I often find it helps me to peer into the past, if only to use as a tool, a gauge, of where I was, and where I am now. I do this to validate all my efforts and victories, and to make me aware that it really has been the journey of my lifetime - at least so far. I do this because when I rub up against people that think I am doing nothing with my life and should be doing more, I can silence them in my brain. I can silence their distress around my mental health, and see it for what it is - my mental health, (big huge space) and their distress and confusion. I am not something that needs to,or can be, fixed. I am not broken. I am a fine, loving, compassionate, understanding, and intelligent human being, and although my 'accomplishments' may seem limited by a large portion of society - I know otherwise.
I chose to do this. I choose to do this work. This IS my work, and I do it because a hidden part of me knows that I deserve to be whole and certainly more aware.
About 2.5 years ago, Starbucks saved my life. I knew, I knew that if I could just get out of bed and walk to Starbucks to get a coffee, I would be okay. It took everything in me, to accomplish this morning ritual/task but I knew it was really important. And it was. Every morning I struggled out of bed and into clothes to get to Starbucks and that was all I had to fill my day. The importance of the ritual was larger than I even realized at the time. Things got scary when I found myself standing on the sidewalk of Lakeshore and Leslie during morning rush hour, wondering what it would feel like, wondering what would happen, if I just took a giant step off the curb into the speeding traffic, just so I could feel something... anything, other than what I was feeling.
I would stay up all night with the television on and a candle burning because I was too scared to sleep. It hurt to sleep in a bed by myself - everything about this act was wrong - so I would force myself to stay awake.
I couldn't leave my house without being terrified of everything - noises, people, smells, etc. I would get dizzy, nauseous. I struggled with buying food because it was too overwhelming a task, having to decide and then having to cook? Forget about it. I spent countless days, flat out on my apartment floor, crying my eyes, heart, and soul out, unable to get up or even stop. I couldn't work. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't understand words. I wanted to die. There was nothing to live for, there was just the excruciating pain, the terrible self-judgment and the loneliness.
And then there was her. The woman who was able to come to me whenever I needed anything, to just sit with me. I am eternally grateful for all that you are. I love you Bikkers. You were a beam of light and warmth when everything else was dark and cold. You made me feel deserving of your friendship. You made me feel like I was enough, I was good enough, just the way I was, regardless of how things appeared.
The Bikkers and 'The Bucks'. What a team....
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