I was born broken, it seems. My parents knew from almost the beginning that I wasn’t quite right, not sunshiny and bright like most little girls. I was the complete opposite of easy-going, anxious before it was common to talk about it, and sadly far too hypervigilant to be deemed healthy.
My father himself was not a healthy man, as I have pointed out numerous times. I wrote about my childhood mental health problems and the day that my father died a long time ago, on a now defunct blog. I wasn’t able to retrieve that story. Starting over would just open my still seeping wounds from that tragic day, and to be perfectly frank, I am not in a good place right now to do so.
I have gone backwards mentally these last couple of months. This was proven to me last night, when I had a massive anxiety attack of epic proportions because my husband was an hour late from work. No amount of positive self talk or soothing words from my mother kept me from completely losing my cool.
My world went from relatively calm to full of chaos within 5 minutes. I started hyperventilating. I felt sick to my stomach, and worked myself up so badly that I started crying hysterically at the thought of being without him.
I prayed to God, which is something I rarely do.
When he finally walked through the door, I was torn between punching him and hugging him tightly, and never letting go. He had been stuck behind a train that had stopped on the tracks by our home. He doesn’t own a cellphone because he thinks they are a money sucker, but after seeing me shaking and quite sick with worry, he has promised to get one, even if he only uses it to communicate with me.
My mom was angry with me, and rightfully so. She is the person I call when I feel myself breaking down.
She pointed out that I needed to get some chill pills.
Because she remembers how I was when I was a young girl, pacing nervously as I waited for my dad to come home whenever he went somewhere.
Or when I used to grab her legs and beg her not to leave me, shortly after my father passed away, when my issues peaked to a whole new level.
I haven’t forgotten. My life has been forever traumatized by that event. Losing someone you love right before your eyes has to be the most helpless feeling in the world.
I look at everything now with a tremendous weight upon my shoulders, because I’m not sure if I will ever be strong and well again. I am exhausted by my internal struggles, and my intense fear of the unknown.
I told my mother that I was sorry. Her health isn’t the greatest, and when I unload my illness upon her, she suffers as much as I do.
I decided to be candid with her and said out loud something that I have never really done before.
Either love me or hate me, but it’s the damn truth.
Oh, she said, I have always loved you, no matter what.
And I am thankful for that blessing, despite my seemingly tragic life.