Cementing the Cracks
Two years ago, at this time of the year, I cracked.
I don't know how many people knew it at the time or even cared. I did what I always do, I hid it. I hid behind plaster smiles, forced laughter, and constant misdirection. Any time problems in my life came up in conversation I deflected it and changed the topic.
It's not really a surprise that I was falling apart internally. I was getting only a couple hours of sleep in the wee hours of the morning in between the hourly reoccurring nightmares. I was stressing over how to pay all the bills a two income house incurs as well as getting the house note back up to date, on one income. I was skipping meals to make ends meet. I was feeling alone, isolated, and forsaken. The hamster wheel in my brain was getting a lot of use as the worries ran around and around in my head. My inner demons took pot shots at me every chance they got. Rodents were invading my house. Was that a flicker of light that made the shadows shift or something small and furry?
Only two people ever had a glimmer of how bad things really were. I finally broke to somebody I loved and trusted, somebody who kept saying they were there for me. That person brushed off my worries and fears. They told me I'd be fine, that I'd figure a way to make everything come together. They told me I was stronger than anybody they knew.
Inside I was crumbling apart, losing all definition of me, of that strong person I appeared to be.
I thought I could continue to hide it all. I invited a friend to spend the weekend, thinking they didn't know me well enough to see through the thin veneer of self I was holding up every day. They got close, close enough to see the light streaming through all the cracks, all the places where my patch jobs had failed or fallen away. They got closer than I though anybody would ever care to be.
It tore me up inside because I didn't want them to see me as I was.
I feared that they would turn away, shun me because I wasn't holding together as I should have. I worried that they'd see me a weak, silly, childish. I fretted that I would again be alone and even more hurt when they walked the other direction.
Instead they pulled me closer, they held me tight in the dark, they lent their shoulder when my tears flowed. They took time to sit down with me and sort things out. They were available no matter the time when I needed to talk.
Was it an overnight healing? No.
It took time for me to feel that I was getting my self back.
Even today there are moments when the worries slip back in and gnaw at my hind brain. I fight it and keep reminding myself that things are different. I'm really not alone anymore. He won't think less of me or turn me away.
I'm finally feeling safe enough again to begin putting myself back together, completely this time.