By now I have probably lost all my readers, but this blog was never meant for them but for me. I enjoy writing. I haven't done so in a while, except the occasional soul wrenching poem or my cute lil' family Christmas letter that I send out to 400 of my closest friends. I have been struggling again. I know you are thinking when haven't I struggled but I mean physically, mentally, socially, the whole 9 yards (I don't know why we say that. You need 10 yards for a first down.) I was getting so bad that driving was almost debilitating, even riding in a car was nauseating. I was in a constant form of panic. I was doing book work (catch up book work from when I was unable to function as a thinking individual.) for about 12 hrs a day for 3 months straight minus Sundays and when my kids had games. I could barely type the keys because of the shaking in my hands. I was a basket case. ( I like the word even if I have no idea what it means.) I was a handicap for my family, my husband and so I would then feel even worse. I thought about the bottle often. I thought if I could only climb inside for a little while I would feel better, (No I am not talking about a genie bottle, but the bottle that for some reason holds a worm.) The problem with this is I know the shape of that bottle, the skinny neck the square bottom, once you are in there, there is no way out.
I didn't.
Instead I called up my friendly neighborhood psychologist and began EMDR treatments again. I hate them. I hate every moment that I sit in that office. I don't sleep the night before because I know the pain that is coming my way and I don't sleep for nights after because of the pent up memories that come vomiting out. I remember things I didn't know I knew. I remember the graphic images that I have stuffed into the dark places of my mind. Funny thing is I remember good things that I have also stuffed, maybe as a self punishment or out of sheer bitterness. I compare it to a root canal to friends who do not understand. But this root canal takes months to feel better. Anyway it is helping and I am feeling a little better. I know it will take a long time to work through these tragic thoughts, but I am here I believe for the long haul, or short haul. I want to breath again without my chest feeling like Michael Moore is seated upon it. I want to laugh with my kids and feel intoxicated without being intoxicated. I would love to drive down my hill without the overwhelming feeling of guilt swallowing me up like Jonah. I want to actually enjoy a movie, or a book and not just use it for a distraction. I want to live, not just survive. I don't know if it's possible but if it is I want it.
