A little over a year ago, I was in a very dark place. It was a place that I hadn’t visited for decades but, as soon as I arrived there, I remembered why I never wanted to visit again. I had been recently widowed and 2020 wasn’t even a thing yet. I was lost; a ghost shuffling around my beautiful but quiet house. I wasn’t looking in mirrors anymore, because I couldn’t do it without crying. Maybe it’s because I am a realist but I couldn’t meet my own gaze in a mirror. Every time I did, I would see a girl, dark circles under her eyes, asking me if everything was going to be okay.
That girl, with unkempt hair, who smelled like cigarettes, didn’t know and she didn’t trust that anything, much less everything, would ever be “okay” again. I was on social media posting a strong face… For you. Behind the curtain, though, I was faltering. I was devastatingly depressed and largely incapable of or unwilling to share that fact except with a handful of people. I had two speeds, frantic mania or unshowered sloth, and I went days at a time without seeing another person.
Throughout my life, keeping up a tough ‘I can handle this’ kind of exterior (true or not) has always been my modus operandi. At this time last year I wanted to give up, let go, disappear, fade away. I did not want to know what futures waited for me. My faith in the universe had been shaken in a way that tempted me to throw in the towel. I lost faith in everything…
HEAR THE HAPPY ENDING OF MICHELLE BREEDLOVE SELL’S STORY IN THE LATEST ISSUE OF THE TURQUOISE IRIS JOURNAL!
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