I'm scared that if I can't bear this pain now and it's just my uncle, what's going to happen when it's my father, or mother, or sister, or husband? I will break, and I won't be able to put myself together again.
You'll find yourself saying, "OK, not breaking just this instant, take another step. Breaking still not happening, OK, one more step. Breaking? Well, we'll pause for this next step, ok, move the foot. Still here." And eventually the clouds fade, and you're amazed at how far you've come. Then you collapse for a bit, let the tide of pain go out, get up, and do some more.
Welcome to humanity.
That is just beautiful Connie.
Thank you so much for... this. I don't even know what to call the last handful of posts, because they're not just encouragement, sympathy, hairpats, and understanding. It's more concrete, like something I can hold on to.
This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it. (Coming up with a way to tell the psychiatrist who got to decide when I could leave the hospital about the blinvisible people in the computer who form a great part of my network of resources? That was innnnnnnnnteresting.)
This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it.
This is why I wish I just had copies of Vampire People to hand out.
Thoughts for you and your family, Maria.
This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it.
Yes, every time I hear someone talk about how superficial and silly internet communities are I feel bad for them because they obviously don't have anything like the buffistas in their lives.
But what if I actually do run away? It's not outside the realm of possibility. Then I'm not only weak, but a disappointment.
Then you'll run away. After that, you'll come back.
All the time I've known you you've gone to considerable lengths to put your family first. It's your instinct. Your instinct to care for them will bring you right back.
This means a thing. And it's hard to explain to people who have not experienced it.
Yeah, it's been interesting explaining it to my therapist. She's fascinated by it, and says that it's wonderful that I have a far-flung support network, she's just a little baffled by the
invisible people in the box
aspect of it.
Ah, Maria. I'm so sorry. Everyone has put everything I would so well.
Right now you are doing the only thing you can do; coping. It's like stumbling in a darkened room; some people will trip over shit, some will freeze, some will curse, some will curl up in a ball. You'll grope your way to the light switch after you have your individual reaction to the overwhelming dark.
Not wrong in groping and fumbling. It might feel like forever in FINDING the damn thing, but fumble, curse, sit on the floor, take a nap, whatever. You'll find it.
And the next time the light goes out, you'll still fumble, but you'll have a better idea of how you need to go about finding the damn light switch again.
Erin--that was so beautiful and so true.
