I was looking for you. I found you crumbled, slightly scattered in a pile. Gray colored and the pale look of ash appeared under your eyes. You reminded me of Stone Dust! You were dull, crumbly and emotionless.
I observed you from above. It was an out of body experience. I was OUT of my body, looking down at you. I could see you below me. It was me. I was looking at me. I was unrecognizable. I was afraid and ashamed of myself, “Get Up! Clean yourself Up!” I yelled loudly. I screamed and begged for me to listen, but I could not do it. I could not listen, I could not get up. I cried.
Down on my knees I prayed for you. There you were, heaped in a pile purposely not exposing layers upon layers of what was now compact stone and buried beneath a was a broken, stony hard soul. Did I not know that the new someone was struggling to the surface for oxygen, that she was buried alive and needed to come to the surface after numerous failed attempts at surfacing? Did I not know that her attempts at perfection were just that, they were attempts but nothing reachable, leaving her feeling crippled with fear, panicked with anxious thoughts, full of self-doubt and yes, she was unrecognizable to myself and to others… The new someone would not be who people thought she would be, the new someone was not the person that others labeled and boxed for their own comfort. This new person I had never met before. I had to introduce myself and get to know her.
Under the stone dust, I was looking for you. I dug for you. I found these little granite pieces deep inside the grit, tiny delicate sparkles, little ambers, so finite that they could be missed if you weren’t looking close enough. These tiny pieces of granite were unknowingly strong, they refracted light, some goodness, bright enough to catch my attention and see a glimpse of someone new. I recognized these little bits and pieces of myself. I called to you again… “Get Up!” and as I called and exhaled, the dust particles swirled like a cyclone, scattering all over. Could she ever be found? Could she ever be put together again?
The words above are mine, the words of a life lived through the eyes of others and not my own, nor my own rules or talents. Suffering from anxiety of not knowing who I was and depression from what I thought was failure, when in fact, this mental breakdown or precipitated mental illness was only the beginning of an unknown future and happiness. Half of my life was still in front of me. I decided to get up and find out just who I was… I went looking.
The wind blew fiercely for years! At least 5 years of gut-wrenching pain, being honest with yourself is the hardest thing to do. Believing in yourself is even tougher when no one teaches you such things. Therapy talking is a process that continues until you learn to trust yourself. Practice is the key to newly taught survival skills and the development of a support system. Testing and trusting a system takes time. I grew faithful.
I grew to love the new person I was turning in to. I decided that every day was a new day and as long as I did not have panic attacks and anxiety that day, I would label that a good day! I was going to make it a good day. I was going to make the best of it. The secret to happiness and success is knowing what pain really is and once it is acknowledged as known, you can then direct your happiness. Everything else is irrelevant.
After attending to my personal healing and family responsibilities, which I did well, I decided to go on a journey of writing and creating. I experimented like a young child in grade school, deciding what interests I wanted to do and what I liked best. What was I good at? It was similar to reinventing the wheel or molding pottery. My mantra being I am… I am of value… I am worthy.
So, the wind continued to blow fiercely and swirled that stone dust up like a cyclone. The dust soon settled softly on the ground. It was ready for remolding and shaping and man she came out molded, not perfect, but… DAZZLING and all intact.