I almost died last year

We’re 9 days into the New Year. I find it hard to believe it’s already 2019, yet here we are, and I’m still pushing along. I look back on my last year and think about how amazing it has been. Even with all of the amazing, everything almost went terribly wrong. I almost died.

I wish I could say it was a car accident or something of the sort, but I can’t. I almost took my own life. Even with everything that was happening, all of the good, I was still suffering. My own demons, my own mind. Both were attacking me and pulling me under. I was holding it all inside for months, maybe longer. I was so happy during my pregnancy, but then I had her. She was perfect in every way, absolutely perfect. I would look at her, and just think of how perfect she was, but everything changed.

I’m not sure exactly when it all changed, but it was like I was in a room and I only had one light, and someone flipped the switch. It all went dark. And in that darkness I couldn’t find the switch to turn the light on again. I struggled so much. I couldn’t handle being near my new, perfect baby. I didn’t want to hold her, touch her, or even look at her. I forced myself; after all, it wasn’t her fault her mother had mental issues. We were having a home built, everything was going so smoothly, finally.

My husband had to go on a business trip, and that’s when my world came crashing down. I was changing my daughter’s diaper and my son was crying and I broke down. My simple break down quickly turned into a devastating mental break. I text my husband and told him I no longer wanted to live. Everything had hit me at once. He couldn’t help me, he was out of state, and I was alone. He was terrified I was going to kill myself. I promised I wouldn’t, but can someone take that seriously in this situation ?

A few days later I wound up breaking down to my mom and grandma. From that point on I was no longer allowed to be alone. People kept asking why I was so depressed and what happened. There’s not always an answer to those questions, what am I supposed to say ? I already had depression and anxiety from PTSD, add the post-partum depression to that and I was a ticking time bomb.

Every day I would wake up, and I was glad for that. I was so sad on the inside, but so very glad I hadn’t succumbed to the demons trying to steal me away from this life, from my children, from my husband. Fast forward to now, nine days into January, and I find myself here again; struggling. I was put on medication and now they’ve changed my dosage because the previous dose wasn’t helping.

How do you tell the people around you, the ones that love you, that you aren’t happy ? How do you tell them about your struggle, when they are so happy with life ? They couldn’t possibly understand, could they ? The mind is a powerful thing, something that works against me every single day. Sometimes, my mind is kind to me, helping me to see myself in a different light. Other times, it’s like a lion stalking its prey and it waits until I’m exposed, too vulnerable, and then it attacks. I can’t run from my own mind, I can’t combat the things it tells me, or how I feel. I can only pray for salvation from God. He has brought me through so much, he has healed me many times over, yet I still find my mind acting as a powerful weapon against me.

I will continue to fight.

I refuse to let my life be taken from me.

❤ LAFMommy

In need of a reprieve

I went to church last week for the first time in over a year. My husband and I went and we let our son go into the daycare area, while we attended the service. 

The church has set up home at a local middle school, so they hold service in the auditorium. I’ve noticed this has become something more churches are doing. So anywho, instead of pews, like I was used to growing up, they had folding chairs set up, and we sat in the back row. Now, when I say back row, I don’t mean against a wall. There was plenty of room for people to stand and walk behind us, of course, this leaves someone like me open to an anxiety attack. And have an anxiety attack I did. It wasn’t one that everyone could visibly see, I don’t well with keeping it harnessed within myself, but I struggled. Eventually, I was able to calm down, the service ended and we collected our son. 

Tomorrow is Sunday and I intended on going to the service. The problem is, my husband has to work so I’ll be going alone. It’s a quarter after one and I’m still laying here, awake, and working myself into a frenzy, because I’m so worried about going alone. I’m having an anxiety attack before I even step place into the school for the service.

A place that I should feel safe and comfortable, and I can’t even get a grasp long enough to sleep and then go. I’m questioning whether I’ll even be able to pull myself out of bed early enough tomorrow to go now, because not only will I be tired from lack of sleep, but anxiety attacks are exhausting. My son had so much fun last week though, and I know he was looking forward to going tomorrow too, so I feel bad for possibly canceling his fun time at church.

I struggle like this everyday, with self inhibiting anxiety and stress. Will there ever come an end to it ? It’s absolutely frustrating and beyond draining. 

What am I supposed to do ?

❤ LAFMommy

Struggles

I’m contemplating on a new tattoo, or a couple. I’m behind on getting the semicolon tattoo, although it is something I have been longing to get since the Semicolon Tattoo Project began. 

I haven’t been able to make up my mind on exact placement nor if I just want the semicolon itself or anything with it. 

