When you’re going through hell, keep going…

Last weekend sucked. Actually, most weekends suck these days. Those are the times when I’m alone and I’m not a fan of that right now. I tend to think too much anyway and if you give me a quiet apartment, I could make overthinking into something that could rival an Olympic event. This past weekend, had I been competing in the trials for said event, I would have totally nailed it, with not only a personal best, but a new world record, I’m sure.

Backing up a step, things actually started to go off the rails on Friday morning, when I went to workout and found the gym at my apartment complex completely trashed…a perfect set up for a PTSD episode that brought me literally and figuratively to my knees. I called Jim, because that’s what I do. While he was supportive as he talked me back to the safety of my apartment, the conversation ended with him saying that while he loved me and always would, I needed to stop depending on him. I get that, really I do, but it still hurt to hear. For the last 16 years, even though he has rarely known how to combat the demons that haunt me, his presence has given me a feeling of safety and security.

The next day, after an amazing AA meeting (sidebar, I owe my Saturday morning chicks big time. I will never be able to repay them for their wisdom and love) which primed the pump for crying jags that lasted throughout most of the rest of the day, Jim and I had the first heart to heart talk we’ve had in a long time. I won’t go into details, they are still too close to home that even now, as I’m thinking back on it, I can feel the tears creeping up, but it ended with his holding me while I cried. Through my tears, because, as anyone who knows me at all can attest to, I can’t remain serious for too long, I said “have you gotten taller?” because he seemed taller standing there, holding me in my living room. His response was “why, yes I have.” We both laughed as he wiped the tears off my cheeks. What I will say about that conversation is that I talked about being scared to go through this alone and he talked about how I was stronger than I realized.

There’s just something so heartbreakingly sad about this whole situation. It overwhelms me at times to the point where I feel like I can’t breathe. I love this man and he loves me and yet we can’t seem to work it out. Too much has happened, while I love him more than I can express, I don’t trust him and without trust, it just doesn’t work. As I’ve been wrestling with feelings of existential dread lately (remind me to tell you about my ill advised trip to the hair care isle at Target last week that culminated with me blonde for about 24 hours sometime) I’ve gotten love and support from wonderful friends. A woman who is particularly dear to my heart, mostly because I’m convinced we’re twins separated at birth, sent me this quote from Winston Churchill: When you’re going through hell, keep going. I’ve thought a lot about that the past few days. There was a time when I would have done anything to avoid the pain I’m feeling right now, and I did. I've tried to drink it away, I've tried to starve it away, I've tried to exercise it away, all to no avail. The difference now is, while the pain hasn’t diminished, I’ve grown stronger. With love, support, and the sometimes unscathing honesty of my friends I’ve grown strong enough to walk through this pain. There is no way around it, there is no way over it, there is no way under it, my only choice is to go through it. Avoiding it keeps me in it, moving through it will one day get me past it. So today, as I go through this hell, I'm going to keep going.