someone once asked me, "if you could write a book about your life, what would the title be?"
i paused. then without hesitation said, "trauma, lol."
my adult life story has been one of delicious, yummy moments of life and also the darkest, excruciating moments where i considered ending the physical heartbreak i was feeling so i could be set free.
parents divorce - age 17-19
married - age 24
marriage included being a stepmom, fighting, shame, joy, bliss, infidelity, judgement, heartbreak and ultimately an ending.
miscarriage 1 - 27
miscarriage 2 - 29
divorce - 30
sloppy post-divorced phase trying to numb the pain, ending in an unwanted pregnancy and having to make the decision after two miscarriages and having wanted it so badly to make the right call in having an abortion - age 30
bought my own townhouse - age 31
partner accidental overdose on heroin, to which i thought he was sober and died - age 32
partner who i had almost sold my townhouse for and had moved all my stuff into his house commits suicide - age 33
checks into retreat for mental health that is now dubbed as 'trauma camp' - age 33
experience my first healthy, respectful relationship even though it ended - 34
sexually assaulted in my own home - 34
redeems sense of self and comes out of the darkness - 35 (weeks ago)
life isn't fair. i am a daughter of privilege - a home to live in, clothes to keep me warm, food to keep me full. but i was also a survivor of very serious, deep trauma and pain. i hear other's say, "it gets easier with time" or "everything happens for a reason. it'll get better. you'll find someone when you're supposed to." and while maybe all of those things can be true, it just plain pissed me off. i am still very human, with very human emotional reactions. numb to it at some point, right? you expect pain. you are constantly braced for impact. and it happens and it feels like the universe has tagged you to experience all of the terrible things a person can go through. for what? because what doesn't kill you makes you stronger? that's bullshit. not everything happens for a reason. i very firmly do not believe that.
i find myself content with being alone and liking who i am and what i stand for. i have two worlds worth of empathy for any and every struggling soul that exists. i harness the pain into helping others with purpose. i wake up everyday trying to be a good person, who loves big and loves boldly. it's hard. grief can barrel in like a tsunami and be gone just as quick. but so can joy. but the days get longer and the joy stays a little longer, too. you fiercely grasp onto the small joys in life you've made for yourself - your home, your pet, your memories of lost loves. and then one day i wake up and i feel like it's over.
the darkness in which i survived in was darker than the night. and there were moments, serious moments, of a physical pain so deep that i had five ways to leave it all behind. but then you sleep a little more one night. someone hugs you at the right time. your eyes soften on a bright day. and you claw your way back from hell to a world that holds color and sweetness and dare i say, a future.
my risk is staying alive. and my story is just starting.