LIFEBOOK

It all started when she mentioned hitchhiking.  The memories came flooding back in a deluge of unpleasantness and clarity. I remembered sounds, smell, touch, and feelings.

And you know how I love to share what's on my mind.  Here goes:

Sixteen was a turbulent time in my life, but then so were fifteen and seventeen, so perhaps I shouldn't single out the age of 16.  Who am I kidding?  Everything from 14-19 was turbulent.  That I even lived through those years is a miracle in itself.  And I don't mean a religiously inspired miracle, its simply a miracle.

I was considered a 'rebellious' child and the 'black sheep.' My family repeatedly verbalized that I was an embarrassment to them with my actions. 

Spending time in town with my friends on the weekends was the best part of my life at that point so I made every effort to get myself there at every possible opportunity.  Sometimes that involved walked the 2.5 miles to the highway and then hitchhiking the remaining 7 miles to town.  Inevitably I also needed to get home, but at some point my family stopped being willing to pick me up in town in the late hours of the evening or the early hours of the morning.  

I'd never had any trouble while hitchhiking to town; it was generally still daylight out and I felt safe. If I was ever in any danger, my intuition never let me know.  I doubt I would have listened anyway as it really didn't matter to me what happened; I hated myself.  After all, I was an embarrassment to my family and I could do very little to please them.  

Regardless, one evening after midnight, I wanted to go home.  No one was willing to drive me all the way to my home, and no one from home was coming to get me.  So I hitchhiked.  It didn't take long to get picked up and then subsequently sexually assaulted.  In my mind it was my fault and I deserved it.  On some perverse level, I was glad for the attention and "affection."

As the sun rose the next morning I made my way to a payphone on Main Street, and subsequently went to a friend's home.  From there I called home to let them know I was okay.  I did not tell them what had happened.  It never occurred to me to tell them, it would likely have embarrassed them. No one said, "I'm so glad you are safe! Let me come get you."  

What I was told was, "Mom has had a nervous breakdown and it is all your fault." 

The speaker of those words had  no idea (and still does not know) that I had been sexually assaulted the night before.

Oh who am I kidding!!  It was not a sexual assault, it was rape.  Plain and simple.  There, I said it. 

There are plenty of similar stories from those tumultuous years and I consider it a miracle to have survived relatively intact.  I've also concluded that since I survived and am still alive, there is a purpose for my life and there is a reason for me to have survived. It is this knowledge, that I survived when the odds were stacked against me, that has kept me from suicide in the past when depression has been the most painful. 

The reason I am sharing this with you is, after telling this story earlier today, the listener asked if I had ever considered writing a 'lifebook.'  "I doubt anyone would read it," I said. 

"If you could save one girl from suicide, it would be worth writing," she said.

One of my life goals is to speak out openly and publicly about depression in order to lessen the stigma associated with it.  If my story can help ONE person,  it will be worth it all. 

Day Three

When you work 12 hour shifts, the third day can sometimes be a bit dicey. A lot of people can breeze through more than three days, but for most, three is the absolute limit. For others, two is the limit of what their mind and body can take.

I'm not quite at the full 12 hour shift yet, but I will be next week.  Currently I'm doing 10 hour shifts, a graduated step between 8 and 12 hours.  But I'm doing three consecutive shifts. I've been off work for 15 months with a herniated disc and the road to recovery has been riddled with complications and setbacks, so for me to get to this point is utterly fantabulous!! (Yes, I made that word up.)

Here's how it works at our house when I'm on three in a row:

• get up anytime between 0400 and 0600
• coffee
• get ready (includes waking child, dressing child, packing lunch, etc etc etc)
• visalus shake
• leave the house
• drive 15 minutes to sitter
• unpack child
• drive 15 minutes back to town to work
• go hard for the entirety of the shift (sometimes longer)
• drive 15 minutes to retrieve over-tired child
• retrieve child
• drive 15 minutes with overtired child who is alternately crying from exhaustion or falling asleep
• unpack the car
• enter house and feed child
• bathe child (or not)
• cajole child into staying in his own bed long enough to fall asleep
• collapse into my bed with every intention of brushing my teeth in a few minutes
• wake up at 0100 with a very full bladder
• pee
• get into pyjamas
• back to bed
• wake between 0400 and 0600

Repeat twice more.

Note: I have not included the possibilities that child may wake at 0430 and refuse to sleep anymore, exacerbating his tiredness at pick up time and interrupting my quiet and peaceful morning.

Nor have I included the little bloopers that make up a normal day. Spilling a portion of the shake on the passenger's seat, forgetting swipe card at home and being unable to enter the hospital, stopping to fix irritating windshield wipers, and so on.

By the end of three days, mind and body are ready to enter a coma state.

Have I mentioned lately that I love nursing?

AFRAID TO START

What am I afraid to start?

I'm afraid to start keeping a daily journal as a from of self examination. It scares me as I am sure I will start writing and not be able to write all that I need to write. There are so many things racing around in my head that they are all crowding the exit and waiting to get out and onto paper, or keyboard. Either option is available to me; I just haven't got a preference at this point.

Everyone's life is chaotic in some way. Sometimes only for a little while, but others have lives that are permanently chaotic.  I want to examine this for myself and get to know myself a little better and see what really makes me tick.

I'm also afraid that if I begin to examine myself via a daily journal, I may not always like some of the things I discover. There are choices that have to be made, and it scares me to think that I may have to give up things that I worked so hard to attain.

But, I feel compelled to do this, to reach deep within myself and look around at who I am, where I came from, where I am, and where I am going.

There are so many sections and sub-sections and sub-sub-sections in me that I honestly do not know where to start. Like I said earlier, I'm afraid to start this self-examination process; afraid that once the deluge begins, there will be no end.