As I near the end of this semester with 5 finals looming over me, I stopped and took a moment to appreciate how far I have actually come. This year I have made huge strides in trauma therapy, though I know I still have so far to go. I FINALLY finished my associates degree this year, something I began working toward back when I duel enrolled in high school (circa 2002). My son is growing up and his personality in all its growing pains is emerging and for the most part he seems happy and is healthy. I applied, interviewed and was accepted to WSU and the mortuary science program there.
I finished the first book Jezebel, in my new series early on in the year after working on it for nearly two years and even began the second book. Two months ago I finally joined a gym again and I am even working with a personal trainer twice a week.
So I sit here before one of my last classes, attempting to study for finals, to take a break and just breathe. To remember how far I’ve come and how much I’ve survived. I’ve met so many people in the last few months and all of them seem surprised to find out I am Bipolar, have PTSD and suffer from anxiety. I wear my scars well, I’ve been told. Surviving doesn’t come without great self sacrifice. I have buried myself in my studies, my son and often Netflix and its time to live a little a more. Or at least try to. Truth be told, I don’t know who I am without the darkness I’ve carried around with me my entire life. As I progress through therapy I find I am much more easily triggered. Triggered by things I couldn’t see coming. Triggered by shows I watch, people I love. The truth is, my truth anyway, I haven’t been okay in a long time. “Fake it until you make it,” was drilled into me during my more prominent acting days and it seeped into real life. I’m not a fan of explaining what I want or need especially because the safety of doing it myself and not needing anyone quiets the noise in my mind, quiets the shake in my bones. I will as always keep fighting, keeping pressing on, keep chasing dreams old and new alike, keep pretending until I no longer can bury it and it explodes into a supernova of sorts. I will keep going to get through, to survive until I find some relief and can exhale again. But, I am not okay. I haven’t been in a long time. I have bursts of okay and better. So if I haven’t been there for you the way you wish I was or needed me to be just know I wanted to be so badly it hurts but in order to survive and one day truly live, I can’t be what you need. It’s time I am what I need.
