Not just a little crazy…

**** This post kind of goes way off topic of my normal stuff, I’m fighting a pretty emotional and mental battle right now, and needed a place to get it out. It may be difficult in parts to read.****

In years past I had a picture in my head of what the emotional part of my brain looks like, it’s a little me in a small room. The room has a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, a door that’s barricaded with boards and walls that are patched, seems repaired and covered, boarded over, bricked over. While the walls are holding back whatever it is the presses from the outside, they appear to be week, needing constant repair. The little me in that room is always in motion, fixing walls, shoring up the leaks, running from one side to the other to keep the bad stuff out.

When I first met my husband the room was in major shambles, gaping holes, the door was open, off its hinges. Rather than fixing the walls the little me in my head was laying in a heap on the floor, paralyzed with fear, unable to function. The real me acted out on a regular basis, drank to much, looked for love in all the wrong places, I was a cutter at the time and still hold the scars on my wrists and thighs, I tried to commit suicide on a couple of occasions and ended up at the ripe old age of 20 in a mental hospital. My husband was the first person in my life to stand by me, to not abuse me or hurt me, to keep me safe. He stayed through the crazy and showed me how to pick the little me in my head up off that floor and repair the walls, to block the door and keep the bad out.

Five and half years later my son was born and for the first time in my life the bad stopped pressing on the walls, it backed away from the door and I felt better than I ever had in my life. I had feared that motherhood would affect me the complete opposite, that I’d be a PPD mess, but I wasn’t, I was the calmest I had ever been.

Today, and for the last 73 days, I’ve felt my walls crumbling, the pounding is back at the door and I can’t make it go away. I feel like the loss, the emotional part of grieving, the pain in my heart from loosing this baby, is opening up and bringing back all of the demons I thought I had laid to rest, locked out of the room in my head. I find the little me in my head, in my small little room standing in the center, hands over ears, eyes clenched shut as my walls crumble, the boards on the door loosen. I feel like I’m on the edge of being consumed.

I hold on to my son and my husband, clinging to them as a reminder, my life raft of the good in my life, searching for the calm I had found and I just can’t get back there, I’m sinking. I’m fighting every day from falling back into the comfortable yet dangerous habits of the past. I know that I have so much to live for, not just to live for but to live WELL for, my heart knows that with out a doubt. I’d even say that my head knows that, but there is this voice, this feeling that tells me how to protect myself from this pain, how cutting or drinking would make it better “It would feel so good, or they'd be better off with out you...”

I tell myself out loud, “I will not listen to you” but it’s there and it’s so strong. A vicious cycle ensues, how can I feel like this, how can I think this when I really have such a great life, a husband who loves me and I love to the ends of the earth, a man that supports me, keeps me safe and stands by my side, a son who is the center of my world, my life, my heart, my love. How crazy must I be to even have these thoughts, when this life I lead is so very charmed? But that’s just it… How crazy must I be?? My biggest fear is that the demons of my childhood will never release their grip, that I’ll never shake free and completely patch up my room, and that before I know it the “crazy” will consume me.