A Dark Truth Story

It's been a while since I've written.  While I know that this hiatus from blogging is not really a big deal for most people, I still feel compelled to provide an explanation.  The raw, beautiful, ugly, messy, amazing truth of life is what I write about.  Even though this truth is especially raw, ugly, and messy, I am still a truth teller. 

The truth is,  I was beyond broken.  January and February were the darkest months of my life.  Nothing happened.  There were no major events aside from turning 39 years old.  I was just a deep, dark, sad, awful mess.  I was mostly okay at work and while parenting and doing all.the.things that we call daily life, but the night time hours in January and February were hard.  I spent most of them lying in my bed crying.  I wanted to cease to exist.  

Now, before you send the authorities to check on my well-being, this experience was different from wanting to die.  I didn't want to die.  I knew that would be too hard on people I loved and I am afraid of pain.  So, I wasn't suicidal.  I just wished I had never been born.  When I wasn't wishing that, I imagined an impossible scenario in which I could just fall into a pit somewhere and no one would notice my absence.  I didn't want to die, but I also didn't want to be.  Those are different things, I promise.  

Don't worry.  This yucky story has a semi-happy ending.  I sit here today, not completely better, but a lot less sad.  I'm a closer version of my self that I remember from a few years ago.  

This emergence from the depths of despair is all thanks to my littlest lassie.  She made an observation that shook me to my core and revealed the truth I was refusing to acknowledge.  On one of our drives to and from the town in which we live and the town we call home, she commented that I seemed sad.  Then, she told me she wished I didn't have to be sad because it makes her sad.  At that moment I knew I had been lying to myself when I believed that I could be in this dark, emotional pit alone with no one noticing.  I had thought the mask I put on was effective, but it wasn't.  I was doing all the things.  I was still chauffering and feeding and clothing and listening and nurturing, but there was a veil between me and all.the.things.in.life.  She felt it.  She knew.  The kids always know, don't they? 

That night, I cried again.  I felt that I had failed my children.  There are many things I want my children to remember from their childhood, but having a sad mom was not one of them.  Then, I dried my tears, stifled the heaving sobs, and made a decision.  I decided that I could no longer be sad.  I needed to get myself out of the rut and do the hard things to be less sad.  And those things...  They are so hard, you guys.  So very, very hard.  Some day I will write about them, but not yet.  These hard things are deep and personal with sharp, stinging edges.  The story of these hard things will be told when it's the right time and it's just not right yet.  

But, here I am...clawing may way out of this darkness and for the first time in a long, long time I see the light.  

Maybe you're in your own pit.  Maybe you want to not be anymore, too.  Maybe you even want to die.  

I know a version of that hurt.  I know that kind of pain.  I know that special kind of agony.  I know that deep emptiness.  

But, hear this.  

You matter.  Your life...it really does matter.  Hang in there.  

Dig your heels in and grab whatever nook or cranny exists in that pit and claw your way out.  

And, if you just can't.  If there are no footholds or crevices that you can grasp, know that there is a way to get a lifeline.  Call The National Suicide Hotline 1-800-273-8255 and tell them you can't get out of the pit.  They will throw you the lifeline and help you find the hidden nooks and crannies.  

You can climb out.  I believe in your strength. It can get better.  There is light.  

I love you.