So I'm cleaning out a drawer making more room to share space, pulling my own things back into tighter and tighter concentric circles around me, very physically, a household of personal things being pulled into one room.
I run into notebooks all the time with moments written on them, scratched out in a hurry before I'd forget how I was feeling, before something or someone else could interrupt my thoughts.
There was a year where my world fell apart into 'bubble worlds', and I couldn't tell which one I was in, which one was real. That was the first time I ever said out loud I need help. Some people call it a nervous breakdown, but my psychologist said I was fine and just needed to baby step my way through a monitored hormone crash that lasted for 2 months. My TSH (thyroid) flipped from too low to off the chart too high (hyperthyroid) while I was crashing off of 2 decades of birth control to handle a blood pressure problem. I had 3 doctors and a psychologist watching me, and I was in touch with them in rotation almost daily.
I just found this in a drawer.
Suddenly I felt caught up in a gyro, pitched forward, yawing wildly, a little pebble flung into a pond, the surface rippling apart into worlds of bending light, and no longer could I tell them apart. What was real? Lost in a freefall, I glimpsed a face, grasped a tiny thread almost out of my reach, running through all the worlds and tying them back into one. I nearly let go, fearful that I'd mistaken insanity for hope, but how do I not follow a little boy I never knew to the depths? I had to find where I left him, and perhaps find myself.
I spent a week talking to a young man who was my son. I didn't tell anyone until later that I did that. He was with me in the car and around the house, talking with me, laughing, telling me things like he'd spent his entire life with me. It was so real that I couldn't tell it wasn't real.
I never gave birth to a son. I'd had an abortion.
Ever since that experience, I've had a different view on who we really are, what life is really all about here, and how important it is that we find a way to heal from our fear and anger. Love is very important, and it's never lost. It waits for us. People wait for us. And they are with us while they wait.
-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero at PinkyGuerrero, this blog is Pinky, ongoing continuation at blogs Janika & Basically Clueless & PinkFeldspar, in that order.
-Most of the graphics and vids click to sources.