Suffering from PTSD and depression doesn’t come without thoughts of suicide and no longer existing in a world that can be so cruel. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but the thoughts are much more frequent than I would like to admit. Sometimes, it just seems it would be easier, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I have too much to look forward to, to let suicide take over. It’s permanent. I plan to experience every bit of Tristan’s life, and if I’m not alive I can’t do that. I refuse to give up, no matter how hard I struggle. No matter how hard my mind or my illnesses fight against me. 

My last major depressive episode was from January to almost April, the winter months are always the hardest. Seasonal depression. I fought so hard, but for a majority of that time I didn’t think I would win. It’s impossible to come out unscathed; with worry of the next time already etched in ones brain. I’m determined to continue fighting, even though the next episode, I know, will creep up on me at some point. 

To those that read my blog, if you suffer, you aren’t alone. Some days are hard as hell and feel like there’s only one way out, but then there are the good days. Those days are what motivate me to keep pushing. Keep looking for that glimpse of hope; grasp even the smallest light in your life and hold on. The fear and the episodes; they won’t last forever. 

And I’ll be someone you can reach out to, even in my own struggle. 

❤ LAFMommy

Post Surgery Feels

So I had my surgery yesterday. I’m still fighting with the lightheadedness, but yesterday I couldn’t shake the nausea. I’m having some pain, but the painkillers are helping a lot. I was struggling to eat; my mom made me toast last night and it felt like a huge chunk of cotton. 

Anywho, I found out I do have endometriosis. The doctor said we’ve found it early enough that I have some good options, which include; medicinal or surgery. I don’t have my follow up appointment for 2 weeks and we’ll go over everything then, but I’m leaning toward the medicinal option, of course. I don’t particularly want to have another surgery so soon. 

As much as I hate knowing I have this.. condition, it makes me feel better to know that there’s actually something going on and it isn’t in my head. I have days where I’m curled up on the floor in so much pain, I can’t even voice words to explain what’s going on. I knew it was real, so now others do as well. I’m just hoping the treatments will help so that I won’t have issues getting pregnant in the future. 

I’m just thankful it isn’t any worse than it is, because I know it could have been so much more. Now, if only this lightheadedness would go away ! 

❤ LAFMommy

Escape

I started my blog in November of 2015. My initial intention was to post regular updates of my life with post traumatic stress disorder, however; I found this a rather tedious task. You see, it’s difficult to remain focused on something, no matter how important, when you suffer from something like this. Then there was the issue that I felt I was posting too much negativity and that I needed to post more “happiness.”

Nearly two years later and I find myself wondering why I don’t post more of the hindering, mentally crippling days that I have. What if someone is going through the exact same thing I am, but I failed to post it, so they think they’re alone ? I could post brighter days too, when I have them. I need to use my blog more, I should be using it to jot down my thoughts, feelings, and my every day surge of emotions that I typically struggle through. I suppose I find myself embarrassed by the sufferings I go through due to the PTSD.

So now I ask myself..

Why not use my outlet as an escape ? Why not let my mind be free for a few moments a day ? I need this. I deserve this.

❤ LAFMommy

Night

Lately I have been more anxiety ridden. There’s plenty going on in my life to bring upon these anxious moments, as there always is. However; lately, it’s been moreso.  

Along with the anxiety and the frequently appearing panic attacks, are nightmares. Not the normal nightmares that one can recover from quickly, but the ones that leave me fighting for air and covered in sweat, or tears; I haven’t deciphered which it is yet. Possibly both. The nightmares that leave me with internal screaming that is begging for release. The nightmares that keep my eyeballs from seeking refuge behind their lids, that has me staring into a dark abyss of black, feeling as if the walls are slowly closing in on me. I’m left to inhale my breaths as if they’ll be my last, as if I can’t get my chest to expand further to accommodate my need. I fight against my own body, or it fights against me, in whether to lay still out of fear, or to run because the anxiety makes my body ache for movement. Laying there, praying that I’ll forget the last nightmare or that maybe it’s the opposite and I’ll remember this one to know what caused the turmoil this time. I close my eyes, just for the terror to begin again and again and again, until eventually, the sun is coming up and I’m beyond exhausted. Or I close my eyes, and envision new nightmares, new anxieties, or the same ones with different scenes. Each time they grow darker, more frightening, more crippling. Nightmares so vivid I wake up still seeing them, as if they exist again or for the first time, right there in front of me, they’re happening. 

Fear is real for me. It is a never ending cycle, that grasps me like a predator searching out its prey. One day, I fear, it will grab hold and never let go. 

