A Short Silence and A Long Lesson

           I feel as if I need so badly to write something-anything to begin to try to sort out a little of the continual whirlwind that my mind is in. Only it seems there are too many little pieces flying in a tornado too quickly to grasp for the means of conveying them to myself, much less anyone else. I’m developing an ever increasing ambivalence for words, because no amount of them seem to satisfactorily say what I want to or am experiencing inside. So here goes something of a recounting nature….

             I’ve been home now for almost two weeks after my month and half long venture in a residential treatment center and then psych ward. After a bit over a month, in a moment of overwhelming frustration, I prayed that insurance would suddenly drop me and all coverage- though I had another 2-3 months of treatment. So the next day, the insurance did and I found myself home again, though it felt the most surreal kind of unfamiliar for those 6 days. I thought I would be relieved to be home and away from the kind of controlled environment that made most drug rehabs look extremely lenient. Instead I found myself rather shocked and not knowing what to do, going from 24/7 dictation to near complete freedom.

Only I’m still not free.
I still have this disease in my mind.

In my bones.

In my hope.
             The inexpressible depression that’s gnawed at my mind and body for so long hadn’t lessened then or now. The suicidal ideation and attempts that landed me an involuntary stay in treatment were only attempts to kill the pain and escape the guilt and condemnation I wrestle with inside. 

                When I was sent home and it all crashed in on me- realizing that all the work had changed nothing regarding how I feel inside- I tried to hurt myself again and ended up in a psych ward on a 51-52/50 hold. Sparing the details, the place itself was enough incentive to hopefully never try to off myself again, because I would never want to go back there. I dare say it was as bad or worse than the movies and the cliches. They kept telling me it was for my own safety and that I was a danger to myself. Yet feeling more like cattle than patients, under some creepy Freemason/ illuminati regime, it was anything but safe- physically or mentally. People in my life had been telling me long before my admission that “this is a test”, or that it was at least coming. 

Well, this felt like the test of a lifetime. 

             Being trapped and powerless in an energetic black hole that could break most healthy individuals without even any predisposition to mental health issues, I quickly figured out that if I showed sign of the absolute terror ripping away at me- that I would be kept longer. I couldn’t afford in any manner to stay any longer. Every day was wearing down my nervous system and fabricated disposition- so I took the pills, swallowed the fear, dissociated, and pretended to a degree that I never knew I was capable. 

 Luckily, I was released for stable presentation (though I felt anything but) to another impatient center, of which I requested to return to the one I had come from. After enough awesome people fought with insurance companies, it was approved for me to return there. 

           Everyone including myself assumed that I would kiss the ground and cry tears of joy just to at least be back in a physically safe environment. Instead, I ended up being too exhausted and dissociated and everything I had pushed down in order to present in a certain manner manifested. Essentially, I quickly became too physically and emotionally sick to continue in any kind of treatment. In addition to already being at an extreme of exhaustion and sleep deprived for a week, I was forced to cold turkey stop a couple medications I had been taking for the past year. This was definitely the best time right? Ha..

“Psych yourself out of it.”

“It’s all in your head!”

“Aren’t you grateful to be out of there?”

“You just don’t want to get better.”

I heard it all in my few lucid moments inbetween various episodes. 
I couldn’t think. Was I dying? 

I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t get the world to stop spinning for days. 

I couldn’t prove to anyone that I truly feared and do believe that I was in the middle of an actual nervous breakdown, and not the kind we so lightly joke about. My head is always a fucking freaky place, but this was seriously scaring even me. Everyone kept telling me that I came back a different person, and not in a good way. 

“Where did the Warrior go?”
“I feel like I don’t even know you!”
I KNEW I wasn’t right in the head and my body has always followed suit. 

But I couldn’t prove it to anyone. 

I shouldn’t have had to.
        I laid on that bed enough days and nights thinking, praying, and crying about what to do. I felt pathetic, voiceless, and unheard when I tried to “assert my needs”.. The indescribable fear I felt inside was dragging out every minute to make some of the longest days I’d experienced, but I was still stuck somewhere that I couldn’t recompose myself. I felt trapped.

          After about a week I started to make plans to leave “Against Medical Advice”, whether I had somewhere to go or not. Bank account empty, food stamps spent for the month, I could only think of one person I barely knew who I could stay with. I didn’t want to mooch off anyone and the last thing I needed was to feel like an imposition to compound my life guilt, on top of everything. Last minute, and much to my surprise, my parents told me that I could move back home- that after a month and a half and some unforeseen circumstances, I had given it more than a fair try. So after much thought, prayer, mediation, and against everyone’s advice, I went home- unaware of any contingencies I would experience. 

             The past couple weeks have been a new level of dual exhaustion still, but I’m trying to do things anyway- though completely unsure of what to do with myself. I’m still trying to calculate what the purpose of this whole ordeal was. I’m not necessarily questioning my decision to leave, but I at least figured I would be somewhat better off afterwards. I’m still working with the same things, only I’m more tired, with better acting skills and a tougher outlook on life. 

            I have absolutely no plan at this point-

 but I suppose that’s nothing new, considering the last couple years. I’ve become a leaf on the wind- always wanting to leave yet stay, wandering in and out of life, and all the maddening paradoxes of which I can’t seem to get together for a minute. I want to be able to be ok with where I’m at, but I’m not. I seem to have compassion for everyone but myself.

            The one thing I have undeniably noticed in this last couple months is a level of connection with God that I had never thought possible. The sorrow isn’t lessened. The pain isn’t easier- but I feel like the darkness within myself has finally begun to shift into light. I don’t particularly feel better- just different and I can recognize the difference. In the deepest days of sorrow I’ve been blessed to experience glimpses of the highest, brightest promises of eternity. I’ve always told God that if He was going to speak to me or give me any signs, that they had to be so obviously undeniable that they could practically slap me in the face with their implications- and He has. 

            He’s spoken to me in such a way that I can’t even wrap my mind around, that He actually has been hearing me this whole time. He’s been with me- silent for a time of testing- but there. I can almost take solace in simply knowing that He has seen all the countless moments I’ve kept hidden from everyone. He’s showered me with so many signs and confirmation of my direction and security that I couldn’t begin to write them down. Even after trying to seek God most of my life, I had come to a point that I would hesitate to say He even existed. Now there’s no doubt in my mind at all that He’s there and loves with a kind of majesty and orchestrative beauty that I’m speechless at even the shadow of who He truly is. 

It’s true that God is patient, and compassionate to those who cry out to Him from even the lowest places, where I was so sure He couldn’t hear me. 

            The hurricane of my life continues to rage as it has now for a while, the circumstances appear to only worsen on every side, but I keep hearing to wait.

I have no idea what I’m waiting for.

I hate where I’m at in life, the way I feel every day, I still want to be dead, and there’s absolutely no evidence that things can be remedied. Yet faith is being sure of what is unseen, and I keep hearing God specializes in those. 

So I suppose I’m waiting for a miracle? 

           Sounds cliche, but there’s no real answer to all the questions coming my way. Besides, time isn’t linear and it’s all already played out. I’m sure the details ironed themselves out somewhere on the other side of this blink that is mortality. As for all those questions about what I’m doing with my life-

I’m just here, enduring.



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