Thursday, August 4, 2011

Papa, I'm broken.


I haven't been writing much but you had best believe this has been a month jam packed of mental health learning, growing, regressing and moving forward again. I wanted to write more, share more of this experience with the interwebs but I needed all that courage and energy for me. Over the last couple months my biggest challenge and greatest reward was coming clean with my family.

In my family I like to consider myself the one who has it together. When things fall apart I'm really good at picking up the pieces, dusting them off and trying to find a good spot for them. I am in control. If I can apply logic to the situation I'm okay. If I can figure it out & understand something I'll be okay.

I stopped being okay months ago and simply blocked everyone out. Honestly, its been years in the making. I have managed to push away all of my friends. Its been YEARS since I was truly connected or engaged in any project I was proud to be part of... I was in a slow but steady isolation process that eventually left me no one to push away but my family.

Finally the guilt of avoiding the phone calls, voicemails and text messages was too much. If anything happened to me while I am "this way" (mentally unfit) I decided it simply wasn't fair to those I loved. As much as it hurt to admit there was something wrong that I couldn't fix I called my Papa, ready to get this monster off my chest.

Our conversation was short but impressive. In just a couple of minutes he was able to remind me that any diagnosis didn't matter, I'm still me. He loves me (a lot) and will always be there for me, no matter what. [note: I did just now, upon typing that, have to get up to blow my nose and compose myself. I really do love my Papa] All the guilt, SHAME, disappointment and embarrassment was breifly lifted.

It might have taken my stubbornly egotistical self a long time to let my Papa know how I am REALLY doing but doing so has really shifted my mentality into a new kind of healing; to a more accepting healing process at the very least.

I remembered it really IS okay to be me, broken pieces and all.

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