About This Blog

My blog shares my recovery journey from childhood abuse to living with mental illness. I've been involved in twelve step groups and therapy since 1982. I accepted Jesus as my Savior in 1988. To the best of my ability, I have followed where He wants me to go and what He wants me to do. Maybe you'll find the hope and strength you need through what I write. Maybe you want to stop hurting yourself. Maybe you have a friend who needs help and can benefit from my story. I was newly disabled when I asked God this question: "What do you want me to do with my life?" I closed my eyes and paused for a few moments to still my mind. This is what I sensed from Him: "Amy, I want you to write your story to bring hope and healing to those who are still suffering." And that's exactly what I am doing!

Thursday, April 21, 2016

As Long As I Remember, He'll Always Be Here

I met with my therapist yesterday.  I still felt numb but over the years I've learned the value of keeping therapy appointments and not canceling them.  I would cancel them because the numbness I was feeling would suddenly burst forth at the thought of sitting in an office, door shut, their eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.

I've faked illness to avoid showing sadness because I couldn't stop crying
I've faked illness to avoid showing fear because at that time I didn't have the tools to bring myself to a safe person or apply the tools to keep myself safe.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I've felt overwhelmed or my thoughts are racing and I can't get control of them.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I feel hurt by something she says and instead of talking to her, she just keeps on talking so I tell her I'm leaving.  Then I take a break, cancel all future appointments and remind myself that I am in control of who and how often I see them.

I no longer fake my illness.
I no longer walk out of sessions.
I search inside myself when asked a question.
I talk about my hurts for as long as need to.

I speak up if there's a misunderstanding.
I listen to new ideas and exercises.
I make sure I am kind when in distress.
I bring anything I've worked on, like this blog.

It was hard to talk but I drove to therapy.  I was asked how I was feeling - sad.  Then I talked about the gift I received on Sunday. Sunday I was able to tell the entire story of the last week with Aaron plus all the other details. to my friend.  I hadn't done that in a long, long time if ever. Yesterday, I was having the feelings of sadness and tender.  For myself, my family and Aaron's family.

I remember Aaron in two sets of clothes that week:
Same person, different clothes.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit and body are here.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit is gone, his body is here.
One in a long sleeve black shirt, black pants and neon green neck tie.
His Spirit gone but his body is here.
He was cremated.
His Spirit gone, his body now ashes, the two urns at each parents home.

My Aaron.
My tall and strong,
Bright blue eyes,
Running at me for hugs,
Creative ingenuity (exploding plastic pop bottles),
Helper to Tina, Grandma and the Aunties (Amy & Tracy),
Monopoly player with me and his brothers,
Horror movies,
Trying to rebuild a TransAm with Dad,
Going to 4-H with the family,
Loving his mom,
Taking girlfriend Alex to all dances,
Wrestling with oldest brother, Joe
Walking the neighborhood with younger brother, Jonny,
Bouncing on trampoline with youngest brother, Ryan,
Hunting for eggs on Easter 2008 with sisters Hope, Sammi and Alicia.