Triggering Thoughts

I find myself on a daily basis fighting back regretful memories, who've found their way to the forefront of my consciousness. But the last few days, I feel like I've been spending half my day replaying the regrets of my life. I literally had to yell at myself, out loud, this afternoon to stop.
I've caught myself placing my finger nails to my skin to scratch deeply. I've been able to stop myself right before I do it.

I've also caught myself placing the side of my hand against my forearm; then moving down quickly in a cutting motion.

It's crazy what our bodies can do without us noticing it. Involuntary spasms, that we've picked up, that come out at the oddest moments.

I'm edgy, the littlest things are triggering me. They're not sending me off the edge, but they're causing me to act out.

My body is reacting in self-destructive ways to the emotional stress, without my knowledge.
It's rather scary.

I've also been chanting "I want to die" or "I want to kill myself" more the past few days. Is it odd that on a 'normal' day, I say these phrases at least twice a day?

Overcoming and recovering from self-destructive patterns and depression is a hard and long path. It can be overwhelming and all consuming. You can run yourself in circles and into the ground, trying to keep your head above water.

At moments it's terrifying and unsatisfying. And it's so easy to give up; to call 'mercy' and to lie in the dirt. 

Sometimes It Lasts At Love...

If you’d ever visit our home, you’d instantly think we’re either lovers’ or hoarders’ of cars. We have four “classic” cars that line the side of our house. Three out of the four cars, anyone can see and admire their beauty. They’re not restored, but they’re gorgeous in their old age.

However, the fourth is not a rare model, it’s not made by a special company and it doesn’t have a fancy body. It’s small, blocky, has no leg room and it’s not that old (for a car). It’s just a car from the 80’s that’s covered in dirt and has degraded flat tires.

The other day we took the ’53 Chevy pickup truck for a drive (the ‘Twilight’ truck). Grumpy is slowly restoring this truck and we take it out from time to time to keep it in working order.

After our drive, I hopped out of the passenger seat and ran to the drivers’ side to place the cinder block behind the back wheel – just to make sure it’s secure. And that’s when I saw a little yellow card stuck between the Renaults’ driver’s door and window.

“WE BUY JUNK CARS”

The card was a business card from a local company promoting their removal services for old vehicles and machinery.

“Marty is NOT JUNK!” I shouted loudly as I showed the card to Grumpy. He looked at the card, chuckled and shook his head. Who knows how long that card had been there; and that I would find it a week from my mom’s birthday. But seeing that card on her old car – upset me.

Marty was my mom’s first ‘real’ purchase, at least that’s how she always told me the story. After her first marriage ended horribly, my mom was on her own and Marty was the first thing she bought by herself. She was always so proud of him.

My mom drove that car everyday till the day she died, for over 20 years. My dream is to one day restore Marty, better than he was, and drive him for another 20.

The next day Grumpy and I were driving home from a day of fun, when the song “Someone Like You” by Adele came across the speakers. Since the release of this song, my dad has always associated it with my mom.

“Nothing compares
No worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes
They are memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Never mind, I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Don't forget me, I beg
I'll remember you said,
‘Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead’”

There we were in front of the house, sitting in my car, listening to the song, singing along and staring at Marty.

“They thought Marty was junk.” Grumpy chuckled – and I laughed.

No. No, Marty isn’t junk.

When I Met You

April and July are hard months for me. April the month my mom was born; and July the month she died. This year marks 10 years that she’s been with God. It feels so much longer; I can hardly remember her. She’s been gone almost half my life.

My moms’ twin, aunt Stella (who I was named after), really struggled with my mom’s passing in the beginning. After years of therapy and healing, my aunt is finally on the “acceptance” stage of grief. I feel like I’ve reverted to the “depression” stage. I know grief can be a cycle; we can cycle in and out of the stages of grief.

It’s really hard for me to deal with this.

I did so well when my mom passed. I truly believed (and still do) that God had a purpose for taking my mom. It was easy for me to “work through” the stages of grief after she passed. I did it in one night actually.

One long, late, tear-filled night.

A week or so after God took my mom. I sat in my room, listened to music and with my emotions fresh, I unleashed all of my thoughts and emotions to God. I remember so vividly, sitting in a corner, the tears running down my face, hitting the floor and yelling at God. I’d randomly get up, pace my room, hit the closet, kick my bed, and scream into a pillow.

“Why God? Why did you do THIS?!”

“Why did you take her?”

“Why couldn’t I save her?”

I’ve struggled with the guilt of not saving my mom on and off since her passing; but that’s a story for another journal entry.

I remember staying up past 3am. I gave all my hurt, pain, anger and questions to God and He filled me with peace and gave me reassurance that I would be okay.

This is why cycling through the stages of grief is hard for me. I know God healed my hurt. I know God took my pain. I know God was in the room with me when I was grieving.

God hurt with me. God grieved with me.

And it’s not that I still don’t believe that. I know I’m healed. God took my brokenness and put me back together.

I am healed. But, I’m also human.

Just because I cycle in and out of grief, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust God. It means I love my mom.

 And that I miss her.

“I remember the moment, I remember the pain
I was only a girl, but I grew up that day
Tears were falling
I know You saw me

Hiding there in my bedroom, so alone
I was doing my best, trying to be strong
No one to turn to
That's when I met You

All this time, from the first tear cried
'Till today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there, You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time”

Song: “All This Time” by Britt Nicole

The stages of grief