I was supposed to graduate in the mid 90’s. By 1989, I had been diagnosed by my physician as having major depression.  I didn’t particularly like my life. I was shuttled to doctors appointments regularly. In town and to Wisconsin to see a specialist every year. I had learning difficulties. I couldn’t understand math. What I did like was: my toys, my music, singing, being open minded, writing, friends, movies, and talking on the phone with my friends. I also enjoyed bike riding, the snow (if I wasn’t shoveling it), rocks, water, dogs, and really… Animals in general.

Nature was beautiful where I grew up. It also scared me. There was so much around and the potential for bad things to happen was immense. After church, at night, I would be the first one to the house and feel around the wall for the light switches. I was afraid of the dark. I was afraid of what I didn’t understand. Or what wasn’t visible to me. I wanted to be smart. To rocket off into success. When my depression and PTSD took over, I gave up. It was just way too hard without proper guidance.

I talked to my neighbor, just last week. She said something reminiscent of something I’ve heard before. Circumstances vs our reactions to them. The off balance percentages. I had to rebuke her thought, sort of.

Reactions are based off fact vs perception. If you’re mentally ill, the truth/facts blur. So, everything is challenged there. I admit, I’m wrong about many things. I’ve made choices that have damaged how I’ve been viewed. I have also been left behind by people that were in my family. Those that should recognize someone in trouble. And the hardship life afforded me. Nothing seemed safe. I didn’t like church, at all. Things seemed wrong there, on so many levels. I didn’t like having normalcy one minute, the next minute – absolutely stripped from me. I was trying to listen to music. I loved the new kids on the block. Donnie Wahlberg was a dreamboat. Johnny Depp, also. (Drool)

I was taunted, picked on – relentlessly- over my taste in music. My mother’s brother came to the house to replace the paneling in our dining room with drywall. While I was listening to it (in my own room), my uncle yelled at me. Telling me he didn’t want to hear that crap. And that was when my mom was still functional. I feel like, after a certain point in my life, he didn’t like me. Or my choices. That started long before that fateful phone call.

I used to like Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, teeny bopper magazines, the babysitters club books, early video games, jelly shoes, stickers, pop, smoking cigarettes, sweaters, jeans, makeup, taking pictures, seeing my cousins, being with family, being with friends, pretending to be the narrator for a shampoo company in the tub. I’d watch the fire in the wood burning furnace. I loved the musty smell of the basement. I enjoyed Christmas. I liked to be liked and understood. I wanted to be myself. And I fractured. And no one really could see me for what I became. Or accept that I needed help. More than I needed a cd player, I needed time.

I was scared of my thoughts. They were so dark and so sad. My Dad didn’t allow me to feel safe with my thoughts. He sent me to therapy or to the psyche unit.  Everything changed. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. I just sunk into myself and my depths of depression, PTSD, and despair.

I made many mistakes back then. Yes. I’ve corrected many as well. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in 20 years. I’ve been in almost consistent therapy for around that same amount of time. I start with a new therapist soon through my employer eap. Free sessions! I was on social security disability for a few years and many many years, I was on Medicaid, food stamps, and employed by companies that didn’t value my worth. I tried to be accepted. And when I started to see acceptance, I just freaked out! I couldn’t understand how that was possible. After not having family or friends in my life – I couldn’t imagine anyone caring about me. Not even a little. I wanted to run back to my games or other retreats that didn’t aid me. (I am no longer on any social support services. My current employment allows me to pay for my lodging, food, bills (mostly), and some entertainment.

I don’t buy myself new clothing much. I still have sports bras from Big lots that I bought when the kids still lived at home. Darrian had been gone for nearly 10 years and it’s been longer since Ashleigh lived at home. The structural integrity of my sports bras are sad. My self care doesn’t exist because I feel the need to take care of others first. I see every day as another groundhogs day. A repeat of a time that I resent having to be responsible. And not being able to actually look out of my own eyes, my own view, perspective, reality – to see that everything we have (largely) has been based off the hard work that I’ve put in. And Eric has contributed too. Eric has proven time and time again that he loves me. (No one should have to prove they love someone like he has had to) After Eric bought the Evanescence tickets for he and I, I thought… Oh great. A trip away. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? Eric has never been violent towards me. Nor would he. My brain goes there. After more than 20 years of marriage, I still have difficulty trusting because of where I’ve been and what I’ve experienced in my life.

I want to feel like my life is deserving of good things. I want to see my life, not as another groundhogs day… Every day. To see my life as I’m alive, I’m deserving of good things, and of love. I have people who love me and remind me. I have friendships that will never diminish. That I’ll continue to work on. And relationships I’ll try to rebuild.

One day at a time. One realization at a time. One reality at a time.