mental illness

Today, I am okay.

I am writing this today before I get stitches removed from my face.  I know I am okay deep in my core, even if I am not actually okay.  I went for a normal skin check, thank you heritage and too much sun exposure, and then I heard Basal and the C word, and we are doing a biopsy right now.  I was stunned, but calm, knowing the "spot" wasn't normal for months and then fearing this moment.  A pinch, burn, sting, and then driving myself home with my left eye half covered with a bandage.  Then, just numb. Let me back up.

I have mentioned before on here and on different social media posts that this last 12 months has been one of the hardest years of my life.  Harder than living with a broken home as a little girl and having no idea that that hard wasn't normal.  Harder than defying my mother and moving out and into a relationship she didn't approve of.  More difficult than that same relationship failing and going through a two-plus year long divorce.  Harder than parenting alone and even more difficult than being abused for years and harder than recovering from the night I was raped.  More difficult than health issues and family drama, mental health crisis's and living on less money than could stretch to feed us, and all of the uncertainty of life on a normal day-to-day.  This last 12 months shook me, changed me, and showed me how all of that suddenly seemed to pale in comparison.

To say I am resilient is a fact.  I have survived things that should have killed me. But this last year, which contains the absolute hardest night of my life to date, also involves others, so some of it I have yet to open up about in an effort to protect them.  In time I will find a way to share but for now, you'll just have to believe me when I say that I felt my life impossible to face under this set of events. 

During all of the same time that my life was turning upside down, I was also faced with the wildly overwhelming idea of being on my own and what that meant for what really was the first time in my life.  I compounded the hardest time in my life with my fake sense and need to control, the need to make clear who I was in what felt like an early midlife crisis.  Good timing eh?

At the lowest point, when I struggled to get through the days I finally hit a place in my life where I could no longer get through alone.  I knew I needed help, the kind that my loving family and friends could not provide.  Not for lack of want to or effort, but simply because they are too close to be objective and also were supporting me no matter what.  (Sidenote, I am eternally for all of your support, y'all know who you are. Whether a passing conversation or those nearest and dearest on this journey, I appreciate you!)  I knew I needed the kind of help that only a professional could direct and finally, finally after all of the hard times and suffering of my life, some even beyond what I touched on above, I decided I was worth it. 

I was worth saving.  I knew I had more work to do and feeling familiar with rock-bottom meant I was tired of being a rock-bottom frequent flyer/visitor.  I knew I could overcome.  I knew that my audacious tenacity would eventually pull me through, that years to come I would put in the work and be better for it, all, again.  But now, this time, the cost to recover sooner, the desire to use my pain to launch me into this next phase of life was bigger than my concern over affording it.  My value was worth every penny I put into getting help, every penny.

After all what good can I do in this world if I allowed this kind of suffering to hold me down? Again, again. 

So, I made the decision to make an appointment with a therapist.  I had seen several before and I knew that there is always the risk of it not being a fit.  I have been to a therapist so bad that the urge to walk out mid-meeting was almost more than I could resist.  I have tried therapists who coddle, downplay, judge and underestimate.  They all gave me just what I needed to give up on relying on a professional for help, furthering my reluctance to ever need anyone for that matter.  They all gave me enough incentive to say, "it is too expensive anyway."  Or in other words, I am not worth it.  But this time I had faith that I would find someone who would not deter me from the real work that needed to be done. I knew my life needed savings and the cost became an after thought.  

Facts are, that I could say out loud in the most monotone way, what I survived.  I had stood in front of over one hundred people and told my story.  And yet, I still had not felt my way through the traumas of my life.  I disconnected feeling and emotion from the happenings of my life in an effort to numb, to survive.  And it had served a purpose at some points.  Unfortunately, it also became a habit.

But now, this night, this situation, was in the heart of my heart something I could no longer numb to. It was blaring in my face, "TRACY JEAN!!!!  You have work to do.  You cannot keep going this way.  You have to get better, learn better, DO BETTER! You cannot give what you do not have!"  And so I found my person to help.  Actually, within a few weeks, I found two.  I found my therapist and my life coach.  And when I say they helped me save my life, I mean it with all of the conviction I can.

My therapist, I came by through local word of mouth, my life coach, well I found him on Instagram funny enough.  Let me say here that in my weakest moments something told me there was more for me in this business of helping others.  So, I needed help but I also knew in order to become like my heroes, to fulfill my desires and passions for giving back, I needed to also learn from them.  It was a faint voice under the tormented days but it was there, none the less.  

Therapy is reparative and helps you heal the past in order to move forward, coaching is the acceptance of the past with the directive of massive forward momentum. Healing and recovery plus goals and direction.  In the overlap is the present and also the action.  I knew I had my team.  My family, my friends and this dynamic duo, completely unknown to each other were and are magnifying my worth and value, helping me, holding my pain in their hearts and encouraging my change.  This unearthing of who I am meant to be.  Besides Josephs mom, besides a broken girl, beyond all of the things that happened to me.

This recipe of humans enabling my ability to succeed. 

