Skip to main content

P33ish084: Mental Health - How's Your Healing Today, Baby?


I wish people didn't hurt people. I wish we didn't hurt each other. I wish we didn't hurt; period. And in the event that we do, I wish it didn't take so long, or such complicated processes, to recover. I wish we all just bounced back like it never happened. Because healing is weird. The healing process in itself could hurt. Because one day you are fine, back in your colors, certain you are out of it: you're over it, over them, getting better; getting a stronger grip on things. And it makes you feel good! Oh it feels mighty good to not be in pain; to not double over every time you try to get up and leave that spot. So you are happy, because you're getting up today and you're not doubling over as the pain slices through your midsection, or grips your chest. Wow look! You think, you never thought you could do it, didn't think it'd ever happen: that you would get out of that dark place, stop crying, get past that pain; but here you are, and it now all seems like some distant memory, or some other person's experience. Oh wow. You even wonder who that blubbery anguish-y person was that had taken over your body just the other day, 'cause that don't look like you now. And so you're happy, and proud of your own progress. You never thought you'd make it out but you did. You're here. Out in the sun. You're well. You feel good. You have your life back. You can do this!

And then you hit a bend.

Something happens: you watch a movie, listen to a song, read a book, see a picture, talk to an old friend; and it could have been a whole 'nother person in a whole different planet who'd been feeling all that good feeling just yesterday. Because it's no way in hell you even imagined you had escaped this...this...this feeling right now that's clutching your chest in such a fierce grip and making it so hard to breathe. Oh God, you think. How long has it been again? When did this injury happen? You don't even know. Because this thing in your chest doesn't feel like pain from a year ago, this feels like someone just raised a hammer all the way up and landed it on your chest with all the strength they could muster, all the while staring you dead in the eye. No, this most definitely is a new pain, a new injury, because you were fine just yesterday! You were ready to go, to forget, to begin again; you already got past that! Or did you? Were you even close to beginning? Now you're trying not to cry, or double over, or just curl up in a ball and let the despair claim you. But how? How is this still so raw? How does it still hurt this bad? You wonder. And it makes you sad. Because you had this in the bag, you were doing it, putting one conscious foot in front of the other; just moving. But now you feel like a failure. 'Cause you're fast losing your grip on composure. You thought you had this. But then here you are, a gasping blubbery mess, in such agony it seems impossible that you had even begun to mend in the first place. So now you're right back where you began: confused, hurt, anguished, sad...so sad. And it's all you can do to not give in to the despair closing in on you, but you really can't fight it this time. You are tired. You are worn. 'Cause I mean, what's the point? You fought yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before then, and the month before that one; and you could have sworn you'd won. Or at least been winning. So where's all this fresh pain coming from? Why does the despair look and feel as gigantic as it did the first time it appeared? Will it ever get smaller? You wonder. Will it ever fade? Will it ever disappear?

Or will you always hurt? Never truly heal?

Will you always be on the mend?

Related: click here to read The Heaviness Of Hope & The Timeline For Healing

And I wish I knew but I don't, really. Not right now. Because 'you' is me today. So I guess we'll just breathe through the despair and try get through the day. Even if we have to do it from that little corner on the floor, and dare hope that if the despair didn't swallow us last year, or last week, or yesterday; then it won't swallow us today.

So how about a stare down?
A cower is good too, if that's what gets you by.

Win some, lose some, right?

Right.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

P33ish065: Silent Treatment II - The Art Of Silence, By K.W.C

Guess who decided to guest-blog and provide some male perspective on Page33ish this weekend?? My retired twin (find him here). He does it with a "RE" to the Silent Treatment article too and I liked it, but of course I am biased; you read first and let's see how you like his voice.

By the way, I turned on the 'anonymous' feature in the comment section so at least those of you who don't "like to comment on blogs" could please leave him a kind feedback, pretty please...please? I mean, who knows, a comment or two might just make him pick on a few other articles to spin off on. But enjoy this one first!

P33ish050: Progress, Perfection, And The Art Of Intentional Loving

I love love. I love it as an intentional decision. I love it as a repeated unwavering choice. Deliberate love is a gift. It is life itself. But life is getting harder by the day. What with love becoming more conditional and intentions getting less trusted. We actually now live (or maybe it's me who's just now catching up) in a world where people extra scrutinize a genuine in-the-moment kind act and are usually just taking an intentionally good gesture with bated breath for when the mask falls off. But hey, trust issues aside now, nobody really wants to see what's behind that put-together exterior, don't matter what they say. And "living your truth" has now become more of a slogan than an actual lifestyle because your lovers don't really wanna see your truth. They can't handle it. Force 'em to hear it and folks might even stone you for it. People want to be a part of your life without your demons or your suitcase of issues. But of course, they'…

P33ish073: Confessions Of A Man Whore - Korede Sins

One

The mind of a young boy can be filled with fantasies too lofty for his head and mine was no different, add that to being a 'fine' boy, and here's what you have.

