End of the Line

This is a hard one to write and harder yet to share. Distance has not made the horror of it any softer nor has time. I don't share this for pity, I share it so when one of you hit this point, maybe you'll remember this and do what is needed to save yourself. I was not able to save myself and am so thankful for a strong man and a wonderful daughter who saw what was happening and acted quickly.

This last September, I hit the end of the line. If not for the quick actions on my family and friends part, I would not be here to write this. In the old days, they called it a nervous breakdown. Now they call it Severe Clinical Depression with PTSD and a few other medical terms thrown it. I called it, the end. I was done. The loss of my son brought me to my knees, the things that happened after his loss brought me to the end.

I didn't know that I was so deep in the grief and sorrow. I really thought I was handling everything okay. Losing a child takes you to places you have never been, places you have no idea how to navigate for you can never be prepared for them. Nothing you know in your life can prepare you for the type of pain losing a child dumps on you. It is all so sudden and raw, it leaves you reeling from the shock of it all.

In the beginning, I could not sleep and when I did it only lasted for a couple of hours. After months of that, I asked my doctor for meds to help me sleep. Ambiant not only helps you sleep, it blocks the dreams and it was the dreams I could not handle. In time, I started abusing Ambiant. After all, if it could block that part of the brain in sleep, it could also block some of it when awake. Yeah, it worked. But like most things, after a while the pills did not work so one takes more and more and more. It's not hard to accidentally overdose without realizing you have.

By the time my family realized what was happening, it was already too late. We become experts on hiding what is happening to us. So when someone asks how a family could not know what was going on with their loved one, remember this... we do not want you to know. We hide it and hide it well. We do not want you walking that path of pain with us so we think we are helping you by hiding our pain.

I still cannot talk about what happened that day. Even thinking about it causes me to shudder. I had to go away for a while. The place I went to helped me to see things more clearly. They helped me to understand why. The day came when I could look back over it all from the day we lost Tim to the point that the end came for me. Seeing it clearly helps. While we are in the struggle of grief, we do not see what is happening, and that is the danger for us. The things we do we do with the idea that we are okay. We aren't okay. We also hide a lot from ourselves.

I am slowly learning to deal with the PTSD with the help of a wonderful woman. I know now that I cannot do this alone, most of us can't but we don't see it that way. We hear the 'you are so strong' crap and try hard to be strong, again hiding the truth. It is not a sin to need help, to seek help but we feel it is. For so long, I dismissed the idea of needing to be in a grief group, needing therapy, needing help. Not anymore. That day taught me that not being strong is okay. Tears are okay. Missing Tim is okay. And most of all, it is okay to NOT be the person everyone seems to expect you to be. You need to be you, your mental health needs to come first. It is okay to walk away from people and situations that threaten your mental health without guilt or regret.

With help, I have learned to let go of the hurt people caused me as what they did is on them, not me. I have a long way to go but now I have help to get there. I will probably be on Antidepressants for the rest of my life and that is okay too. They help and in the end, that is what matters. Take help wherever you can get it. I am learning to take control of who I am and appreciate me. Some days, I will falter and Wow, that is okay too. After all, I am only human. I'll always miss and love Tim, that is human too.

The holidays are a hard time. I try to look to those I love who are still here and it does help. They have held my hand and loved me even when I felt unlovable. What amazing people I have in my life and in the throes of grief, I almost missed that. I see them now, fully. Oh how I love these people. Oh how I need them. I am so grateful. I am Barbara, mom, wife, friend, human. 'Forever Mom.'