Not A Day Goes By

“The pain that you’ve been feeling, can’t compare to the joy that’s coming.” – Romans 8:18

The situations I was put in as a child, I didn’t have any authority to put my foot down and walk away. My family was a mess, and there was nothing I could do but hold on tight to my sanity. I began to educate myself in middle school, about anxiety, depression, anything that could help me wrap my head around the feelings I had. Though it was helpful, in comparison to doing nothing and letting it suffocate me, I wish I would’ve found God sooner. I had joined all the religious clubs during elementary school, I could recite the books of the bible, (mostly because if you memorized them you would be rewarded with little trinkets or snacks) I even went to church some Sundays with a friend of mine and her grandparents. My heart wasn’t ready for it, and God has his time for everyone.

The symptoms of anxiety I had experienced in my early years ranged from that rotten pain in my stomach, my throat felt like it was going to close, and my face would start to radiate with heat. I’d made myself vomit multiple times by worrying myself into a frenzy. I feel so much sympathy for that little girl. My parents didn’t ask, and I couldn’t tell them. I was 16 the first time my mom threatened to have my admitted to an acute intake unit, for the psychologically disturbed. I was on my knees in the parking lot of my therapist’s office, crying hysterically because I couldn’t communicate to her how badly I was hurting. She stood above me and simply stated, “Get up and knock it off, or I’m having you admitted.”

I lost my virginity at 16 as well, and that went over fabulously with my mother. Throughout the next couple years, any time I got a stomach bug, or was “overly emotional,” she wouldn’t hesitate in letting my know that if I was pregnant, she would drag me through the court system until I was deemed unfit to raise that hypothetical child. Over a decade has gone by, and I still struggle in making decisions that could possibly rub her the wrong way, for fear that she may follow through with that threat. Mind you, I was a very smart teenager, I didn’t drink, I said no to drugs, I was always extremely responsible, held down a job, and kept my grades above a B- at all times. Other than a generalized anxiety disorder from years of tension, screaming, physical altercations between my parents, there was nothing wrong with me, and I had learned very early on that the world did not accept people who outwardly showed signs of mental/emotional distress on a regular basis. I put on my big girl panties, and tried to fake it the way my family had always wanted me to.

Although, there was a big problem with that; I wasn’t one of them, and playing pretend is not one of my strong suits.

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Explanations

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” – Matthew 7:7

There are so many little things along the way that I should have known were going to greatly change the outcome of my life. I never had dreams or aspirations, growing up I didn’t have a drawn out map of what I wanted. I didn’t have an exact answer when people would ask me what I wanted to go to school for, I had many answers in my head, but no “calling.” I was just living one day at a time, and stressing about the unknown. I couldn’t have seen the ridiculousness of my adult life coming at me. I hold myself accountable for all the mistakes I made, I can give a detailed description of how I got there and what lead to the turning points.

 

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My mom & dad fought as if it was the air they breathed. If there wasn’t something to argue about, there was going to be. I never remember a time that I saw my parents love each other. So how was I ever to know what love meant, what it looked like, or what to strive for? I saw a man who said horrible, unthinkable things to a woman. I saw a man who wouldn’t hesitate to lay his hands on her, headbutts resulting in broken noses, stitches, spitting in her face. Then I saw a woman who refused to walk away, making excuses, pretending that it never happened, and even worse; antagonizing it.

As early as 10 years old, after years of being an audience to the obscene fights between my mom and dad, I developed a strong case of separation anxiety. I couldn’t be out of my comfort zone, or away from my mother, for anymore than a day without dealing with the insane thoughts that went through my mind. I made a deal, sort of an agreement with the Universe, that if something happened to my mother, I would have to go as well. It must sound absolutely absurd to hear that a fourth grader planned on committing suicide whenever her mother inevitably met the end of her life. I didn’t tell anyone about that decision, until I was well into my adult years, and obviously realized how melodramatic the whole situation was. The fact of the matter is, I felt that passionate about being away from the woman who gave birth to me, I was willing to do anything to avoid it.

The panic attacks began so early in life, I had no time to even figure out what was happening. I honestly assumed that everyone felt the same way, and I was nothing short of a weak-minded person. Showing emotion was incredibly frowned upon in my household, so going to my parents with the war I had raging between my ears was completely out of the question. Lonely is an understatement when looking for an adjective to sum up my early years. Confused, angry, disappointed, pessimistic, and simply dark. My parents divorced when I was 7, but the pawns my brother and I would play in their sick game, would never go out of style.

Unfortunately, my teen years and early adulthood would prove me a product of my environment, and the cycle didn’t end until I had a child of my own. Nevertheless, I thank the good Lord the cycle was broken, and I was shown the error of my ways. I’ve got so much to learn, but the beautiful thing about this life is that it’s never too late.

I’m not going to paint a lovely, fake picture of my story leading up to now. The darkness had me smothered, and I hit more low points than I care to be reminded of. There was more than one instance when I thought there was only one way out, trying to communicate that kind of hopelessness is almost impossible. I am aware that no matter how many times I was at the end of my rapidly fraying rope, something would pull me up, and breathe faith back into my lungs. Being reminded that nothing lasts forever saved me on numerous occasions.

Introduction

“Love knows not its own depth, until the hour of separation.” – Kahlil Gibran

I’m a complicated woman, living in a very simple Indiana town. Writing is my passion, and for the fear that other women are living with similar problems that plagued my mind for far too long, I started this page. I just want to share my personal speed bumps, how I dealt with them, and where it left me. In hopes that I reach at least one broken heart who needs to know they’re not alone.

I’m in my late twenties, the mother of a gorgeous three year old, and my life is pretty laid back. I spend time doing a lot of hair & make-up, watching serial killer documentaries, feeding my fountain coke addiction, & smoking the occasional cigarette.

My parents are both remarried to other people. I have one biological sibling. I’ve been engaged twice, but never married. I’ve had two pregnancies, three embryos, but one child on earth. I’m relatively new to Christianity, but my love and appreciation for the good Lord is vast.