Is there truly an escape from these fears that become so real in the night ? 

❤ LAFMommy

Anxiously Waiting

Yesterday I went to go renew my son’s health insurance. I could have mailed in the renewal form, but I needed to include a copy of his birth certificate and a copy of his social security card. I did not want to take any chances of either of these getting into the wrong hands, so I went to their office. 

As soon as I walked in, I regretted my decision of going. The office was packed; almost every seat had a body, and there were screaming children every where. We took a number and then a seat and we waited. Tristan was very well behaved, playing with me and watching the other people, and for that, I was appreciative. 

However; the longer I sat, the more anxious I became. I was unable to get a corner seat, where I could safely have my back against the wall and have a view of the entire room. My seat was situated in the very center of the room, in the middle of everyone. I felt so exposed; I had people constantly walking around me, bumping my stroller, or being overly figity near me. 

I was so vulnerable. At one point, I thought a little boy was going to climb into my lap, and it even seemed like he was plotting on stealing my wallet from my diaper bag. He looked to be around the age of 9 or so, and kept getting closer to me and he was not hiding the fact that he was openly looking into my bag, at all. As soon as I zipped my bag closed, he moved away. 

Finally ! They called my number, “63”, and I jumped out of my chair. I had to finish filling out a form while at the counter, and I barely managed to do so, I was shaking so badly. The woman must have thought I was ignorant because she would tell me what to fill out and I would do it incorrectly. She spoke to me as if I were garbage, then I said, “I do not know how you ladies do this every day, I have PTSD, and my nerves are so shot I could vomit.” At that point she became friendly. I rushed to finish everything so I could leave and get back to my comfort zone. 

I was nearly ran off the road on the way home, which did not help my anxiety, and by the time I arrived home I was exhausted. I had a headache hit me, which quickly turned to a migraine, I could barely function. I laid down for a nap, at the direction of my husband, around 8:30. I woke up around 12:30 and was having a panic attack and then had trouble falling asleep. Once I fell back to sleep, I struggled to stay calm and found myself constantly waking in a state of panic. The smallest occurrences can set off my panic, it is like a ticking bomb. I kept waking, feeling like my chest was caving in, unable to catch my breath. 

I suffer every day. I wish I could say this happens once in a while, but I am not that lucky. I go through this many times a week. I cannot control it, it controls me. My disease tells me what to do and how to live. Something that could be such a small trip to one person is like building up and accomplishing a marathon for me, and it is draining. 

It took nearly a month for me to build the courage to go to that office and turn in the information for my son to keep his insurance. Then, it cost me the rest of the day and night to recover from the trip. At least my husband knows how hard it is for me and helps me when I need him. 

It was brutal. Maybe, one day, I will find a trip away from home to be easy. Maybe. 

❤ LAFMommy

Strangers

I know I probably do not have many “followers” on my blog, whether they have actually chosen to follow it, or if they ghost follow me, but I wanted to let my followers know something. If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know. You could live in freakin Australia (halfway across the world), and I will still chat with you online.

I know what it is like to feel alone, and to need someone to talk to, and sometimes a complete stranger is easier to talk to because family and friends can seem judgmental. Hey, they may not even realize it, or mean it, but you know it’s happening. It’s nice to have some support sometimes. I get a ton from my husband, but someone else may not.

Sometimes I read posts online, and I think.. man, I wish I could talk to this individual. I wish I could tell them my story and let them know they are not alone and there is someone that cares. Yes, I care. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW YOU. But I care.

I was going to write a much longer blog today, but our son was ill and I have been focused on him. I just wanted to throw this out there, and let people know.

You are never alone. You are more than your battle.

❤ LAFMommy

Accomplishment

I got out of bed today.

In the first blog, “The Start of Something Beautiful,” I wrote about how, of all my experiences, being a mommy was my greatest accomplishment. When I say greatest I mean, the thing in life I am best at doing. I have accomplished many things, but this is, and always will be, my greatest.

Then, there is my hardest accomplishment. Getting out of bed every day. When I wake up, I do not get out of bed for myself, because believe me, I could find it easier to stay there. I get up, simply, for my husband and my son. Tristan cannot take care of himself. He needs me. Marco needs me, even if he is a grown man.

I open my eyes, I see the sun has risen, but I close my eyes again and pretend it is not a new day. I escape into the back of my eyelids, for just a little longer. I wait. I wait for Marco to roll over and say good morning, I wait for Tristan to wiggle around and announce his presence. I lay there and I wait to be told that I need to get up, because others need me.

