Saturday, May 17, 2014


I received a certified letter in the mail today.  I nearly threw up.  It's been a very long time since I've had to face my past.  As I have cocooned myself in beautiful, positive, supportive people and experiences lately, much of the negativity in my life has naturally fallen away.  Although I remain me, deep to the core, much of the cynicism that plagued me has also departed.  I have embraced what feels like a whole new world and it has been cradling me in this wonderful space of comfort and, dare I say it, trust that things not only will get better, but are better.

Then I walked in the door tonight from another transformative day of yoga and friendship to find this glaring piece of mail.  I was horrified that my husband had to sign for it.  I felt violated that the separation of my former business' post office didn't protect my home from this stuff invading it.  I cried and I paced.  My husband offered to open it for me.  He says he doesn't care what it says.   I know he knows, he has always been here, but I didn't want him to see it on paper, the accusations of an entity that knows nothing of me or my struggles.  And while I have come into this place that I know is a better, righter place for me, I know that whatever it says, it will shake me loose again.  I don't want him to see how far I have fallen.

So, in a moment of blind bravery, I opened it, like jumping over the cliff knowing that there's deep water there, but not quite sure how badly it will hurt when you break the surface.  Although I am not surprised by it, the harsh language and threats, meant to spur my action, were still devastating.

In this journey that started now nearly two years ago, I've found what is often most painful is what everybody doesn't know.  I'm not offered the opportunity to explain my past, my pain or my deep, deep regret.  Instead, I am judged on my face with little inquiry and less understanding, and the oversimplification of the words "dishonest conduct."

No part of me defends the impact my past year has had on those near me.  But I can't help but be a little bit broken at the characterization of what has been an incredibly painful, but never dishonest period of my life.  Tonight I feel like my safe space has shrunk and I'm trying so, so hard not to let this topple me back into oblivion.  I had no idea how still totally wounded I am and how easily my happy could be penetrated and attacked from the inside out.

I hope I will be brave and strong some day.  I hope I will truly and completely overcome not only this mental illness that still lurks in the dark corners of my soul, but also the year that I lost to all of this, the year that came storming back into my life tonight.

1 comment:

  1. If I am making a correct inference, I have received one of those letters as well. I remember, vaguely, opening it and not giving a damn. It was not until after my spirit awakened that I began to care. Then it hit me, the behavior that gave rise to the letter was not me; rather a murky reflection of me, lost in a disease. The really, really hard part of the whole deal is that I will never be able to explain; which I have come to believe is OK. Because the really, really, really, hard part is that even if I could explain, it would fall on deaf ears.

    In a world that prides itself on compassion, there is a great void of compassion and empathy surrounding some diseases. OK, fine, I’ll give up wanting empathy. Others (we call them ‘normies’) will never understand, and that’s OK. But compassion does not require understanding, just a soul to say: “I don’t understand, but I will take it on face value and believe you”. There’s the irony, right? Those that are so quick to judge my behavior on its face will not take understanding the same way. I am tempted to cry out: HYPOCRITES!! Alas, it won’t help. Just wasted, precious, energy. So, I let it go.

    Your drunken friend.