Real Talk, Part 2

I am experiencing what has been called a significant emotional trauma. Two traumas, actually. The same "bomb" went off two different times. The first was August 24th of last year. The second was about two months ago.

It turns out that the bomb metaphor is actually a really good one. It's huge, devastating, unexpected. It's completely destructive and leaves nothing untouched. Although no literal lives were lost, there have been plenty of casualties. My ears are still ringing and I still can't seem to make sense of anything.

Another good metaphor for how I feel most of the time is drowning. I feel like I'm constantly kicking and fighting the current that's trying to pull me under, while wave after wave tries to swallow me whole. It's like I'm getting tossed around and thrown against rocks but I can't get my feet under me and I can't die. I'm stuck and I'm scared and I can't breathe.

Sometimes I think this must be what dying feels like.

Situational depression probably goes without saying. I'm a mess. With this as my reality, feeling depressed and hopeless and miserable and wanting to give up are easier. I want to be happy, but it's so hard. I get tired of trying sometimes. It's easier to dissolve into the pitiful lump that I feel like I am all the time. Sometimes I can't imagine being on the other side of this, and I can't believe that there is a future ahead of me that could possibly be worth enduring all this pain. I didn't ask for this. And I don't get to forget. I don't get to forget, even for a second, that my husband had an affair for over a year. I don't get to forget that he couldn't even pretend to put up a fight for me or for our marriage. I am constantly reminded of the most excruciating thing I've ever had to feel.

And still, the only way out seems to be through.

I can't go back, because there's nothing to go back to. I can't fast forward. I can't skip to the end. I just have to be in this for as long as it takes.

Sometimes I do have pretty great days. But it gets so frustrating to have a good day, or even a string of good days, followed by a breakdown or a nightmare. It's so discouraging and makes me feel like I'm moving backwards. But I'm slowly figuring out how to accept it. I'm learning how to let my process be what it is without giving it a label or assigning it good or bad, or right or wrong. Some days I cry and scream and break things and that's okay. Some days I'm more distractible and can get things done and have a good time, and that's also okay. This is where I am, and no amount of wishing will get me elsewhere. All I can do is
see it,
feel it,
learn it,
know it.
Respect it, because it's valid.
Be honest with it.
Ask for help when it gets too heavy.
And leave room for grace, because at the end of the day, no matter what the day looked like, I'm doing the best I can.

Because if I can do this, if I can survive this thing that keeps trying to kill me, then I can do anything.