Dec. 17, 2018
Hi, Readers, It’s been a hard several years for me. I shut down everything I used to find pleasure in. I was in a pit so deep, I didn’t think I’d ever return to the first love of my life; writing. I felt abandoned by God, and by those that were closest to me, I felt as if I was only there to live in the shadow of others. I felt like I wasn’t worthy of the ground I walked on. It was depression. I just wanted life to stop. However God knew this was going to happen, and he gave me the courage to talk to the people I needed to talk to, and set me on a path of recovery.
My path through depression started on 911 only I didn’t know it until years later; I didn’t understand how someone could hate America so much that they could kill 3000+ innocent people simply for being. How could humans harbor that much hate for others, much less an entire Race, ethnic, cultural or religious group? I just could not understand a hate of that depth.
My heart ached so much, I was so confused, and so angry. I’m sure the rest of the country felt the same thing, but I, myself, never let myself show that much anger. I listened to songs, and cheered the singer on when they sang a song that stirred the fire within my soul, but I never let it out. I wrote and developed characters that represented the emotions stirring within me. I continued to let it eat at me.
For a while, I actually thought that was helping me, but within a couple of years, I had hit writers block, and though I had written books and self published them, nobody was buying them. That experience compounded my depression, I couldn’t write, I had given up. Personal things started happening in my life that were keeping me busy, but they were also dragging me further into that pit, until one day I just woke up, and there was nothing but darkness. It happened so subtly that I didn’t know it was coming, until it was holding me down, and I had no strength to fight back.
Nothing that used to make me smile did anymore. I had panic attacks, anxiety, fear I could not explain. The thought of going anywhere outside of my house terrified me. I didn’t want people to tell me I was a failure. I didn’t want to believe I had totally ruined my life. I hated myself, my life, and the world I lived in. I believed everybody I met felt the same way. It was like being in a whirlpool, and I was drowning. At times I thought I would be better off dead, and my family would be better off without me, and yes I came very close to checking out. It was in my thoughts daily.
The 2016 elections rolled in, and OMGosh, so much hate, so many hateful attacks on each other’s character. The worst part was seeing it unfold between family members on Facebook. I could not believe what was happening, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not help the cracks I started seeing in the foundation in my family. I took it on myself. I was once again a failure.
I had much unpleasantness in my life as a child, and I was psychologically beaten into the definition of a submissive. I never said no, to anyone, nor did I want to disappoint anyone. Little did I know that state of mind would later set me up to fall into a deep depression. A damaged adult, who was going through the motions. I would have to justify who I was or where I came from to my own children even! It was better to melt into the shadows, and continue being his wife, or their mother, their sister or even their employee; the whole time I was being sucked into the sinkhole beneath my feet.
My writing was the one thing I was able to use as an outlet, but even that seemed to desert me at this time. I worked on crafts. I loved them, and I thought I wasn’t half bad. Again, however no one seemed to agree. This time, however, I had gotten the help I needed. I was beginning to believe in myself again. I was still gun-shy about picking up that pen, and creating a single character, because I was so afraid of “failure.”
I went through my sessions, and started the long journey of pulling myself out of the hole. The first session I talked a little, but it wasn’t until I talked about 911 did the floodgates open, and I realize that was the starting point of this whole terrible journey. I have illnesses, and conditions that keep me from working; that and the fact that my best friend and both my parents passed on, which kind of set me back a bit, but I knew what was happening, and I was able to hold on to a safety belt or something that I could use to rebound, because I recognized the signs.
I still have my moments when things try to pull me back down, but if they do, they become the topic at my next session. Will I ever be able to walk away from that office? Who knows? I’m taking it one day at a time.
Within the last month, I’ve started researching articles, and opening up my Scrivner program to not only write my blog entries, but to also work on a new writing project.
During my pre-depression days I wrote, produced, and directed stage plays; Christian themed. The last one was in the early 2000s. The reward of seeing my characters come to life, and the story unfold was like nothing I had previously experienced, and I just couldn’t explain it. I thought I would never get to feel that again. But me sitting at my lap top and taking the first step of writing the play, tells me that one day I will reach that again. At least seeing it unfold is my first goal. *Smile*
Thank you for reading, and don’t forget to leave a comment or share.
Love to all, and Merry Christmas!