The
moment I woke up on that 7th day, I felt inside that something was
terribly wrong. I thought it was just the anxiety again but soon enough I
realized it was more. More than fear. It was paralysis. It was darkness
so deep I was afraid I had no control. I called a friend on the phone
and sobbed to her.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t stop crying. I’m so afraid I’m going to do something to myself.”
I
called my mother and told her the same things. My body was burning and
shaking and so was my mind. All I could do was lay down and tremble,
terrified beyond capacity to even function. The medication had washed
from my system, cold turkey, leaving an even bigger mess in it’s wake.
My mother told me she was flying out immediately. At the same time I was
terrified I might do something to myself, I wanted to die. My body and mind were in a state of constant torture and I wanted it to end.
Here
I learned the power of love in keeping a weary soul going. My children
knew I was sick. Of course they didn’t know the scope of the illness but
they were so tender with me, asking if I would be ok, telling me that
they loved me. And somehow their love helped me get a better grip on
reality. I needed to be ok, for them. They needed me and they loved me
and I loved them. I couldn’t be consumed by this thing, for their sake.
So
I waited and sobbed and sat paralyzed and wondered when it would end.
One hour felt like a day as my mind raced and sent shockwaves of terror
and darkness through me. At times the intense darkness would let up but
then it would return, leaving me unable to function again. Only adding
to the stress was that this break down had come at the worst possible
time for my husband, who had a huge deadline to meet. Both of us were
frustrated by the timing of this thing. So I looked forward to hope on
the horizon. My mother was coming.
To be continued…
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