The Brave One

Yeah, he’s still coming, just a little bit late
He got stuck at the laundromat washing his cape”  ~Waiting for Superman, Daughtry

     I have been reading my old posts and I am taken aback by how helpless, weak, and, well, whiny I was. Don't get me wrong, I had plenty of reasons, I just never wanted to end up that way. Thankfully, I didn't. Throughout all of those posts was a recurring theme, "Someone please save me!"  I was waiting for Superman, he never came, but I am on my way to a "helluva life" anyway.

     Confession time, and this is very difficult. I will always have a reminder of how I had felt about myself throughout my whole life just by looking down. After clawing and fighting, scraped knuckles and bruised knees (metaphorically) I was tired, sick, and honestly just DONE! After a particularly rough patch in life I went down that same old familiar path of self-hatred and loathing. I went into the bathroom, which has always been my "safe" place and slammed my head into the floor over and over.  When that didn't make me feel better I punched myself several times then slammed my hand in the bathroom door. Nope, that storm inside of me was still raging!! I took my tweezers with the sharp pointy ends and carved the words "weak bitch" into my leg. Big, for all the world to see. Now that is a scarlet letter, so to speak, marking me forever. Afterwards, I took a large amount of pills and passed out on the bathroom floor.  I believe during those hours on the floor a war was raging inside of me. It was do or die time. (literally).  I got the help I needed. I had a brief "break" with 42 other women, very much like me,  in a hospital. My diagnosis is PTSD.   I realized Superman wasn't coming. He doesn't exist. I had to save myself. I left the facility motivated and eager to begin the work to rebuild, no that's wrong, restructure, my life. I say this because my past will always be there like a long shadow in the late afternoon sun. Forgetting and ignoring it had brought me to that place after all, so after 47 years I decided to find out who Roberta is.  

      As I walked out of that building I thought, "I'll have my shit together by Christmas." WRONG!  This will never leave me. I can look back at my life and see shackles and barbed wire or I can see a blurry picture of the girl I used to be.  What happened to me did not break me and will not define me. You see, I am not a "weak bitch."  I am one of the brave ones. The scrappers, the fighters, the survivors.  I have learned a few things since July 11.  No one will lay a hand on me ever again. If they do I will fight back!!  I will never stuff down and ignore my feelings, for they come back, always lurking and haunting, and eventually must be dealt with. Even 20, 30 or 40 years later.  I can, and do set my boundaries. It's ok to say it's not ok!!   I have also discovered I am a bitch to be reckoned with.  There is a storm inside me alright, but I am no longer afraid of storms. Bring it on. Winds can rage, rain can come down in torrents, thunder and lightening can shake and scream.  I will stand, exhausted from fighting the winds, hair crazy curly and frizzy from the rain,  but standing.

     So many people are out there Waiting for Superman.  Not moving forward, not moving back, just stuck, waiting. I want to scream "MOVE YOUR LEGS" but they can't hear. Their storm is too loud in their heads.  My hope is they find their way. For those of us with mental disorders life is a never ending prize fight.  One bell to the next, fighting and dodging, refusing to get knocked out. I can be trained. I can be in fighting shape and have my game face on but the bell will always ring. That's ok. I don't need Superman to help me fight.  I saved myself. 

     So, when I look down and see my forever scar on my leg, I will see it as a war wound. A visible scar representing all of the invisible ones inside of me. I considered covering it with a tattoo, but I won't, it will remain there to remind me who saved me in the end. I am not a Superhero, but yet I still fight, day in and day out.  I have a lot more self-saving to do, and I'm looking forward to the challenge!

“Superheroes were born in the minds of people desperate to be rescued.

Jodi Picoult, The Tenth Circle
       

Clear Eyes Full Heart

Clear Eyes, Full Heart, Can't Lose.   -Peter Berg (Friday Night Lights)
      Being a huge sports fan I love this quote as it relates to football, or sports in general. My son and I watched the movie "Friday Night Lights" last weekend and the actual quote by Billy Bob Thorton's character was "Clear Eyes and a heart full of love" Peter Berg adapted it for the television series. It really got my mind going. 
      As I read through all my previous blog posts, I was saddened, shocked and a little ashamed. Wow, how I spiraled to such an incredibly dark place. It was a cold, lonely and desolate place, occupied only by my thoughts and my opinions of myself. As those around me continued to love and care for me, I fell farther and deeper looking for someone to save me. My Hero on his (or her) white horse never arrived. You see, no one could save me, I had to save myself. The moment I accepted as a fact was the day my eyes began to clear.
      Of course, the long, exhausting climb was not done alone. In fact, it's not over. I have an enclave of people cheering, encouraging, even reprimanding me along the way. My first step was finding help, a coach, so to speak. My coach is a clinical psychiatrist named Eleanor Kulis. I think of her as Dr. Phil with breasts. She takes no crap and allows no excuses, but will allow me to get to the center of an issue rather than rushing me to it herself. Next month will be a year I have been seeing her and I don't recognize the woman that sat in her office that day barely able to speak through the sobs. She patiently waited through the weeks of tears, self pity and guilt. As the weeks and months passes, I used less tissue, said "If only I...." less, and we gradually found a common ground.
      Needless to say, medication is involved. When your depression is so severe, you think of taking your life, and your anxiety is so intense that you can't leave your house for fear of a public panic attack and humiliation. It does not make me proud to say I need medication to function, but I am no longer ashamed to say it either. It does it's job (most days) and through some exercises of meditation, breathing, and affirmations, I can usually stave off an attack.
      Through everything I have my support system, my offensive line, let's say. My husband, my boys, my sisters, my friends. One of my main issues with myself has always been what my illnesses have put my family through. My 2 youngest sons were only in high school when I got diagnosed with cancer, but I was depressed long before that. Also, I have lived with Chronic Migraine headaches for 18 years as well. I was overwhelmed by guilt. I felt as though my heart literally broke in two the first time my boys witnessed me having a panic attack. But now, through clear eyes I know that it didn't harm them, if anything, they have gained compassion, a sense of responsibility, and most of all a closeness as a family. I feel so safe with them. When I say safe I do not mean purely physically, I mean emotionally. Feeling emotionally unsafe is worse than physically unsafe. Physical scars heal much quicker than emotional ones.
      On a recent trip to the cemetery where my mother and father are laid to rest I said so many things to my mother than had been held in and pent up in a cage down in the dark prison in which I had been residing. I had to say them to get them out to make room for love, peace, serenity, a sense of calm and self worth. I am not saying all of my troubles are my mother's fault, how cliche would that be? No, but losing my mother at 8 years old, and never really knowing her at all had a major impact in my life. I don't want to get into that, maybe another day, or maybe that will be something that is just for me, but the point is I had to let go so my heart had room for other things.
     So my eyes are clearing, and my heart is emptying of sadness, fear and grief and filling back up with peace, love, calmness, and even every so often HAPPINESS! I find myself singing, dancing smiling, and even once in a while laughing. I also know real joy now. Real joy is my Granddaughter's smile and my Grandson's eyes full of nothing but love. He told me yesterday I was the best person he knows. Those are big shoes to fill, but I will do my best because he deserves it. As does his sister, my sons, my husband, my family and my real dear true friends. They all deserve it because they saw that in me when I felt like the worse person ANYONE could know, and they didn't give up on me. So with Clear Eyes and a Full Heart I will not lose. I will be the best person I know, because you know what, I deserve that too. 

I Don't want you to save me, I want you to stand by my side as I save myself.   -Unknown