Everyone, at some point in their lives has gone (or will go)
through something that has changed them.
Changes that are good or maybe not-so-great, some temporary, some
permanent… My point isn’t really focused
on the day to day “crises” that happen.
Those, most times, come and go, you deal with them, you adjust, and you
move on. I’m talking about a change so
huge that it actually takes your breath away, literally hurts -mentally,
physically, & emotionally-, day after day with no end in sight. A change so huge that you can’t wait to go to
sleep at night so that your mind is temporarily unaware of what has happened,
yet you dread the thought of waking up the next morning to the agonizing pain
again. Pain so deep, that you feel it will
NEVER go away and never get easier. Yes,
I am speaking from experience; and yes, I have undoubtedly lived through a
change like that…
. . .
I was 25 at the time, living life to the fullest, had my own
place and the best friends a girl could ask for. Life was pretty much perfect and [I thought]
I had it all figured out. Then June 18,
2009 happened. I had faced death before,
just not of the same nature. This was
unexpected, tragic, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I was numb and in shock. I questioned reality. I felt unbelievable pain and guilt. The tears were uncontrollable. My life had been turned upside down, and it
was chaotic and scary. I was no longer
the generally upbeat and fun girl that most people knew. I was exhausted 24/7, mentally spent, and
depression hit – hard. I wondered how I
was ever going to get through… I
constantly felt low, and my emotions fluctuated all over the place. I was simply in survival mode…putting one
foot in front of the other and trying with all I had to make sense of everything
I was feeling and thinking. I really
didn’t want to hear about how it was all part of God’s plan and how “everything
happens for a reason”… I knew what
people meant…but at that moment, you don’t want someone justifying or trying to
help make sense out of something that doesn’t make any sense to you. My faith had been shaken, my life was in
shambles, and I was angry – very angry – with God. That anger and rage would rush over me and it
would come out of nowhere. I felt like I
constantly had a dark, dangerous funnel cloud over my head and I never knew
when it was going to hit the ground. I
knew that this “new me” wasn’t the easiest to be around, and that hurt my heart
even more. I was so incredibly lost… This went on for several weeks; actually, for
about two months, before I finally broke down to my mom and confessed that I (obviously)
wasn’t doing well. Admitting that I
needed help was really hard and difficult for me.
. . .
As a young teenager, I had seen a psychiatrist, only once,
for a completely unrelated (health) issue.
That whole experience left a “bad taste” in my mouth about the psychiatry
field and for a while, all doctors in general.
Although, looking back, I know my parents, doctors, and even the
psychiatrist, had my best interest at heart.
However, even with that in mind, the thought of having to go see a
psychiatrist or therapist made me feel anxious and nervous. I didn’t know exactly what to expect… Was I going to have to lay on some
uncomfortable couch and poor my guts out?
Were people going to think I was crazy?
I felt weak, and like a failure – to myself, for not being able to cope
on my own.
My first appointment was an insanely emotional rollercoaster
ride. For one, the resources in a small
town are slim and the psychiatrist I was seeing was a middle aged, military
veteran – man. Now, I love a good
looking man just as much as any other woman with a heartbeat…but, I’d rather
eat dirt than to sit in his office, with a runny nose from crying and mascara
all over the place, trying to explain my inner most feelings out. His questions dug deep and I was forced to
“relive” what had happened in order for him to understand why I was there in
the first place. It was frustrating, hair pulling, enlightening and
exhausting all at once. I say
“enlightening” because I learned that the feelings and thoughts I was
experiencing was completely normal. I
wasn’t weak or a failure, and I most certainly wasn’t “crazy”…
In my case, I was to see him monthly so that he could
monitor the medications he prescribed, and I was advised to see a therapist on
a weekly basis for as long as it was thought necessary. Finding a therapist I felt comfortable with
was a train wreck at first. After much
trial and error, and 3 therapists later…I finally found “the one.” She was middle aged, seemed sincere, and she
too, had suffered a similar loss like mine many years ago. She could relate to my situation and
oftentimes, could finish my sentences when I wasn’t able. Each visit with her was draining – in every single
way – because, just like with my psychiatrist, I was forced to think about the
accident and relive the past to a degree…but, in doing so, it helped me release
more and more of my bottled up emotions.
I remember sitting in her office, tissue box by my side,
when sounds and cries I’d never heard before started pouring out of my
body… I confessed that even with the
help of therapy sessions and popping an anti-depressant every day, I still
wasn’t coping well. I still felt at rock
bottom. Uneasy, I described the
flashbacks and nightmares, the uncontrollable mood swings, and the feeling of
gasping for air that I was experiencing.
I told her how my concentration and interest in daily activities was
basically nonexistent. I felt detached
from everything – family, friends, my work…and the worst of it all, was the
intense fear I had of losing someone else I loved. I was terrified that every said goodbye was going
to be the last. If I could have had it
my way, I would never meet anyone new again…because that meant I was opening
myself up for more pain if something happened to them… It was then, that I was diagnosed with
Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, a condition that is common following a traumatic
event. My anti-depressant meds were
changed and the dosage bumped up – significantly, and I began taking a
medication for anxiety.
. . .
Adjusting to a new normal isn’t always easy. After a while, I became somewhat numb to the
pain; most likely due to all the medication flowing through my system, masking
my feelings… My way of coping on a daily
basis was basically to try my damnedest to avoid any and every thing that I
knew would trigger an inner demon or the “water works”… My motto for life was to simply live – day by
day – one step at a time.
March 8, 2010, not quite nine months since
Jordan’s death, I was told by an ER doctor that I’d quote, “cheated death
twice” – by surviving two blood clots that had made their way into my
lungs. Excuse me, what?!? An incredibly sweet, loving wife, and nurturing
mother of two small children that I knew, had just passed away days before from
a blood clot… Why did God take her and
not me? In a sense, I felt undeserving
and guilty that I had survived and she had not…
She loved her babies more than anything, she’d never be able to watch
them grow up, and they’d never know her…
My life was, and had been, in turmoil – for months, at that point… I remember feeling angry with God – again. I couldn’t understand why I had been given a
second chance… Why me? Why wasn’t Jordan or Jessica given a second
chance? On one hand, I was so confused;
but, on the other, deep down, I was thankful.
I was far from being out of the dark tunnel, but I saw a
glimmer of light. There was a reason why
I was still on this earth, and I realized that I could let this ruin me, or I
could let this experience work its magic within me. Knowing that I could have easily been here
one minute and gone the next, changed how I saw (and continue to see) the world
and life – that it’s all impermanent. I
knew there was so much more to life and I didn’t want to miss it.
Shortly after being released from the hospital, I went to
Lowe’s with my then-boyfriend. It was
almost spring time, the weather was warming up, and the outdoor garden
department was bursting in color. I
remember standing there in amazement trying to take a mental picture of how
gorgeous all the flowers were. I began
touching and smelling some of them…and the tears started flowing… Thinking back, this is the first time I
remember crying; not sad tears, but happy tears. There I was, in the middle of all the hustle
and bustle from others’ excited for sunshine, I stood a sniffling mess – and I
didn’t care one bit! I was alive, I was
grateful, and I never wanted that moment to end...
