War

Just over two years ago I sat on an airplane with an infant wrapped around my neck, a 3 year olds head on my lap, a 5 year old in tears yelling “turn around! Go back!”,  a stomach filled with a 6 month old fetus and a very green face.  I didn’t know it but I came home as a very broken person.

At that time I was sick.  Very ill. Mother of three, 6 months pregnant, well past 48 hours of sleeplessness from moving the last of the house and doing the final clean out with only the assistance of my father in law.  From a three hour drive in the darkness, swerving to miss the elk in the middle of the road.  From the airplane ride with the layover.  I was ill.  I walked off the plane, I’m not sure how.  Saw my parents waiting on the other side of the waiting area and sat.  I just sat.  Head in my hands and sat, holding what little stomach contents I had in, failing at keeping the tears from seeping out.  I had nothing left.  I couldn’t even walk the store later to get diapers and supplies.

We made it to our new house.  The house we called home with my parents, grandma and papa.  And I slept for 3 days straight.  My ankles were balloons, my head often filled with that awful nauseating feeling and migraines raged to the point of vomit with no relief from tylenol.  Energy was sapped out of me and didn’t seem to be returning.  I was in the worst place physically that I had ever been.

Little did I know how broken I truly was not just on the outside but inside as well. It was hidden.  The monster of destruction that was truly in my life was hiding idly in my life.  A month later it all came crashing down.  It seeped through the holes of what was left of me, it ripped through the remaining strands of joy.  It tore me to pieces and tried to grab my children along too.

Only now, over two years later can I truly see how badly bruised and battered I was.  I knew it then, but I know more so now.  If you asked me how I truly was, I knew I wasn’t ok.  I was at the bottom of a deep dark ocean in the silence, in the pitch black surroundings not even able to see my own hand in front of my face.  I could not go any lower, get any darker, get any quieter, become any more lonelier yet no more suffocated at the same time.

My life had fallen apart.  One moment, in my line of vision, it was together and the next it was gone.  Vanished into thin air. Everything I had known was gone.  All my dreams were, gone.  My vision of the future, gone. My purpose, gone.  Who I was, gone. It all disappeared.  The fire in my eyes was put out by the oceans water.  The light in my heart was overcome by the black abyss.  Everything I built my life on seemed to be gone.

I was left with the ravishes of a war.   Children suddenly tormented with tantrums, incredibly heart broken crying frenzies.  A stale terrifying operating room as I lay on my back gagging on my vomit that I was unable to push up from the paralysis that reigned neck down with my mother doing her best to calm me being torn open to bring into the world the most precious and grace filled gift of my life. My walls of motivation were lying on the ground, my ever reigning hope diminished, my focus was somewhere floating above my head, my drive to live was seeping from my pores and running out.

The pain was unbearable, the rage never experienced before, the darkness surrounded me.

Two years ago my life changed forever.  It was hard, it was dark, it brought pain I never wish on anyone.  It brought walls I will be tearing down years from now.  I have never stared at so many blank walls lost in nothing-ness.  I have never cried so many tears.  I have never screamed so much into a pillow. I have never had so many sleepless nights consumed by sleeplessness. I have never had such a loss of me. I never thought I would ever be faced with the battle of a broken me.  I never thought I would ever be broken.

But I was.  Two years ago I broke.  One event in my life triggered my fall. But even as I lay in bed tears streaming down my face seeing myself floating in the darkest parts of the ocean.  All alone, in the silence, in the darkness unable to see my hand in front of my face let alone the light that I know is at the top of the oceans edge.  Even as I saw myself floating there I knew it couldn’t get any darker or any deeper.  I knew that somewhere above me was light, was the sun, was fresh air.  I knew it still existed and that I would find it again one day.

Even in this dark dark time I refused to give up.  I held on for dear life knowing that I would make it though.  Knowing that I was on this earth for a reason.  That my story was not over yet.  That my story would continue.  That I would have a second chance.  That I would live again.  That life would pour back into my veins again and I would find me again.

It took time.  It took patience.  It took allowing the the wounds to open up so they could be closed properly and heal.  It took countless hours of tears to heal those wounds.  To make the sad memories no longer sting.  Cry.  It’s ok to cry.  Crying brings healing.  I forced myself to sing when I didn’t feel like singing.  I forced myself to continue to pursue my passions.  I forced myself to enjoy every moment with my children.  I forced myself to do what I know I was created to do.  I took each moment by just that, a moment.  One moment at a time.  Literally.  One moment I had joy and the next I was bawling my face off and the next I was staring at a wall.  Thank God for grandparents that filled in the pieces while I worked through this process.

Thank God for everything.  Wounds hurt, darkness sucks, depression sucks, whatever you want to call it…it sucks.  It’s not unusual, it’s not weird, it’s not just you.

As time passed and I continued to take it moment by moment (I cannot tell you how long it takes to get past moment by moment)  eventually those moments turned to days and now the moments are  nearly over.  I see the months, the years, yes the moments do still come, but I take them and I ride them and then I fight.  I fight to get back to me.  I am bigger than any darkness. I am bigger than any motivation sapper.  I am bigger than any overwhelming sadness.  And so are you. So are all of us.

I will not get into the gossip, the trigger, the details, that is my story and my story alone.  I tell it when needed, to heal or to help others heal.  Your story is yours, tell those you need to to heal and when you have begun to heal help others heal.  We were created to give.  Give what you can, give everything you can and live.  Live this life to the fullest.  Don’t let anything keep you down.  If I got out, you can too.  Ultimately Jesus is the way I got out, He gave me the drive to survive.  You got it too.

 

A huge shining light at the peak of my darkest time.  My Turner Grace.

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