Three times in my life I have totally given up (and this doesn't even include the days of "just" despair). The peace "beyond" was very tempting. I had virtually NO motivation to live. I wasn't even a dot, or a grain of sand, that would mean I existed, and I felt I did not. And I had built walls after the abuse. Walls to keep out anything and anybody, even those that might've been able to share with me, to help me, to be a friend. I closed them all off, I closed myself off. I stayed "flat" inside. The fear of "closeness" and "feeling" was just too much.

So I stayed isolated until I couldn't bear THAT anymore. I think it is natural to want to be around other people, to have friends, to want to trust, but so much stands in the way as we are battered, abused, and learn not to stay vulnerable for very long, that the end result will be pain. How very sad life can be.

So I prayed. What did I have left to lose? And I got an answer. It said to do two things. The first was to go (one more time, it was going to be my last) to yet another pdoc. He saved my life. I got my diagnosis of bipolar disorder (finally, at 48 years old) and was given medications that helped the insanity in my head. The other thing that happened was I went to an AA meeting. Oh how scared I was! But it was a beginning. Dare I hope for something positive? I began to change. Baby steps. from A to Z slowly, A, B, ....

But I still escaped into myself, away from others, even away from myself. I now know I also have a form of dissociative disorder from all the abuse.

But somewhere along the way I started to be curious about the good things around me. It was tempting to want to know the beauty in life. Again, dare I hope? Well. Now I had to enter the "motivation" room, to get the courage somehow, the will, the desire, to become stronger, to learn, to let others in. A weak desire to do these things was my only weapon to get past the old man.

Ok. So I reached out, and to my amazement, grabbed that old man by the nose hairs and yanked him out of that chair. A shouting match ensued. I knew he was weaker than me, I only had to stay strong. I grabbed his cane and threw it out of reach. I kicked his chair out of the way and he stood there trembling, weak-kneed and tired from the battle. With every breath I grew stronger, I found my "voice" and told him to leave and I pointed in the direction for him to go. He paused, I could see the edges of fear form in his eyes, and slowly, reluctantly, he hobbled away, broken and defeated.

I tentatively opened the door. It squeeked from misuse, cobwebs fell away. I entered. Suddenly there was a light. And a sign that said "you are welcome here". I was? I didn't trust the sign. What did it mean? So I took a tentative step.

There was another sign. It said PsychCentral. It's easy to guess the rest. I have found a place where I can be heard. I am learning to share now with my new pdoc all the hurt and pain I have held in forever it seems. I can come here and read what others have gone through...it gives me courage to fight my own hell. And the biggest blessing of all is that my sis and I have reconciled. I now have a true sense of family, albeit small, but that is enough, not only here, but in real life too now. What a blessing this all is! I am so extremely grateful.

It is a hard journey, this thing called life. But I am motivated now to find answers, to heal, even dare to be happy, to learn how to be in control of my life, and learn that no matter what, I have a right to live, a right to exist, and above all else, I am reaching out and within, and learning how to heal.



(thank you dps)