I didn’t know…

I didn’t know that prior to receiving help for my post-partum and clinical depression that I was abnormal. I didn’t know that when everyone drove over a bridge, that they didn’t “see” the vehicle falling through and everyone drowning. I didn’t know that when a car would brake in front of you so fast, that you all didn’t begin having flashbacks and  start hyperventilating. I didn’t know that when everyone was a little scared of something or someone, that they did not run to the bathroom and empty their stomach. I didn’t know that people didn’t relive their trauma near daily by remembering, feeling, “seeing” that space in time. I didn’t know that other people didn’t refuse to watch, hear and read the news because if they did, they would feel the pain, hear the cries and sense the terror. I didn’t know how people got up in the morning, showered, did their hair, makeup, made a hot breakfast for their children, helped them brush their teeth, took them to school, came home and did the dishes, washed the counters, did the laundry, made the lunch, made the supper, bathed children, read books, played outside, sang songs, did more laundry. I didn’t. More often than not it was ALL I COULD DO to get out of bed and get my children to school. This one act would drain me of every piece of energy that I had in a day.  I literally spent weeks in my pyjamas. I would go without a shower, without brushing my teeth – for days. I would plaster a smile on my face when my children were home and somehow force myself to make meals for them, do their laundry (not mine, I just stayed in my pjs), get them to and from school. But once bedtime hit or naptime hit, I was down for the count. I am convinced that my children are the only reason I have survived as long as I have.

I still remember the sense of awe and sheer joy I experienced when my anxiety medication began working. I remember thinking – what?! Why don’t I feel sick to my stomach today? Why am I no longer having panic attacks (I actually didn’t even know they were called panic or anxiety attacks!!)?! I still remember the first day that I was able to complete the dishes and actually felt like washing the floor! These may seem really trivial to you, but after YEARS of fighting with my brain and my body these accomplishments were nothing short of astounding.

I am unable to write much about my prior dark times due to the threat of court and custody battles that hang like a thundercloud above my head, but I will. Someday. Someday when it can’t be used to hurt me. Someday when it can be used to help someone else. Someday when there isn’t such a huge social stigma surrounding mental illness. Someday when people recognize that they should help those hurting rather than use it against them. Yep. Someday I will tell my story. I hope.