Breathing AgainComing out of the Darkness
NOVEMBER 14, 2018 | The pain of the anniversary of my miscarriage hit me harder than I was expecting, and now I’m deeper down the rabbit’s hole than I’d like to be. My anxiety has been through the roof. Worse than it’s been in years. I can’t even text or email friends because I can’t bring myself to communicate with people. And if I even think about picking up my phone to communicate I start having a panic attack. I even dreamt of finding a random street somewhere to go sit in my car. Just to breathe and not think.
And then today I read this book about a teenage girl who has major anxiety and panic attacks, and it’s like my high school life is playing out in front of me. (Did someone follow me around in high school and write a book about my life?!?) I know I had to read it for school so that I can write my paper that’s due on Sunday, only a few days from now. And I loved it. It was hilarious and beautiful. It made me laugh. Made me cry. It was great but still having to confront the idea of panic attacks and anxiety right now was not what I needed.
For once in 15 years, I remembered the awful feeling of why I was suicidal. I remembered what put me in that place so deep and dark because I can feel myself drifting there again. I didn’t think there was any possible way I’d ever feel like that again especially because I’ve worked hard to keep my emotions in check. And it scares me. But the truth is, I let it happen. I let myself drift slowly, easily back into that apathetic place of mind that says it’s ok to feel like the world is crushing you and it’d be both easier and better for everyone if you just didn’t exist. I’ve always told myself that I could never get there again. That it was impossible for me to feel that again and somehow one day changed everything. I let myself have one day. Which turned into 2. And then a weekend. And a whole week. Now I’m so stuck there; I don’t know how to get out. I am numb. I don’t know how to breathe.
I am thankful for friends. Who are prompted by God to text or message or call or email. Who are there to listen or cry. Who are encouraging. Who let me know I’d be missed if I didn’t exist. Even when I am silent.
I am thankful for a husband who understands both how to give me my space and how to pull me out of the darkness.
I am thankful for an understanding of who I am. What I deal with. Why I feel this way. Where that emptiness comes from.
THIS. When I was 14 and suicidal, I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I didn’t understand where the pain – the anxiety, the emptiness, the loneliness, the numbness, the weight – was coming from. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know how to retrain myself to breathe. So I let myself keep falling.
Today I can see and understand those feelings. Give them their place. And then move forward. With the help of friends and my husband, I can smile and choose moments of joy to pull myself back to a place of feeling again. I can climb out of the dark cavern and find purpose in the day. I can breathe again.
And I’m ok.