I drove around for hours. I was searching for something.
I didn’t find it.
I couldn’t find it.
For no matter how wonderful our people are, nobody walks through this one life of ours completely by our sides.
I’ve been in a season of reckoning. of becoming. of mourning. of questioning. of gratitude. of letting go. and of moving forward.
Last night in therapy, I sobbed.
My memories had been flooding in as of late...
Memories of being covered in my own vomit on bathroom floors from excessive doses of medication I was given for an illness I did even have.
Memories of hours locking myself in the closet quaking in terror to hide from hallucinations that those medications created.
Memories of sleepless nights and days spent washing myself over and over again with bleach to wash all the darkness and hallucinations away.
...and they had caught up with me.
Towards the end of the session, my pain turned towards anger:
“And nobody gets it. I am so alone in this.
I survived hell.
I survived being poisoned with meds for nearly a decade.
I survived friends and lovers and doctors giving up on me.
But nobody completely gets it.
Nobody is here with me in this pain.
Even if they want to be with me in this pain.
They cannot be.
I just want someone who was there with me.
To scream with.
To cry with.
To laugh with.
To be silent with.
To just get it.”
And then, after nearly an hour of weeping, a calm washed over me.
I raised my head.
I took a deep breath of pause.
“But I was there. I get it.
I can be there for me.
And that, that’s the truth that counts.
Yes, how spectacularly that counts.”