So I failed at doing Five-Minute Fridays the past like, seven Fridays. So I’m catching up on them slowly but surely. So I’m calling it Five-Minute Freewriting because it’s not Friday, and I know I won’t be posting these on Fridays for a while until I can catch up.
This one’s prompt was: Last.
The past year of my life has been a war. Me against myself. I guess spending the last seven years of my life trying to handle sickness, anxiety, and depression all my myself finally caught up to me. I finally cracked. It was painful and hard and overwhelming. I’ve never wept so many tears in the entirety of the rest of my 23 years of life combined than I did within a six month period this past year.
I would lie awake at night trying to calm my mind, rest my eyes, keep my body from shaking and quivering from pain, and frustration and fatigue would bubble into anxiety and anger that would rise up out of me from within—I don’t know where. I would weep until I fell asleep. The morning would bring sore eyes, tired skin, and fatigue. I had no other option. I just had weeping. So I did. And in the midst of it all, I remember crying out loud—to God, I presume—How long is this going to last? I wasn’t sure how long I would last if this was what life was going to be like for me—this out-of-nowhere, for no good reason, debilitating sadness, weariness, and anxiety was eating me away, and I had no power to stop it. I knew I couldn’t last living like that.
I had to get help. Nick would hold me, wipe my tears, pray for me—but I needed more help than that. I finally convinced myself I couldn’t last on my own.
So I sought out some help. A lot of help. A lot of prayer. A lot of tears and panic attacks and sleepless nights. But six months later, I am myself—though I myself can hardly recall who that is. But my mom tells me the old Kelsey is back—the one with life and heart and humor and laughter and a smile and energy and confidence. My dad told me there is light in my eyes again—that they’re blue, not grey, that they’re bright again. None of it was sudden; the changes were gradual, and quite painful.
But I’m here. I lasted. Some days are still battles. Some nights I weep. Sometimes I take a Xanax (hey, panic attacks happen). But I know that the sorrow lasts only for a night, and joy can come in the morning. Sometimes the joy is simply that you woke up and lasted the night.
Every Friday, join the blogosphere for five minutes of free-writing on a single-world prompt, and watch where the Muse takes you. Find out more about Five-Minute Fridays here.