Back at school, girls would drool over and daydream about me -- not that many of them had the guts to walk up to me and make their orders off my menu; I just heard these things from friends and mates alike. Not that it would have mattered, though, because I had been in a serious relationship which hadn't hit the rock until the end of our second year so I had some big issues stemming from the love of my life leaving me because I was, in her words, a "no way." By the start of year three, though, I had just one mission: to prove my ex wrong.

Upon resumption, I made a new friend, Tola; and thanks to our shared love of music, something she was planning to build a career in, we hit it right off. And then there was my guts which she admitted fancying.

P33ish067: Reflections - Hello December, Goodbye 2019

Say "Hi" if this hadn't been the 2019 you ordered too...?

'Cause there has to be a manager we could talk to about product quality, dammit!

God, this year has been IT! A really crazy it, because it started out so beautifully. So so beautifully. And then it was as though I took a test and failed. Or maybe it was that I took too many things for granted and wasn't thankful enough, or fussing when I shoulda been nursing or whatever. Because just like that, (almost) everything went to shits. And Lord, how I'm still here and able to stay standing, is a miracle I'll never take for granted. Because this year demanded my very life. Almost got it too.

P33ish042: Movie Review - Kemi Adetiba's King Of Boys

The first thing I thought of as Alhaja Salami walked into that room where her goons were holding the bleeding man was Ghost walking into the basement at TRUTH in the pilot episode of Power season one. It just so happened that both characters had left their parties to do the same thing: be evil. I loved the precision in the similarity. It was just so...there; from the 'who you working for', to the language switch, and the blood on the shirt/ipele ish, right down to the bleeding guy's refusal to snitch on who he'd been working for. You better holler at your girl if you caught that math too, TV people.


Despite being a godfatherism/dog-eat-dog story—not unlike many before it—that chronicles the rise-fall-and-whatever-else-followed of the protagonist, Eniola Salami (Sola Sobowale), I think that what takes King Of Boys off the 'typical' list is its realism: that good or evil isn't absolute; that if the line must be drawn, then sometimes 'evil' wins; that …

P33ish047: #WorldMentalHealthDay - Confessions Of A Survivor

I didn't realize how emotionally dependent I had been on other people: first my son, then my partner; until the son had to go on vacation too soon after the partner left. And on an exceptionally bad day, I took a lot extra anti-allergy pills (that I had already been abusing for its side effects) just 'cause I wanted to 'sleep'. I just didn't know how to be me outside of my mom/partner duties; it got too quiet in the house, thus giving the voices in my head more audio, and then there was the part of me that was still bleeding so much from being left that, to stem it, I did the one thing all the counselling materials warn against: trigger my own self for temporary relief.

P33ish028: The Heaviness Of Hope & The Timeline For Healing

It's exactly sixty-four days today that my once-upon-a-time ended once and for all. Hmmn! I got a shiver as I was typing that, so I'm gonna go again: it is exactly sixty-four days today that my once-upon-a-time ended once and for all (there, better: acceptance) and it was not until three days ago that I truly let go.

Yes, it took me two full months. And change. To simply stop wishing the 'bad dream' away.
There were moments in those two months when my mind went all, hey, suck it up he's moved on, your spot is filled, he's not out somewhere being miserable and a shadow of himself looking like a scarecrow, he's back on his game, he's happy, so quit whining, B...quit praying, Mary, bury this Lazarus!

Ahhh, child...

P33ish021: Meeting The Parents - Why It Should Be The First Thing You Do

Two years ago, a 26-year-old declared love for me. I told him to tell his mom first. Felt like a callous thing to say/do, but it was a cut-or-get-cut situation. And I'd been cut once. Because two years ago, I was 32. And I am a mom. And the last time I allowed myself get Mills-and-Boomed by someone who was that younger than I am, let's just say the mommy took him back...and there wasn't even a child then.

I had a buddy at the time who thought I'd been harsh with my 26-year-old, but he -- I presumed -- understood where I was coming from. Turned out he didn't. But that's not the point of this write up.

P33ish022: Self Check - How Toxic Are You?

How about everyone steps aside and stop by the confessionary before we go any further? Are you toxic or not? Whether your answer is yes or no -- especially if your answer is no: get in here.
The priest will see you now...

P33ish025: Solitude

I probably shouldn't be trying to write anything right now: my head is empty and my mind is out of even my own reach, so it's not like I have anything ready to go. But words been all I got for a long time, so I'm hoping they haven't chosen to ditch me now.

My friend said something to me very recently, she said, "it's just a freaking breakup babes, why are you falling apart like this?" The answer to that question is one I've been trying to find in the rare voidness that is my current mind ever since. What that has led me to, however, is a backtrack into my life the past ten or so years, and the one realization that has come up staring me in the face is one I don't think I've ever actively pondered before: the fact that I have never been alone.

Like alone.

And that's crazy. Because I was never even the typical relationship person. I mean, I don't need all my fingers to count the number of guys I've gotten naked with. I have never b…