I knew I would cry. I knew since I had the panic attack last night. I knew that I was about to talk about the issues that I normally don’t discuss because in the light of day, out of the concave of my dark mind, they are truly horrific. Talking about them triggers me, so I don’t ever discuss.

I knew walking into the building that the dams were already beginning to weaken. I would fall apart at some time today, and soon.

When you deal with the demons I have, you know how debilitating it is to face them. When you have those same demons, you know  how completely terrifying it is to speak of those evils out loud.

As we dove in, I held back. Even though my therapist told me before we walked in,”Danielle, do not hold back. I know you will want to, but just don’t. He needs to hear everything”.  It’s just easy and familiar, safe.  As we began talking,  I heard it in my voice, and from the tears forming in my eyes, I knew that I would eventually have to let it out. I knew he would ask about the abuse, the physical, sexual, religious, and emotional. I knew I would have to talk about my nightmares, my flashbacks. I knew that I would have to talk about The Kiddo. I knew I would have to talk about the neverending feeling that my children will be taken from me. I knew that I would have to discuss my ex-husband.

Describe your depression.  Breathe. What are the symptoms? Try to shake it off, keep breathing. How long have you felt like this? Caution now.  Do you have suicidal ideations? Stop breathing, focus on the window. 

Describe your anxiety. Shaking now. What are the symptoms? One tear falls.  When did it start? A second and third. What does it feel like? Voice is cracking. 

Describe your trauma.  Inward breathing, and a gush of tears. When did it happen?Let it flow.

I broke yet, I kept pushing, I kept thinking, “I want to be better. I am better. I need better. Just speak now, repair later, just do what you need to do to get this fixed. Do what you need to do.” I stumbled through the words, my voice cracking over and over. I cried when I described how this all impacted my education, I cried when I described my dreams, I shook when I explained how the aspects of my adoption then and now. I wept as I admitted that I am hyper vigilant when it comes to my kids, that I live in a daily fear of them being taken from me as a result of losing The Kiddo. I hung my head in shame when I admitted that I trust no one, not even those closest to me.

The dam was broken, I composed myself enough to finish.

We finished in 35 minutes, to his surprise.  I smirked as I said, “Yeah, I know this inside and out, and I want to move on from this crap”.  The doctor nodded, a soft smile on his lips. He looked at my therapist and said, “I have no idea where to start, there’s just so much”. 

Even a trained professional was overwhelmed by the amount of issues I have to cope with on a daily basis. I am an overwhelming disaster.

I sighed in relief. He heard me. He saw it. He listened, at least enough to get the gist that my life has been hell. It’s been a constant battle, and I just want to be me, I just want to be able to live my life and be truly happy. To experience life without the constant barrage of mental health issues that plague me.

A prescription was written, the new medication discussed. My therapist booked me for another appointment, told me how brave I was, and said we’d get down to work to do get the weeds out (my analogy). I all but ran out of the office before I knew I would sob.

I crossed the parking lot, and I felt tears fall faster, and faster. I frantically opened my car door, and threw my body against the drivers seat. I let out the deepest primal scream I could and I sobbed into my steering wheel.  Eventually, I took a deep breath. Today, I would survive, and probably the next day after that. But once and for all, I will be more than just a survivor. I will be living. I will be here. I will be whole.

I am broken. But I can be repaired…

No, I will be repaired.

I will be a warrior and not just a survivor.

It’s time to fight for me.


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