Advertisements

Lost Time: What Grieving Time Cost

When you have the life you always dreamed of, children that you weren’t supposed to be able to concieve, medically speaking, and then have them ripped from you over a very bad decision you made, from the one person who said they would never take them away from you, you die inside.  The warm and sunny feeling you had inside is replaced with the icy crispness that you might visualize when the temp drops to -30 and there is 20 feet of snow blocking your front door and you can’t get out.

Suddenly you go from being the funny out going, kiddo taxi driver to the introverted hermit.  Feeling as if the weight of the world is suffocating you.  The outside world becomes this scary nightmare that only causes you pain and anguish if you go into it.  It’s a constant reminder to what you have lost and plays havoc on the emotions you try to keep buried behind the comfort of your newly made hell, or home.

Your once large circle has been dimished down to maybe one or two, and they are held at such a long distance away that they become so distant that you mark them as better off and revert back to your newly made hell in your head.

You convince yourself that everyone and everything you have lost contact with is better off. That you, yourself, are doing them a great justice by removing yourself from their existence.  You second guess whether your kids were better off without you, and then you start making yourself believe just that.

Stuck in this hell, I fell even deeper into the world of grief and could not pull myself out of it.  I became paranoid that people were out to get me.  I started lashing out at everyone, trying to get them to walk away and just let me die from the grief I felt inside.  The only ones that could even bring me to the glimmer from the shadows were my two daughters on the every other Saturday visits we were allotted.

Instead of trying to climb out of the turmoil and sadness, I found myself sinking further and further into it by always thinking things like “the girls don’t miss me”, “I deserve it”, and “God must hate me”.  I would not listen to anything hope related and I ran from any positive advice or people. I felt I didn’t deserve anything but the black cloud that had resonated in my mind and heart.

Lies of “I’m fine” and “I’m alright” became common answers to any and all that took the time to be concerned with my well-being.  Most of the time, I was able to fool a good number of people.  However, my probations officer would be the one that I was unable to fool, and that would be the doorway to realization and recovery and God’s helper.

At my check-in on August 7th, I walk in not knowing what was waiting for me behind the watiting room door.  Unknowingly, I walk through when my name was called and instantly I should have realized something was up when she wanted to search my bag, but nope, I just accept her response of “oh they are making us search all bags now” and blindly keep walking to her office.  I’m sitting there telling her of my last month of struggles with my ex, and my business, where I stand on all things me, until i felt a presence behind me.  Turning, I see about 10 women in the hall way surrounding a female sheriff’s deputy.  I instantly know what is happening and why.

As if my heart could bare any more heartache, the reality of what was happening and the effect it would have on me and my children was just beginning.  I would spend 96 days in the county jail, not being able to see or speak to my girls, with no visits from anyone, hardly any phone calls, and only letters from the ex and my girls.

From Corrections officer to inmate.  A shining example of what not to do! Talk about your all time fubar life plans.  For the first few weeks I spent every day kicking my self lower and lower.  I relived every single moment that lead me to where I was, but instead of putting blame onto others, I actually looked myself in the mirror and saw me for what I was and the hurt I had caused by my actions and decisions.

I started reading the bible, praying, and writing. I read several books on faith and scripture and how they fit into life as I knew it.  I managed to read the whole new testament, get baptised, and somehow start rebuilding the connections I thought were burnt forever.  Suddenly I was writing my ex, and him actually answering.  Talking to my mother on the phone, and forming plans for a better future once released from jail.

Once released, I was to attend an in-house Dual Diagnosis program.  However, this would prove to be harder than it should be, considering there are very few facilities offering this program in my home state, and if your lucky to actually find one, there is either a substancial wait time, waiting list, or licensing requirement that takes precedence over you.

Wanting to get my life back in order and on tract to get back into my daughter’s life is delayed due to inability to find one of these programs accepting new patients, and the hearing to terminate my timesharing my ex decided to sabatoge me with two days after my release. Gone were his lies of being there to help me get things back to good.  Gone were the year and a half of steps forward with regard to my already in place horrible timeshare plan. Can’t a girl catch a break?!?

Back to square one.  Three hours every other saturday at a visitation center, where I have to pay someone to watch me with my children.  Only this time, I am unable to get a real job until I find out if I have fulfilled my in-house patient requirement, so I won’t be able to afford the ungodly surcharge that these centers charge.  The judge refused to even let me speak, refused to let me have visitation with trusted people and not at one of these centers, but did approve me to be able to have time with the girls on their birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Life is too full of moments that don’t clearly lead to happy thoughts or moments.  I feel like my daughter’s short lives are too full of murky and hateful moments, actions, and outcomes.  Though I try my best to overcome the worst decision of my life, I seem to always be staring back at it at every turn I make.  I’m supposed to keep myself out of depression and get back up on the theoretical horse and start again, never looking back at the past and what led me down my path of depression and destruction.  I’m supposed to not grieve the lost time with my daughters or the moments missed.  Time I will never get back.  Time that keeps being stolen, with no hope of ever getting it back, is what got me into a hopeless spiral into a very deep and dark depression, and yet it wasn’t enough so the ex decided to amp it up more and see what happens.

What he don’t know, might hurt him, though.  You see, I’m in a much better place this time.  I have God on my side this time, I have a better support system, I have my writing and graphic designs.  I have a therapist and medication.  I have goals, and priorities.  I have my daughters.  I have a plan.

Step by step, one foot in front of the other, I shall prevail against evil. The name of the Lord is a strong tower; The righteous run to it and are safe. -Proverbs 18:10

Advertisements

Published by 3MKZ "Soul"utions

Divorced, 40 yr old mother of 2 beautiful girls ages 3 and 6, that is in the midst of the worst experience in my life looking for ways to repair my girl's souls, protect their future, and provide a better world for that future.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: