My engine

I wrote this entry several weeks after being released from the hospital. Here is a preview into my thoughts during recovery…

June 11, 2022

I miss the old me. The depressed me. It was easier to be ignorant to all of the pain I carry. I could blame sleeping all day Sunday on the night out on Saturday. I could blame the crying on the stress. I could blame my anger on my personality. Everyone looked at me like I was a normal college aged student, though my mind was running at 120 mph and my engine was ready to give out. 

What most people don’t realize about me, and others, is that recovery is often more difficult than the trauma itself. Getting up everyday and facing my burdens, acknowledging them, and working past them has been so difficult to face. Before, I could push my problems aside and let them stack up. All of the warning lights were present, and I could see them, but I wanted to keep driving. Once I reached my destination the lights would go away, at least that’s what I believed in my heart. I knew in the back of my head, though, that my engine would eventually give out. That’s life, right? Apparently I needed a little more maintenance than I thought. Boy, am I thankful my engine quit for a few days. Because the mechanics could fix me, and they wanted to fix me. At least patch me up until I could get to a bigger shop for body work.

Walking out of the hospital felt like an out of body experience. I was walking out to face the unknown and I had the world stacked against me. I was leaving my best friends, my college family, for the summer. I was going home to a house where once fond memories looked a little different. I was stepping back into a new role, a childlike role. For me, when walking out of the hospital I was angry I was alive. Why hadn’t the pills worked that night? Why didn’t I choose something stronger. Why didn’t I lock my door? Why did my friends find me before I gave out? Why hadn’t I just rested that night for good?

My pain was even worse leaving the hospital than the actual attempt. Everyone could see all of my “issues” for themselves. I had nothing to hide anymore. Everyone finally knew I was struggling- am struggling- and I could not hide any longer. The light had entered the dark space and was there to stay. 

The other thing about the “after” is the amount of times I’ve had to recount my story, my trauma. With every new doctor, therapist, psychologist, psychiatrist, family member, friends, and acquaintances I’ve had to start from the beginning and relive every single curb I’ve hit along the drive. 

My secrets once buried in a chest were treasured by my parents. Finally, they could help me with the aide of professionals. 

Choosing to wake up everyday with a mindset of working towards rebuilding a new life has been the most challenging thing I’ve ever endured. Heart wrenching breakups, losses in championships, college finals don’t even measure up to the pain I’ve experienced since walking out of that hospital. I still carry the burdens of the past with me, they never went away. But now, I have to find a new perspective while facing them. But, this time, my check engine warning lights are faded and are strong enough to make it to a better destination than where I was headed. 

So here I am, rising gas prices and all, continuing to drive on. And I’m learning to enjoy the drive more than the destination I’ll one day reach.