October 10th marks six months since the last time I left my home in La Grande, Oregon.
When I moved over to Eastern Oregon, it was always the plan that I would spend a few days here at home with my parents for medical appointments for Isaiah. The trouble is, I ended up spending a lot more time away from my home than we had planned on.
In April, Isaiah had another round of appointments and I was set to be here for ten days. That was a short amount of time compared to the six weeks I had to spend away the previous year. Ten thousand miles. I drove then thousand miles for medical appointments, local and far away.
When I was away, that is when the first change happened.
That is when my soon-to-be-ex-husband first told me his feelings had changed.
That is the moment I knew I needed a change, too.
I've battled with anxiety and depression for as long as I can really remember, for one reason or another. Sometimes there wasn't even a reason, which only people who suffer from mental illness can really understand. I went to different therapists, was on medication, tried my damnedest to make it go away. But everything I was doing was not working.
When my husband essentially kicked me out (he didn't actually "kick me out" but I'm the only one who had a place to go, and I was already here, so it was just convenient, right?) I immediately went into fight or flight mode. I knew I had to fight. If not for my marriage, then for my life. Because what choice did I really have?
At first, I had it in my mind that I was going to win my husband back. I was going to do whatever it took. I was going to change.
I admit my faults. Although this was a one-sided divorce, it was certainly not a single-fault situation.
When we can no longer change situations, we are challenged to change ourselves, right?
So I took a look deep inside myself and realized that this is exactly how my last relationship went. Fight, make up, apologize, change for a minute, then back to the same old argument.
Since I noticed a pattern, I knew immediately I was part of the problem.
I had an epiphany moment.
When I was seventeen, I met my ex boyfriend, who I had an unhealthy on-and-off relationship for two years. The final time he broke up with me, it was after he had been stationed in Okinawa, Japan and I hadn't seen him for six months. I picked him up from the airport, and afterwards he broke up with me over the phone. He lied to me about why he was breaking up with me, to tell me the truth two months later because he had such a guilty conscience. But I couldn't win him back.
There was something about the chase. Something about the high that I got when I was abandoned.
It didn't take long from there to see that what I had was much more than a character flaw.
What I had was an addiction.
I remembered somehow, that when I was 18 and in the middle of one of my breaks with said ex-boyfriend, I had connected with someone who brought CoDA (codependents anonymous) to my attention. I was emotionally immature at the time and thought I was doing fine, so I ignored it.
But I remembered it. By some divine force of nature, I remembered it.
I typed in the website and found the nearest meeting.
I attended my first CoDA meeting on April 17.
I didn't know how much a coin would mean to me.
It was awkward and uncomfortable, especially because it was a very small meeting.
I picked up all the free literature I could because I wanted to fix myself.
I wanted to not need to be wanted.
I wanted to break free from the chains that were holding me down from having a genuine relationship.
Everything with my marriage as a whole, including the marriage itself, was forced.
From the moment we met, to the multiple times we broke up and got back together, it was out of convenience. Sure, there was love there. My heart was torn into pieces when I was blindsided. Because I felt like maybe I finally was making progress.
Clearly I was wrong.
CoDA changed my life in ways I never imagined possible.
I worked the steps hard with support of some friends, and of course from the group itself.
I figured out what was missing from my life. I'm not sure exactly when I stopped caring for myself, but I looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself. Besides the obvious heartache that I had just been put through, I felt nothing. I felt sick to my stomach.
I realized that I hadn't done something for myself in a long time. I was constantly being guilted for wanting to do things for myself. I was being bitched at for my house not being clean enough, or fighting about money, or deciding to whom I would target my resentment toward next for my life feeling so shitty. I numbed it, I shoved it all down, and then lashed out and thought it was okay because I was being "honest", right? If I was being so honest, why did I still feel everyone would be better off without me?
Depression is a monster. Not the kind that hides in the closet; it's the kind that sleeps with you at night.
Postpartum depression, paired with guilt, self doubt, self neglect, and isolation hit me harder the second time around than it did when I had Isaiah.
"Do you have a plan?"
I did. I knew exactly how I would kill myself.
