The horror persists, as do I

New Year's Eve, a day of reflection and resolutions. Looking back, it's been almost 2 years since I last posted here.  Writing has always been my therapy. I can write out my thoughts far better than I've ever been able to verbalize them, and when I read them back, they become clear. The issues become smaller and the solution seems simpler.  The negative thoughts swirling in my head spill onto the page with every key stroke.  The clouds lift and my heart feels lighter.  So it's no wonder the last two years have been such a struggle.  I didn't take the time to do what makes me feel better; I just trudged forward in the quicksand. Each step getting harder and heavier. 

I've seen so many versions of myself since my last post, that it would be too hard to give a full update.  Maybe I'll hit on some of the biggies and let the rest fall by the wayside.  Speaking from the here and now, I think it can be summed up pretty simply: life is kicking me in the dick.

Here's the funny thing: I've checked all my major boxes for the things I dreamed of as a child. I have the marriage, the kids, the home.  I even have a job that I enjoy, and although it's not the fantastic writing career I wanted, I genuinely like what I do for work. But I'm a frequent rider on the struggle bus, medicated for survival, and still lacking a sense of joy and fulfillment.  Something is missing, either within myself or in the world around me. 

I can't attribute it to the heavy losses from the last couple years because it started well before that, although those certainly didn't make things any easier.  The biggest loss being the sudden passing of my babiest brother, Billy.  It was a typical Sunday morning when I saw my dad's number pop up on my phone, and I just knew it wasn't going to be good news.  I didn't realize just how true that was until he told me that Billy was gone.  My breath caught in my throat and there was no stopping the tears. I paced the floor of my living room and laundry room, asking the same things over and over, feeling lost and wanting nothing more than to be with my Dad in that instant.  The days that followed were a blur, as I made the 3 hour drive to and from my Dad's house multiple times, helped him with whatever I could, sat in a funeral home completely raw and wishing to crawl out of my own skin.  A full house celebration of life and long overdue family tattoos later, Billy's memory lingers.  The happy thoughts of the little guy, way too smart for his age, that I now see all over again through his daughter.  The smile that curls the edges of my lips upward when I recall the sarcastic roasting we used to give each other all the time. It's bittersweet knowing we should have had more time, yet I'm grateful for the time we did have, and for the time I've been given with my niece in his absence. Sometimes I'll look over at the wooden urn sitting on my mantle, and taunt him with a joke, as if he can hear and respond.  Other times I'll catch a glimpse of his rugby photo on my wall and feel a deep and resounding regret that I only saw him play once.  But when I hear his daughter talk, I see her daddy's mannerisms and know that he's never fully gone. He poured every bit of himself into that little girl.  She was his magnum opus.

In the midst of all of this, what I thought was a new beginning with my other brother turned upside down and showed me that blood relation doesn't automatically bring with it loyalty, trust, or respect.  After he had a major stroke, we reconnected, but his life was falling apart in other ways and it culminated with a 6 week stay at our house followed by just his son living with us for the next 8 months.  As we sunk deeper and deeper into debt, worrying how we were going to provide for our own children and trying to raise his child with absolutely no help from my brother or my nephew's mom, I finally asked them first to let me claim him on my income taxes (they said no), and then asked them to sign over temporary guardianship, which started a huge fight. Suddenly I went from being their beloved sister and savior, best aunt in the world, to some child-stealing monster. Knowing that they'd come into some money and would have a place to live again, I told them to either let me have guardianship or take their son back. They chose the latter.  And I haven't been allowed to see or speak to my nephew since.  The truth is, I don't miss my brother at all.  Losing contact with my nephew has been the worst part.  I hope that he'll be old enough to reach out on his own soon enough.  That's the only ray of hope in the dramatic mess of that whole situation.

If you know me, or have read my previous posts, it's obvious that I'm a basket case.  I've had a lifelong struggle with depression and anxiety (long before it was the trendy thing to admit), and after having my 3rd child, those mental health issues only worsened.  In early 2022, I finally put on my big girl panties and established care with a doctor, had blood work done to check my hormones (not surprisingly they were out of whack) and eventually admitted that I needed pharmaceutical assistance with the mental stuff.  With my hormones in balance and duoluxetine on deck, I thought I'd have a better grasp on life.  I don't daydream of unaliving myself anymore, which was the most urgent reason for my seeking medical help.  However, my typical optimism and positive outlook even in the thick of some serious struggles, is just gone.  Each day is a chore. Experiences that should be joyful are meh.  Sure, they're cool, but the bursting heart glee that I used to feel for every little thing has been replaced with a numbness.  I recognize that this isn't who I am, or who I've ever been, and yet I don't know how to change it.  In moments that should either be full of happiness or sorrow, I'm riding in the middle, mostly apathetic while still being aware that I should be feeling SOME emotion.  I can cry, I can laugh and smile, but I used to do all of those things with my whole being, inside and out.  Now, it's like muscle memory.  Milestones and precious moments with my children are muffled by this veil that seems to shroud everything from reaching my soul.  I exist around it instead of throughout it. I tolerate living the way a person tolerates the common cold. It's inconvenient but you keep trudging on.

You might not understand why I'm sharing this, and that's okay. If you've read this far, I'm impressed.  Even I get tired of thinking this way and talking about this. My hope in putting this out into the great white void that is the internet is that it will bring back some of the therapeutic properties that writing used to provide.  That it will create even the smallest spark that might ignite something greater. A passion that's been lacking for so long now that I've forgotten how it felt or why I felt it.  I've never been one to need life to be all rainbows. I am okay with adversity. I'm strong and determined.  I'm a survivor. I know this about myself, always have.  I just need to know that I won't always be like this. That I can find that drive and tenacity that I once had. That I can find joy in the littlest things like a pretty sunrise or the reflection of the sky in a raindrop.  I want to be delighted by trivial moments again.  And in lieu of actual therapy, I'm feverishly typing these embarrassing thoughts on the interwebs as a means to try to reignite something...anything.

Please...just a spark.