I started the work, realizing it is never really done, I became my own accountability partner.  Reading, immersing myself in everything I could to immerse my mind in the fuel that helped direct me, propel me, drive me through the acknowledgment, the facing, the overcoming and into the best me I have been yet. 

It wasn't pretty on a lot of days, in fact, sometimes the monumental tasks kept me in bed, or shut down, or with a feeling of being a spinning top with more questions than answers.  But then other days would bring a breakthrough and I found myself a step ahead of my pain, shoulder to shoulder with all of my experiences rather than them strapping me down as they had previously.  I was working through it.  I was getting up and pushing into all of the dark corners and connecting the dots where there was once only blank space.  This puzzle of all of what makes me, me, was taking shape.  There was no loud bang, no poof, and a cure.  It was in the constant and consistent connection to myself, mediations, journaling, reading, showing up for my appointments and myself.  The day-to-day, one foot in front of the other, one breath at a time AND the grace in which I faced my failures.  My grace allows me to be human, to know it is okay to not have it all together, all the time.  It gifts me with the softness I need to recover and heal. 

Grace.

Throughout these past few months, I have come so far.  My therapist helped me give me back my worth, my validation of events, my heart connected to soul and life.  She helped me give myself back all of the grace I so easily handed out to others, she helped me forgive myself years after letting others off the hook so easily.  My coach, man he exploded my brain so many times and still does.  He helped me undo past damage but sent me forward with new perspectives that have helped me change my life.  He guided me to my own truths and answers without judgment.  He allowed me to shout my truths at the top of my lungs and then say "job well done!"  Together they have empowered me to rewrite my story.  My way.  I cannot change this life up to now but I absolutely can grasp this life by the balls, or boobs to be equally un-PC, and make it mine with audacious resiliency.

Shew all good stuff and liberating, overcoming, strength, resiliency-based brain power!  And then my body went, "Oh hey brain, good job!  Well done, I am so proud of you... but uh we need some love now too."

I realized to the detriment of my health I had neglected really taking care of me.  Not on purpose, not in a malicious way.  But in the simple disregard in making an appointment a year earlier when I first noticed the spot on my face as an example.

I am writing this now, before I know the results because I truly, unwaveringly know and believe that I am okay.  Better than that I am chock full of this life and even if there is another obstacle to face because they are bound to come, I trust myself and feel secure in my ability to get through.  I can face things with all of the strength that has its basin and foundation in the depths of my pains... which is deep Y'all!  I have work to do.

As always, I am not reaching out, also read as spilling my guts, for anything in return.  My only hope is to reach those who need the encouragement today.  To possibly fall into the inbox or be read on a post by someone I can help.  This is not about comparison, just my story.  My story being spoken loud enough so that those it can reach hear it with a compassionate hug of "me too".  Life is tough, but you are worth it.

    UPDATE!

My head is still spinning, the results were not good, BUT I AM STILL OKAY!  I have been diagnosed with Basal Cell Carcinoma, but before your head starts to spin too, it is the best kind of skin cancer to have.  It is very common, slow moving, and once removed it should be gone from my body completely.  The reality of it's outcome, it being super common, it being curable and figure-out-able does bring a little relief.

Am I scared? Of course.  

Has it fully sank in? Not really.  And I am sure there will be emotionally charged moments, questions, and the fogginess I felt as the words from my doctor settled over me.  I will be sure to continue to share and spill my guts here about it all in the future.  

Do I know I will be okay and still mean everything I wrote yesterday? ABSOLUTELY.

I have cancer, I am going to face it with every ounce of strength and resiliency that has grown from within me through all of my experience up to this point.

I am a warrior.  Today, I am okay.

PSA - Stop using your skin as payment to worship the sun.  I spent half of my teens with sun-in and baby oil during my summers and my twenties in a tanning bed.  I love the feeling I get from enjoying the sun and being tan... but if I have to look like Casper to keep doing this life, so be it.  SUNSCREEN is your friend!  Use it!

