Highs and Lows

I’ve been transparent. Throughout these more than 4 years I have been open about the depths of my despair. Anyone who knew me then knows how much I wanted to just die, how much I wished for it, how much I would have welcomed death with open arms. Imagining driving my car off a bridge or into a tree was a frequent theme of those early days. If you didn’t know me then or weren’t an early reader of the blog you can go back to the beginning and see the dark place I was in. It doesn’t get more raw than that. And I didn’t share just for me. Yes I wanted others to have some small understanding of what I was experiencing. This was my way to let others in. But shortly after I began writing I was receiving comments from others thanking me for being able to verbalize their thoughts, for saying what they were unable, for helping them realize they weren’t alone in their feelings while going through their own traumatic experiences. So I wanted to continue writing and just put it all out there. My vulnerability was on display and in another time, another life, I can’t imagine anything more horrifying. But I didn’t want to pretend. Even if I said I was okay I wanted those that matter to know the truth. So I wrote it all down. And continue to write. And yet there is still so much unseen by those who have witnessed this journey from the beginning.

As time has passed I have gotten much better at hiding the full spectrum of my emotions. I continue to share those glimpses of grief, those poignant moments that leave me breathless, those missed milestones, and those especially difficult times, but not every facet of my grief is laid bare. I hold my most fragile feelings close, shield them from the public gaze, to protect myself. The pain that still threatens to suffocate me, those silent, one-sided conversations I have with Ariella, and my father. Those especially private moments that aren’t for others to see. Some things just aren’t to be shared. But that can be a very lonely place to be.

Why am I saying this? I’ve been vocal about how far I’ve come, about how I have moments of pure joy, about how I realized happiness is not farfetched. I have gone from begging to die to actually wanting to live. I am in a very different place with my grief. And I also haven’t been okay much of the time recently. I’ve been experiencing much higher highs but they are followed by much lower lows. Outwardly I may seem calm and at peace but inside just feels like chaos. The lows are often predictable, this time of year certainly doesn’t help, but they also sneak up on me for no apparent reason. And I find myself huddled on the floor, or buried under a blanket, or screaming in the car, inconsolable. I’m tired and unsure of how I am going to make it through this month. This year just has seemed harder. Ironic I guess. Maybe allowing happiness to take root also emphasizes and magnifies the pain. And guilt. Because there is always guilt.