Just in case you ever, ever doubted it- you matter. You are here for a reason. Sometimes, life is going to be hard, so hard that you may want to give up. It is okay to feel weak and to question your journey. Those are the moments that will help you grow stronger. Whatever you do, don't give up. You matter.
This week, I have taken a hiatus from social media and my blog to reflect, grieve, and seek hope. My silence is not a sign of apathy or complacency. Sometimes, in the wake of tragedy, you need time to take care of yourself before answering the call to action. Thank you Jennifer Marshall and This Is My Brave, Inc. for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts on your blog.
The 4th of July has always been a day that has been marked by insane adventures for me- this year I was moving in 95 degree South Carolina heat after spending the weekend in the mountains, two years ago was spent at a theme park with my family, four years ago was filled with creating new art for an upcoming move, and seven years ago was spent on a family vacation through Tennessee. Just my parents, sister, and I on a month-long trip through the state. I had happened to have just gone through a traumatic break-up, was experiencing some really dramatic highs and lows in rapid fire, and was battling some of the ugliest internal monsters I had ever seen. I was on a speeding train towards disaster.
Because of the glory of the Timehop app, yesterday I had the jarring experience of looking back at the photos from the vacation (below). That person is someone I don't recognize anymore- so thin and gaunt, hiding anger, anxiety, frustration, depression, self-loathing all beneath the surface of a too-tight smile. That person scares me and comforts me. Two months after that vacation, I hit rock bottom and started to seek help. That moment in my life represents the worst struggle and the best decision I have ever made.
In a perfectly serendipitous turn of events, I ended up in the Smoky Mountains once again this 4th of July weekend. This time, my days were spent relaxing with my family, the datemate, his family, and friends. I felt calm, controlled, and happy. It was the perfect way to mark year 7 on my journey towards getting better. Every single day is a struggle, but that doesn't mean that you give up on finding serenity. It makes the great days even sweeter, the love even deeper, and the hopefulness even stronger.
Enjoy the small things today. Find something beautiful. Cherish it. You ARE making progress.
This past weekend. Vacation with the datemate. My progress.
After posting Falling in Love When Depressed, I learned something that I have long tried to preach to my students, yet apparently have not done a very good job at internalizing. Intent versus impact. When I wrote that blog, my intent was to share how I experience relationships as someone with a chronic mental illness. My hope was that the blog would help others that may get stuck in the same routine of self-sabotage when in romantic relationships. When I 'give and give and give', it is not to my relationships or to individuals. It is to my own self-doubt. That is my fatal flaw. That is why many of my relationships have failed. While building a support system over the last 10 years, I have learned that this tends to be a common problem for people who suffer from depression. We do not believe that we are worth the love that is given to us, thus we reject it and hurt our friends, families, and loved ones in the process.
Unfortunately, the impact was that some individuals took to speculation regarding the former boyfriends that I eluded to in the post. The point of the post was not to throw anyone under the bus or paint anyone in a malicious light. I made sure to have an in-depth conversation with the man referenced in "my last serious relationship before meeting datemate" to let him know what I was writing about so that he would know that it was not about him or about our relationship, but about how my mental illness impacts my life. He gave me his blessing. We ended on good terms and continue to be on good terms.
Saying that, I have not always been the most upstanding person when it comes to dealing with exes and failed relationships. I would like to blame part of that on my obsessive behaviors or anxiety or depression, but there is no one or nothing to blame but me. The easy route has always been to hide behind my mental illness; yet, over the last few months I have learned that this doesn't make the hurt go away- it only spreads it wider and deeper. Sometimes hurt makes us say and do terrible, awful things. I have let wounds fester and resentment grow. For that, I am sorry. I am sorry for what I have said about others and for how that may have impacted their lives. I am sorry for who I let myself become at times.
Each relationship I have been in has helped to mold who I am today. However, those relationships are now over and are of our own private business. This blog is about my personal experiences with mental illness- I never want it to be construed any other way.
