The Rabbit Hole

Rereading this week'a blog posts in comparison to the posts from the last month show how different and detrimental one medication can truly have on the psyche. I definitely fell down the rabbit hole this week and went spiraling into the abyss that I haven't touched in a few months. In a few ways I am grateful that I was able to get in touch with some of the emotions that I was feeling during the months that I was losing it all right after the incident occurred, but I am looking forward to this darkness lifting and lighter, brighter days returning. My anxiety and PTSD is more manageable when I don't have depression piggybacking for the week. 

Today I opened up to my mom for the first time about what it truly felt like to have some of the feelings I was having regarding PTSD. I think there is a lot of shame regarding mental health. I know I feel so embarrassed and apologetic that there is something mentally not right with me right now. I also know that what's happening is not my fault, but it doesn't stop me from apologizing, or feeling like it is my fault. As I sat on the couch trying desperately to tell her what I was feeling, it was like I stepped out of my body and watched a muffled movie of myself in slow-motion. My heart was racing and tears freely flowed, my head filled up with fluid and seemed to just float away, and the all too familiar iron fist clamped over my heart as I explained to my mom what it was like to be perfectly fine one minute then accosted with a flashback the next. I felt like I was talking in circles and jumbles and nothing made sense, so I stopped watching me and my out-of-body self instead shifted focus to my mom, who looked confused and concerned and sad. It was becoming too much and ended abruptly when Earl needed to go outside. Once outside, the cold air shook me to my core and burned my lungs, but stopped the inner shaking. I am fine, I thought. At least you told her some of it. And I considered just showing her this blog. But I knew I wasn't that brave yet. Baby steps. Baby steps. 

It frustrates me to no end some days that I'm fine and some days I'm a jumbled mess. Some days I have the faith of Moses and some days I'm Jonah in the Whale. Some days I can't count and others I'm multiplying. Where's the happy medium? 

It's late. I need to be brave and strong. And sleep.