As easy as it could be to stay in bed all day, every day, I get up. I could give up and give in to my mental diseases, I could let them consume me. They already almost have, so why not give in completely ? The truth is, that I do not want to disappoint my family. The two people in this house that would do anything for me. And if they would do anything for me, then I cannot lay in the bed, wasting away, and do nothing for them. Every day though, I feel myself giving in to the desire of staying there.

It is always an uphill battle. I refuse to let my battle win.

❤ LAFMommy

 

Broken but surviving

I started my blog three months ago and I had no idea what to write about. I would write something and then I would delete it, until I finally decided to make it private because I felt I did not have anything of interest.

I made the decision five minutes ago that I wanted to get back to my blog, to try and release some of the thoughts and struggles of my every day life. So here I go.

Once a week I go through a therapy session. A session that only drives me deeper and deeper into my struggle with depression, anxiety and PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). It has been 7 years. SEVEN. And even after those 7 years, I still think about it on a daily basis. I still wake up from nightmares with the fear that it is going to happen again. I fear that I am going to go right back to that night, the night of the nasty “r” word. I was raped.

My life was taken from me. He stole everything from me that meant anything.

Let’s go back to before this happened, when I was still a happy go lucky 18 year old, fresh out of high school. Life was perfect. At the time I didn’t really have any worries, I was living in the moment, and enjoying everything, like any other teenager would be. Fast forward a bit, I enlisted into the military, which I thought was an amazing step in life. Fast forward a little more, I was almost finished with my training and with only a few weeks left, I was ready to go home. This is when my life was turned upside down.

Now, here I am, 26 years old. Now, people would say that I have the PERFECT life. I have an amazing husband, with an amazingly handsome nearly 10 month old baby boy. We live in a beautiful home, although we are trying to take the next step of purchasing one, and he tries to make sure we do not go without. We have our moments where things get tough financially, but who doesn’t ? Life has its hardships sometimes. With that being said, MY life is far from perfect. The outer shell, what I allow people to see, is perfect, as compared to the every day description, but inside, I live in hell. By inside, I mean mentally. I constantly fight memories, I wake up having panic attacks feeling as if I am going through the experience all over again. Driving in my car I will drift off into my thoughts and realize I’m starting to have a panic attack simply because a memory entered my mind.

My heart races, I can’t breathe, I begin to sweat, and I’m terrified.

This is how I feel every single day of my life. I barely leave my house, except to go to a family member’s house, typically my grandparent’s, so they can watch Tristan while I do my, once a week, therapy session. I don’t even go to the hospital for my session. At first it was due to not having the gas money because it was too far from my house, and then it was because of my son, but really it’s because I’m too afraid to travel that far from home, especially without my husband. We do go out on occasion, but I am very hyper-vigilant, I don’t do crowds, and I don’t venture away from my husband. I’m even terrified of just going to a restroom at a restaurant alone, because I fear what could be around the corner.

I have trouble maintaining friendships because I don’t like to go out. About 5-6 years ago though, I was living a completely different life. I pretended nothing happened, I coped with alcohol. I had no self respect, alcohol was my best friend. I wanted to die. I eventually realized that this wasn’t the life I wanted. I changed. I stopped drinking, but the person on the inside was still the same. I had hardened and turned cold. I couldn’t maintain any relationship until I met my husband. He has helped me through so much, and is literally, my backbone, my rock.

I didn’t tell him anything for a little while, and I didn’t give him details for nearly 2 years. When I told him what happened [details omitted], I didn’t really have a choice due to the fact that I had a panic attack just because he laid his head on my chest while watching a movie. I assumed he would immediately judge me, turn away from me because I was “defective.” He didn’t. He stayed, and he has been “dealing” with this for the last 4 years. He puts up with so much from me because of the nasty “r” word. I live because of him. I live for him and for our son.

I don’t think people realize how hard it is to live with depression, anxiety and PTSD. Some days will be okay, while others I cannot even pull myself out of bed. I feel like the walls are closing in or like someone is holding a pillow over my face and I can’t escape. It’s like I’m tied down deep in the woods and I’m screaming for help, but no one will ever hear me. I can be in a room full of people, but I’m always alone. I would love to be an advocate for those affected by the nasty “r” word, but I still can’t even speak on what happened to me with people close to me, let alone others that I don’t know. I can only speak on my issues that affect me because of the nasty “r” word.

Through all of this, I survive. I live to see another day. Because of my husband. Because of my son. My reasons for living. My reasons for being here.

Help raise awareness for those affected by the nasty “r” word. Help save a life. This is an uphill battle, that some don’t win.

</3 LAFMommy – Broken but surviving