This is my life, my journey. I am still learning to stay healthy, be a better person, and let positivity prevail. Thank you for being a part of that.
Today, I am full of regret. It feels hypocritical because nearly every day I ask my students or my friends "what would you do without expectations, boundaries, or fear of failure?" By living this motto, you should never have regrets. Yet here I am. On January 8th, this world lost a truly amazing human being after a year long battle with cancer. Larry was my cousin- albeit if you looked at our family tree you wouldn't be able to easily figure out where he fit. He was married to an amazing woman that I grew up calling my cousin, even though we have no blood relation. She is the unofficial adoptive daughter of my mother's sister- yet you would never know that we weren't all blood related, as my aunt has more love than what could possibly all fit inside her tiny body. She has treated all of us- daughters, nieces, nephews, boyfriends, friends- as her own children. Larry was her son- no question about it.
The last time I saw Larry was 2 years ago at my grandfather's funeral. The last time I saw his youngest son, Mason- my second cousin or nephew as I call him- was when he was still in diapers, a baby just barely a year old. Mason and I nearly share a birthday. He turns 4 years old in August. Between moving away from home for graduate school and then getting a job out of state, it has been easy for me to make excuses not to come home- to alienate the people who have always been family. I have been scared that maybe I have changed too much, that they won't understand me or like me anymore, that I won't fit in. I have had family members turn their backs on me before and I think, in my mind, it would be easier to run away from them than to let them leave me. My own fear has cost me the chance to learn from one of the courageous men on this earth.
Larry was the type of person that rarely spoke, but when he did, you knew you were going to laugh. He was kind, goofy, caring, and witty. At our last Christmas together, I remember him cracking a joke about how incredibly weird the sisters (my mother and her 3 sisters) are. What he, nor anyone else at that gathering knew, was that I was teetering on the brink of a panic attack that night- I hate crowds and dislike Christmas because I feel so much pressure to make everyone else feel happy. I have to hide my anxiety. His jokes helped keep me calm. He helped save me from embarrassment.
When I found out that Larry had cancer, it was easy for me to pretend that it wasn't happening. He was in Florida, while I was in South Carolina. I would get updates via text or Facebook. It was like reading about someone else- not him. That made it easier to lessen the pain. It wasn't fair that something like this could happen to someone like him. Larry was a warrior, a fighter. He was a father of 5, an adoring husband, a hard-worker, even when his body was turning against him. Throughout the whole ordeal, he never lost his faith in God- a battle that I gave up on a long, long time ago. He had courage in the face of tremendous adversity. He was a hero.
I regret not taking the time to learn more from Larry. I regret letting my own fear of rejection keep me from the very family that has always been there for me. I regret not taking the time to simply reach out and ask what I could do to make things easier. I regret not coming home to see him one last time.
Regret doesn't really do much, other than make you feel lousy. But I think that lessons can be learned from regret. Don't wait to reach out to those that you love. Don't let your own selfish fear stand between you and the people who can change your life. Be courageous.
For you, Larry. I love you, I miss you, and I am so sorry I wasn't there.
LARRY
ROBERTS, 39
Larry Roberts, 39 of Lakeland, FL, died peacefully at home Friday January 8th, 2016, surrounded by his family and friends. Larry was a warrior and fought a year long battle with cancer.
Larry was an employee for G&G Electric Company in Lakeland and they became his second family. He was a friend to many and was always willing to do whatever he could for whoever he met. The world was a better place with him in it. He was a member of Oasis Community Church.
Larry is survived by his wife of 12 years, Tamara Roberts and their 5 children: Cooper (8), Mason (3), Alexis (17), Mitchell (15) and Tristan (13) and many other family and friends. The family will receive guests from 3 to 5 p.m. January 24th with a service at 5 p.m. at Oasis Community Church. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the C-5 Youth ministries at Oasis Community Church.
A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth. Ecclesiastes 7:1
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