"Do you have a date set?"
No, I never did. Because truly I just wanted out of the hell that I was in.
There had to be better. I just didn't realize that better would be so different than how I imagined it.
The moment I got back from my home in La Grande, after begging to save my marriage - literally, begging on my knees, in more physical pain than 26 hours of labor - I applied for ten jobs.
I was set up with three interviews the next day, and two job offers the following day.
The first thing I did for myself, was accept a job offer to something completely different than anything I would have imagined myself doing. And I figured, if I wanted things to change, I needed something different. So I dove in head first and regret nothing. I gained not only a job, but another family. Whether or not they know what I'm going through is irrelevant to the fact that they all have my back no matter what.
The next thing I did, was write a mental list of things I wanted to do that I never got to do while I was trapped in my marriage. At this point, I had discovered that my ex had already moved on, and accepted the fact that he checked out of my marriage long before he asked for a divorce.
One of my best friends took me to Bagby Hot Springs in Estacada.
I let loose.
I went on a hike by myself. I took my time on the way in, 4.5 miles to the most breathtaking view, and ran the way out. I felt so alive.
I treated myself to a local brew and chowder.
I got a little sidetracked and lines got blurred between doing things for myself, and actually distracting myself and hindering my progress in recovery. But through recovery I have learned how to discern what feelings are real, and what feelings don't make sense. It's exhausting sometimes, but I've come so far in the last six months.
If I live to be seventy, I've got 86 half-years to go. I can't wait to see the continuing change and growth in myself.
I feel like a completely different person.
Despite being stabbed in the back, left behind, talked shit about, I am stronger than ever before. I am not perfect, I have not yet reached my full potential, but damn I've made progress.
"When we say things like "people don't change" it drives scientists crazy because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing, morphing, merging, growing, dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural. The way we cling to what things were instead of letting things be what they are. The way we cling to old memories instead of forming new ones. The way we insist on believing despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent. Change is constant. How we experience change that's up to us. It can feel like death or it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. Like at any moment we can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, we can be born all over again."
-Grey's Anatomy
When I moved over to Eastern Oregon, it was always the plan that I would spend a few days here at home with my parents for medical appointments for Isaiah. The trouble is, I ended up spending a lot more time away from my home than we had planned on.
In April, Isaiah had another round of appointments and I was set to be here for ten days. That was a short amount of time compared to the six weeks I had to spend away the previous year. Ten thousand miles. I drove then thousand miles for medical appointments, local and far away.
When I was away, that is when the first change happened.
That is when my soon-to-be-ex-husband first told me his feelings had changed.
That is the moment I knew I needed a change, too.
I've battled with anxiety and depression for as long as I can really remember, for one reason or another. Sometimes there wasn't even a reason, which only people who suffer from mental illness can really understand. I went to different therapists, was on medication, tried my damnedest to make it go away. But everything I was doing was not working.
When my husband essentially kicked me out (he didn't actually "kick me out" but I'm the only one who had a place to go, and I was already here, so it was just convenient, right?) I immediately went into fight or flight mode. I knew I had to fight. If not for my marriage, then for my life. Because what choice did I really have?
At first, I had it in my mind that I was going to win my husband back. I was going to do whatever it took. I was going to change.
I admit my faults. Although this was a one-sided divorce, it was certainly not a single-fault situation.
When we can no longer change situations, we are challenged to change ourselves, right?
So I took a look deep inside myself and realized that this is exactly how my last relationship went. Fight, make up, apologize, change for a minute, then back to the same old argument.
Since I noticed a pattern, I knew immediately I was part of the problem.
I had an epiphany moment.
When I was seventeen, I met my ex boyfriend, who I had an unhealthy on-and-off relationship for two years. The final time he broke up with me, it was after he had been stationed in Okinawa, Japan and I hadn't seen him for six months. I picked him up from the airport, and afterwards he broke up with me over the phone. He lied to me about why he was breaking up with me, to tell me the truth two months later because he had such a guilty conscience. But I couldn't win him back.
There was something about the chase. Something about the high that I got when I was abandoned.
