I ran away.
Just for a week, and I found peace.
My brain stopped torturing me with thoughts of self-loathing and harm.
I found peace. I found beauty in my surroundings and I lived for the quiet.
My days were filled with rest, painting and meeting new people who had new conversations and passions.
And then I came home.
I cried myself to sleep last night.
I had made so many plans in my head of how I would celebrate my son’s 18th, my children’s end of college before they escape to uni, and how I would send them off with treats and trinkets to remind them how much I love and care for them.
But that’s all fantasy now. My absence from work due to my mental health means I have no finances to follow through with my plans.
I’m home less than 24 hrs and my son is arguing and backchatting. My husband is filling my future with plans that have not been discussed. I’m being told what to do. Any thoughts of equal partnership erased with his trying to help.
My work are still not accepting the medical advice or care plan for my future return so I can only imagine my job will be gone. And no contact whatsoever from my so-called teammates. Erased already like I don’t exist.
My heart is broken. All the peace I found in my sanctuary has been erased.
The wounds to my soul feel fresh again and the thoughts of inadequacy have returned.
And whilst I am overjoyed to be back with the people I love as I missed them so very much in my time away, I feel I am on the path back to square one.
Just a spectator in my life and not a participant. Am I even needed?