Truth

"The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable."

For the first time in a long time I told the complete and utter truth. It has made me miserable. Indeed. The evidence is every where. Not just on this pathetic little blog but in my daily life. In my breaking down every hour or so. In my confusion and uncertainly that I will forever be miserable, all because I told the truth.

Yet Grace falls like rain around me when I speak the truth. Oxygen pumps into my lungs and I remember to be alive.

When I was 25ish, my boyfriend and I were on a "break" - kinda, not really, I thought. One day, I went to his apartment to surprise him. He opened the door naked, typically a good thing. But that day it wasn't. There was another girl naked with him. Clearly we were on a real break. I remember I swore at him, telling him to fuck off. I went back to my car, gas tank was on empty, and I drove to Sherwin-Williams (a paint store). I bought a can of black spray paint. Calmly went back to his apartment, spray painted on his door then proceeded to go down to the sub terrain parking lot and destroyed his precious car with spray paint. When I was done I threw the can across the parking lot and walked out. My lungs filled with oxygen. I was alive and I knew I had done the right thing. That the truth, my truth was in that moment.

The following months were .... dark. I went to therapy 3 times a week. I contemplated suicide. I slept and ate. All in my family's home. I was a heap of nothing with no future, no one to love me, and I was alone with the exception of my family. Slowly dawn began to break and I had a constant rolling dialogue with me and God. And it was basic. Lord, help me walk this step. I can't do it. I can't open my eyes today. Please give me strength to move forward. Eventually it became greater - climb the stair case, interview for this job, accept this job, wake up every morning and go to work. In those moments when I asked for someone to carry me, I was carried. The oxygen filled my lungs and I could breathe.

My history of depression is long and sordid. I fall and regroup to a point of function. But the mask goes on again and I stop speaking truth. I revert to being the "good" girl. Until I am suffocating and I can't breathe, then it goes again.

I wrote that last blog. I write a lot of things. But lately what I write is truer and truer to the truth. And I can breathe when I'm done. Jason read it. It is easier to understand me when you read my writing. I can't communicate very well verbally. But give me a paper and pen, and I can help you understand me a little more. He was sad. He was worried. He was concerned about my ability to pull out of it this time. But again I spoke my truth to him about the depth of my despair, about my ability to hold on, about my daily struggle. And I sobbed. Deep sobs because I knew that I was telling someone that cares for me a great deal the truth. And that truth hurts.

My history of co-dependency and protecting those that I love will not serve me well. I had a moment of truth 2 weeks ago and am I still reeling from speaking it. Oh yes, my despair is great. But in the end, if I stay in the truth of my emotions, my lungs fill and I see again the breaking of the dawn.

I have an interesting view of God. I believe in grace and I believe in a path. When you speak and feel the truth then you are following the path of grace. The path that was meant for your steps. The path gets fuzzy when you ignore the truth as I have for so long. But the beauty of it all. When you show one moment of courage and speak the truth, the path comes visible again.

Indeed this journey has just begun.