It didn't take long from there to see that what I had was much more than a character flaw.
What I had was an addiction.
I remembered somehow, that when I was 18 and in the middle of one of my breaks with said ex-boyfriend, I had connected with someone who brought CoDA (codependents anonymous) to my attention. I was emotionally immature at the time and thought I was doing fine, so I ignored it.
But I remembered it. By some divine force of nature, I remembered it.
I typed in the website and found the nearest meeting.
I attended my first CoDA meeting on April 17.
I didn't know how much a coin would mean to me.
It was awkward and uncomfortable, especially because it was a very small meeting.
I picked up all the free literature I could because I wanted to fix myself.
I wanted to not need to be wanted.
I wanted to break free from the chains that were holding me down from having a genuine relationship.
Everything with my marriage as a whole, including the marriage itself, was forced.
From the moment we met, to the multiple times we broke up and got back together, it was out of convenience. Sure, there was love there. My heart was torn into pieces when I was blindsided. Because I felt like maybe I finally was making progress.
Clearly I was wrong.
CoDA changed my life in ways I never imagined possible.
I worked the steps hard with support of some friends, and of course from the group itself.
I figured out what was missing from my life. I'm not sure exactly when I stopped caring for myself, but I looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself. Besides the obvious heartache that I had just been put through, I felt nothing. I felt sick to my stomach.
I realized that I hadn't done something for myself in a long time. I was constantly being guilted for wanting to do things for myself. I was being bitched at for my house not being clean enough, or fighting about money, or deciding to whom I would target my resentment toward next for my life feeling so shitty. I numbed it, I shoved it all down, and then lashed out and thought it was okay because I was being "honest", right? If I was being so honest, why did I still feel everyone would be better off without me?
Depression is a monster. Not the kind that hides in the closet; it's the kind that sleeps with you at night.
Postpartum depression, paired with guilt, self doubt, self neglect, and isolation hit me harder the second time around than it did when I had Isaiah.
"Do you have a plan?"
I did. I knew exactly how I would kill myself.
"Do you have a date set?"
No, I never did. Because truly I just wanted out of the hell that I was in.
There had to be better. I just didn't realize that better would be so different than how I imagined it.
The moment I got back from my home in La Grande, after begging to save my marriage - literally, begging on my knees, in more physical pain than 26 hours of labor - I applied for ten jobs.
I was set up with three interviews the next day, and two job offers the following day.
The first thing I did for myself, was accept a job offer to something completely different than anything I would have imagined myself doing. And I figured, if I wanted things to change, I needed something different. So I dove in head first and regret nothing. I gained not only a job, but another family. Whether or not they know what I'm going through is irrelevant to the fact that they all have my back no matter what.
The next thing I did, was write a mental list of things I wanted to do that I never got to do while I was trapped in my marriage. At this point, I had discovered that my ex had already moved on, and accepted the fact that he checked out of my marriage long before he asked for a divorce.
One of my best friends took me to Bagby Hot Springs in Estacada.
I let loose.
I went on a hike by myself. I took my time on the way in, 4.5 miles to the most breathtaking view, and ran the way out. I felt so alive.
I treated myself to a local brew and chowder.
I got a little sidetracked and lines got blurred between doing things for myself, and actually distracting myself and hindering my progress in recovery. But through recovery I have learned how to discern what feelings are real, and what feelings don't make sense. It's exhausting sometimes, but I've come so far in the last six months.
If I live to be seventy, I've got 86 half-years to go. I can't wait to see the continuing change and growth in myself.
I feel like a completely different person.
Despite being stabbed in the back, left behind, talked shit about, I am stronger than ever before. I am not perfect, I have not yet reached my full potential, but damn I've made progress.
"When we say things like "people don't change" it drives scientists crazy because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing, morphing, merging, growing, dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural. The way we cling to what things were instead of letting things be what they are. The way we cling to old memories instead of forming new ones. The way we insist on believing despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent. Change is constant. How we experience change that's up to us. It can feel like death or it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. Like at any moment we can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, we can be born all over again."
-Grey's Anatomy
Comments
Post a Comment