When All the Stars Were Falling...

"When all the stars were falling, they fell from above, and I thought of hate, and I thought of hate, and then I thought of love. And I fell down, down, down. I fell down, down..."

-Lisa Loeb

The bottom of the bottom.

 I'm sure you've been there, in some way or another. You, reader, whoever you are. I do not think for one second that my experience is unique or special. It is just one version of so many. Which is why I am choosing to write this. Because if I don't, I might actually, finally, go insane. Which is funny, since there are some who would say that ship has sailed many years ago.

If we are "In the arena" at all, we know what it's like to be in some type of crisis, in some way...to live is to get a little bloody after all...So I know that at some point in your journey there has been a point that has just felt so bad. So very, very bad. When you are so low, it feels like any more piled on top, will surely drown you.

That's where I have been. I have been treading water for most of my life; just keeping my head up. I have made choices that were the equivalent of attaching weights to my own ankles. And the water has been getting deeper, and the weights heavier. And along the way, I added some innocent little people who need their mama to be doing better than just treading water. My arms have, at times, been too tired to hold them. My pain too deep and strong and red-hot to cope with theirs. I realized awhile ago that this was not living. Surviving is not thriving. And I want more than anything for these little people to thrive. These little people, whose journeys I have been privileged to be part of for however long I am able. How can I possibly expect them to thrive when I am not? No...I cannot.

So awhile ago, I began the process of pulling myself out. Of releasing the weights that I alone have the power to release...because that's the thing no one told me; it's all on me and always was. I just have to let go, let go, let go...and now I have been.

It is scary; I have felt crazy. I have doubted myself. I have doubted and I have heard the voices telling me I am crazy and wrong and the problem. So much blame...never enough--no matter what I ever did, or didn't do, or felt, or said...it was not ever enough--and so I have/ finally began to reject those voices. I realized that I had spent my life dictated by them. I had spent my life trying and failing to earn the love and belonging that I should have always had. Because despite what so many people would have you and I believe, there are no prerequisites to love and belonging.

Do you know that, dear reader? Do you hear that? Let those words sink in; THERE ARE NO PREREQUISITES TO LOVE AND BELONGING. No one ever told me that. I can say with absolute certainty that I have never felt deserving of love or belonging without an ever-changing list of conditions and an exhausting amount of work.

So I've been staying away from those voices. I started taking steps away from them...physically and in my heart, which I can say hurt more than anything I thought possible. There is a grieving that comes from rejecting those familiar voices; so painfully comfortable and normal, even. They were all I knew for so long. They taught me what I know of love, but now I choose to stop listening to those voices and love myself instead. I realized that if I kept listening to them, I would lose myself entirely and allow my children to drown in the process. So I chose me.

And as I was doing that they pulled the rug out from under me. Literally, as I was packing and doing everything I could to put distance between us, they gave me a great big shove to help me along. Remember how it's never good enough? Not so shockingly, my leaving wasn't either.

So now I am in an entirely different kind of hell while I wait for what comes next. I have taken the action that I can take, and now it's just a matter of time. What a painful wait it is when those things we need so badly are right there; visible, but still out of reach.

And I am most definitely just treading water here. Eating a lot of chocolate too. Dark chocolate...you know, the healthy kind. Does that make it less shameful? Probably not. But I don't care, you know...because it's a matter of survival right now. I am just trying to get through each day while I wait for the phone to ring and someone on the other end to tell me that I will soon have a home that is mine. That is ours.

So last night...I downloaded Mahjong onto my phone and laid in bed playing it, avoiding the book I really want to read but just cannot concentrate on. I haven't been able to finish a book in years...Me, who once could have polished one off in a day or two. Books were my savior; my escape, my own safe world. And now I can barely get through a page.

I was playing Mahjong and avoiding the dark; thinking of a temporary escape I had coming. Thinking of people that would provide a happy distraction from the daily distress of my current circumstances. Because to be honest, things really just suck right now, and I am holding on to those little shreds of possibility. The thought of someone reaching out to check on me; something so small that could be a lifeline these days. People are so busy with their own lives and I get it...I really do. I forget to check on them. I get busy with my own life and forget to reach out and say "How are you?" "Are you getting through it?" "Are you keeping your head above water?"  So I really do understand the silence from my phone. It's kind of funny, actually, because my number is the same (but with a different area code) as that of a large security company. Ninety-nine percent of the calls I get are from people looking for them. Even their own employees mistakenly call me. So, the irony is my phone is far from silent....I am an unpaid secretary for Chubb Security.

Then I checked Instagram...because when you're feeling down on life, there is nothing better than seeing all the fun other people are having, right...and I was hit hard by the realization that I had been purposefully left out of a family gathering for a recent holiday. To add to my humiliation, the very few people who I had been pushing myself to maybe, possibly trust, had kept me in the dark. Had gone to this gathering while I had not even known it was happening.  

It hit me like a punch in the face. Like one of those things that hurts so much I wish someone had actually punched me in the face, because that pain seems preferable. Maybe not everyone can relate to that, but then again, I'm willing to guess that many of you can.

For as long as I can remember, I wished for at least some of the emotional pain I felt to be physical instead. As a child and young adult, being yelled and screamed at, called names, and so much more, I wished for physical pain. Sometimes I wished for death. I used to unbuckle my seat belt on long drives and wonder if we crashed and I died, would they regret treating me the way that they did? That was the silly self-destructiveness of a child. As a teen, I found other ways. I pulled my hair. I ground my knuckles into walls. I tested myself to see how hot I could stand the shower water. I made the deepest gouges into my arms that my bitten nails would allow. And when that didn't work, I used razors on my arms. Anyone who has self-harmed will tell you how bittersweet that feeling is.

I've come close to that point a few times in the 15 years since. But nowhere near like the last few months. But I have not given in. I have little people watching who need to see me whole. So I will thank goddess and the universe and everything else for the healing I have found. Healing that has allowed me to finally actually cry; real, cortisol-releasing tears, without watching devastatingly sad movies or tragedies on the evening news...you might not understand what a feat this is, but I assure you, it is. There were years where I never thought I'd be able to do that again.

There have been a lot of tears. And healing. And more pain. And tears. And healing...you get the idea. At times I've wondered if I can really hold on to myself through this; day after day. But the tears come, and that tight feeling that takes my breath slowly lets go enough that I can keep going. And I think of my babies and remember why I am doing this and just focus.on.that. Just keep my eyes on them and where we are going.

And that's how I've gotten through.

That is how I will keep getting through.

But last night, I will admit...I let myself descend a bit deeper than I would have liked into that hole where blame, self-pity, powerlessness, and so many other useless-but-for-a-few-minutes-or-

hours feelings co-mingle. 

I've gotten stuck down there before. I know plenty who are stuck down there still. But since I've decided that just isn't a place I'd like to live anymore, I don't stay. I still visit...I imagine I will many times more, if I'm honest...but no, I will not stay. But last night I visited...I visited hard. I found myself face to screen with a piece of information that was quite new to me. And it hurt. It hurt so damn bad because so many of the little threads that I had been using to hold myself together while I stitched it all up just came apart in that moment. And yes, I cried. As quietly as I could, I cried huge, sobbing, self-pitying tears. And today I cried some more.

And that's ok...it really is. I am ok and I will be ok. Because I've stepped into the arena and I am not stepping out again.

Alice "How you treat the child, the child will treat the world."