asks for it, or expects it.

My therapist has asked me to start writing again, along with my husband. They see the value in it, and the changes in me when I'm writing, versus, when I'm not. I didn't want to write, if I couldn't keep publishing it.......but then, I'm scared of what people will think when I write about these very personal issues, that have come about recently. My therapist questioned why I need it public, along with my husband. The answer is simple.......no matter what, I want to help people. The biggest thing that helped me, in the first year, after Eleanors death, was simple validation. Someone saying, "Yea, I did that too.", "No you're not crazy", "We've all been there", "You're ok", "You're not nuts." Just someone saying, "I felt that too, when I was in your situation." Or even, "I would feel the exact same way, I think." I want to give that to someone else. I want to help someone else stay away from the same dark spot that I am in now. I want to help other people, who have relatives in similar situations as me, to gain some sort of understanding of what their loved ones may be going through and thinking. Give them some insight that they may not other wise have. I just want this terrible situation, to bring light to others, and help others. Not only that, but I want my children to be able to read everything that their mother went through, and have something to be proud of me for. I want them to know that I kept fighting, when everything inside of my head said that I can't do it, I should give up, I'm nothing, I'm worthless, and I'm a bad mom. I want them to know that I kept going, and kept fighting, and I came out better, because of it. I want this to have a bigger purpose.

I have been thinking about it for a while, and my husband was hesitant still about saying he agreed with me about posting things publicly again, until I received an email from a dear friend of mine, telling me how I have helped him, and how much he admires my writing, which means a lot to me, since he's a professional writer....and I'm far from it. HAHA! I showed that email to my husband, and said, "That's why I want it to not be private." And finally, he got it, understood it, and said, "You're right. Go for it!"

So, here I am, again. A bit more censored, scared to death, guarded and crazy now, literally! HA! But, with all of that fear, and crazy even, comes more knowledge, hopefully more wisdom, and more passion to push through the fear and guards, and be brave enough to share myself again, and my experiences along this bumpy road.