A Bubble of Slightly Hysterical Laughter

I woke up January 2^nd to success – I survived the holiday season.  I wasn’t very confident going in, expecting the worst, but it turned out much better than I could have hoped.  Don’t get me wrong, it was grim, but it could have been worse.

This past year has been nothing less than a nightmare for me.  A year in which I was forced to confront my demons, to look at myself with brutal clarity and make decisions I never thought I would have to make or could make.  At first, I was stuck; I didn’t know if I could move forward or if I even wanted too.  There were times I just wanted to quit, when the sum of my past failures were too heavy to carry and the weight of future failures too much to contemplate.  To be completely honest, had there been a handgun in the house I would have used it.  Without a doubt.

With the absence of a handgun, I had to consider my options.  I was caught up in a vicious mantra of “How the FUCK did I get here when this is the exact opposite of what I set out to do?”  Is this what the world’s worst case of Cognitive Dissonance feels like?  I’ve spent more than a decade admitting I’ve made mistakes and trying to correct them, hoping to build bridges to better relationships but the sum of every action, every word has put me right here in a pile of shit.  And I own it all.  Every tiny thing.  It’s mine and I play with it constantly, picking at every detail wondering if I should have handled each thing differently and if I had, would it have turned out better?  If I could go back to 1982, I would avoid life at all costs.

I suspected three years ago that I had utterly failed in the one goal I ever gave myself and I spent the following 8 months in counselling.  It wasn’t until Christmas 2018 though that I knew in my bones everything I had done in the last 35 years had been a colossal failure.  I knew it because the judgement was handed down by a Howitzer who took no prisoners and the sentence was more horrible than I could ever have imagined.  It was very apparent that the goal was to cause the most amount of pain in the most vicious way possible and it was a total success.  I didn’t catch all the issues during the firestorm; they came so fast and so loud it was impossible to comprehend them all.  What I did manage to understand left me confused and shocked.

I called them the following morning anyway, despite The Viking’s livid disagreement, to apologize for the things I thought were the major issues.   At that point, I knew I was done, but I was determined to go with my dignity, if nothing else, intact.  Then, I crawled into my cave and sobbed for the next two weeks.

I might have stayed in that cave for the remainder of my life, but two women* came to my rescue.  I love these beautiful people almost as much as I love The Viking.  They have their own harrowing stories of pain and utter despair, but they are still standing with grace and love and I refuse to do less.  They deserve what support and love I can give them as they have done for me.

Between sobbing events and sometimes during sobbing events, I desperately searched the internet for answers.  How do I survive this?  How could I have failed so epically?  Guess what I found?  I’m a Co-Dependent groomed from childhood to spend my entire life apologizing for my existence.  I also found hundreds and hundreds of parents, in the same position and as devastated as I am, searching for help and support.  The sheer magnitude of pain is staggering.  There isn’t a lot of support out there and most people are too ashamed to talk about it even if there was more support.  I debated whether to post this or not; ultimately, I decided that posting it can’t make my situation any worse than it already is, and perhaps others will tell me their stories.

There was a brief opportunity, a few months ago, that had the potential to resolve the problem, that maybe the words spoken in the heat of the moment would be withdrawn.  Unfortunately, the sentence was firm and implacable.  So I said things I wish I hadn’t, but I hated going down without the slightest resistance.  And now, I feel guilty and ashamed.

However, after exhaustive self-reflection something occurred to me and it’s at this point that it gets better.  The thing about accepting that I failed is that I can decide to accept that I failed.  It is what it is.  Once I accepted that I failed in the past, it only stands to reason that future efforts will have the same results because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, what else to try or how to fix it all.  I’m completely out of resources.

So, I leaned into it, absorbed every fault and flaw and failure and when I was done this is what I found:

When you are this low, you can’t possibly do worse.

When you’ve lost everything there’s nothing left to lose.

Nothing I ever do for the rest of my life could possibly end as bad as this.

No fear can be scarier than what I’ve already faced.

No pain can ever come close to what I live with now.

No shame can be greater than the shame I am already carrying.

Once you’re broken you’re broken, what more can happen?

If you think about it though, that’s freedom   

The worse thing that could possibly happen has already happened and since I’ve survived it the rest of life can only be better than here.  Failure isn’t a permanent condition and it doesn’t have to define who I am or my worth.  And I do have worth, it’s just not here.  So, I laid it all down.  Every hope, every option, every strategy.  I admitted defeat.  After all, I can’t blame them because they are what I created.  The end of the dream that turned into a battle; a dream that I probably shouldn’t have started to begin with.

And that’s where I found redemption

Suddenly, the vise around my chest collapsed and my shoulders relaxed.  My mind stilled for a long moment and the cloud over my head disappeared.  There was a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter in my stomach.  I felt like I had been hanging from a cliff by the tips of my fingers and suddenly just let go.  Relief was instantaneous.  If the fall kills me, so be it, there are worse things in life than a quick death and at least I’m not still hanging on like a pathetic supplicant hoping someone will offer me a hand.  Instead, I’m free.

Who would have thought that giving in to the despair and admitting defeat would ultimately save me?  I’m still dealing with suicidal thoughts and I unexpectedly sob at random times when my losses catch me unaware.

I’ve learned that love isn’t guaranteed to be where you think it should, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist anywhere else.  And my love may not be appreciated one place but in another place it may be cherished.  We don’t need to be perfect, we just need to be kind and sometimes the biggest kindness is to walk away, for yourself, but also for those you’ve been struggling with.  The peace you feel may be just as sweet for those you have left behind.

If you’ve been through this hell, I’d love to hear from you.  Misery loves company but comfort can best be found in numbers.

With Love from Me to You

 

*I’m talking about you Annette and Johanna – you wonderful, bright stars.