XO

T

New

I'm new to this. I'm not so sure I am looking for followers or forwards. I am still in the wake of serious domestic violence. He is in jail. 210 days, already served 48 when sentenced in mid April. That is nearly 3x what the state suggest DV cases are sentenced... Second offense too. 93 days. That's all they believe is needed to reprimand an individual for being violent against another A SECOND TIME! I don't sleep at night. I have severe anxiety and paranoia. To concrete these, I get harassing messages from his 'brother' and see his mother snooping through my neighborhood. I'd like to, as so many victims do, not see my perpertrator as the guilty one. I'd like to blame his mother. She was an alcoholic. They have a title for people raised by alcoholic parents - Adult Children of Alcholics. Seemingly fitting title. He had all the features of an adult man, and they were truly smashing. The bluest eyes you could ever see. Brilliant smile. Pizzazz. Quite a one of kind person. But his adult words and adult actions were his own. His adult mother, whom has the maturity level of about a 14 year old, cannot be blamed, entirely. He didn't have to reflect her image though. His father was/is so much more of a human being. A great example of what he could've become, in his own ways, of course. But of course, all is his father's fault in life and his mother is innocent. I never bought in to that. Narcisstic sociopath. Narcisstic personality disorder. Surrogate spouse disorder. These are terms all people should be talked to about from about age 14 on. All people should be made aware of what these things are. Surrogate spousing is, in my belief, a large reason why there is such a high rate of divorce these days. It's rather sickening to see this constant broadcast that 'mommy knows you best and will love you most forever and ever'. I don't think so. Mommy is to raise you to be a good person, do the right things, respect and love women, just as Daddy does to her. But that's the missing link. Mommy really hates Daddy and vice versa so mommy surrogates son. Systematically manipulating her son, herself, her marriage and all of their lives proceeding. When you think of the reality you are creating, what makes your son actually fully devote himself to his wife if he has this constant brigade of manipulation? You get him for the first approximate 18 years... Out of what could be 100... Even if it's only 70... His wife will have an assured 50. In our world today, I'm going to guess you will be gone the last 20. WHY WOULD YOU WANT YOUR SON TO EVEN COMPARE, CONTRAST OR CONTEMPLATE REFLECTION BETWEEN YOURSELF AND HIS WIFE?! Why wouldn't you encourage him to see her side of things. Be objective for all women. Not just coddle 'your mama's boy'?! He isn't yours. He might be your son but he isn't your forever. These are all issues that demolished my life with what seemed to be my soulmate. So much of his wants, beliefs and desires reflected everything I wanted in my life. I thought I was crazy for having these thoughts and kept them to myself. Then I met him. He would tell me these wild ideas of living, how to get back to where we should be, how to be free. He was my dream come true. Such validation. So simplicitic. I felt like I'd won the jackpot. But a bitter, jealous, insecure, manipulative mother filtered her depraved thoughts and emotions into his blind eyes. Such a sick human to target her son, his beautiful future. He was on his way to have the life she only dreamed of... With a mate that cared for him more deeply than any mother can care for a son. I am everything. I am a great package. But I will not compete nor contend with a manipulative mother. I don't play games and I cross out all the bullshit women do. When I'm able to point out 'mommy dearest' playing her shit, I make it clear and I request boundaries be defined. In this sickening duo, of sorts, I was winning. He was going to follow the natural path of life and fly, far from her unkempt, haphazard nest. It had to be with a great deal of my terms and I wasn't budging. Then the guilt trip occurred. She'd already bailed on him his entire youth being drunk then completely vacated at age 12. Didn't even attempt to speak to him for a year. All her choice. A choice I later found out was made directly to his face. What anguish he must have felt... She created this entire (disgusting) surrogate lifestyle with him only to leave him with his father. Developing him to hate his father his entire life to being gone. Now, that plays a tricky part on the human mind. He never got over it. Things got worse after that. He lived a life you'd think only happened in Hollywood because it seemed so exaggerated to what normal was. But don't we all? And then we get over it and grow up... Regardless, as our future blossomed beautifully and I quickly showed I was everything he'd been searching for his entire life, his mother pushed and pushed. Striking the idea that I was trying to part them, not her parting us. She'd ask for money when we needed it. She'd ask for time and favors of him when I needed him. She'd persuade that since I'm so able, she's so eldered, he should be there with her helping, not me. As I began to notice the sway, I simply pointed it out. Of course I can manage with or without him but I didn't argue either. I simply made it clear if I was going to do on my own, I was going to do ON MY OWN. I know the abuse began long ago. But after I felt like I was stuck. Mental, emotional, sexual for a long time. It only became physical when I'd had enough and was going to leave. Very typical in these situations. I believed in him, his responses and reactions in the proceedings immediately after... He'd go through therapy. He'd get better. Etc etc etc. One cross meeting with his therapist and I found out he'd done nothing but lie to her. When I confronted him, he refused to go again. One year plus one month and I took the hardest hand smack to the chest, sending me flying down the stairs. As you can see I am long winded and bouncy with topic... So I'll detail both fights another sleepless night. I left. I've gone through proper avenues of justice. Though it lifts my spirits, I still am conflicted. I don't sleep very well. The only reason I think I eat is because I'm pregnant... Yes, another shocking avenue there. I have flashbacks nearly every conversation I have with anyone... Everything triggers a memory that leads to abuse... Everything with him was, in some form, abuse. I feel like I have no one to talk to and realistically I want to stop talking about it. But the thoughts keep me up at night. The memories. The future plans. What were missing out on. My children. Their thoughts. My drive. My desires to (re)create our future, without anyone else. I'm a strong person. Unless you've gone through this, you don't understand. It's not so easy to just pick up and move on. It feels like I'm chained at the ankles in a flood when it's still pouring rain. I've written this current blog for an hour. It's 1235a. I am tired but sleepless tired. Insomnia of sorts. I hope writing when my mind is like this helps. I try not to but I watch shows about domestic violence. My case fits some where in the 2/3rds... Maybe higher. There's surely been worse but mine was pretty bad overall. It's such a weird dynamic in humanity... Violence. People becoming violent. Ok, beginning to feel the sleep... Another night...