Headsick: I Am A Survivor.
The position I find myself in is contrary to the person that I know to be me. I am repulsed, yet unable to move, held captive by invisible enemies.
Each of my senses is assaulted by my very state of existence. I can do only three things with any success: think, cry, and sleep. It has been two weeks and four days.
My brain is filled with ghosts of past injustices I’ve committed against myself and others. I see them rise from the graves where I once had them safely put to rest, haunting me as they roam my head. My thoughts, without clarity, tangled among the webs of venomous cerebral spiders.
Sorrow-laden tears spill over with no effort on my part; they just fall, creating streams of hot anguish down my raw cheeks. I stopped wiping them away many days ago. There was no point as they never cease. At times, the slow and steady tears turn into sobs, my entire body lurching with surrender to unbearable knowledge.
Knowledge of the many casualties I’ve witnessed due to life’s sometimes cruel ultimatums.
I fall into bouts of sleep, at times in 14-hour stretches, wrought with nightmares. The thoughts of my waking hours taking the shape of vivid monsters with rotted teeth and spoiled breath, laced with the stench of decomposing victims.
Victims of those who came before me, unable to break free from the stronghold of unyielding pain and regret. I awaken, terrified, vowing not to sleep again, but my mentally exhausted brain betrays me and hauls me back in.
I’ve no desire for food, and am surviving on a diet of peanut butter and Diet Coke. I’ve lost weight; I can see it in my face on one the few times I venture to peer into the mirror at my dejected self. My long hair, once pulled back into a neat bun, is disheveled and knotted like that of an ungroomed lapdog.
I have not taken a shower, I have not brushed my teeth, I have been wearing the same tank top and Yoga pants for two weeks and four days.
It is devouring me, each day taking a fragment of who I am, and swallowing it whole. It has engaged me in its daunting dance of destruction, seducing me into believing I was not worth a damn thing.
It was 20 minutes away from Day Five when I felt something stir deep within me, ever so slight, but I felt it. I dove into myself and chased it down. Please help me, I begged, I am so scared. I knew, with more conviction than anything I had ever known, that I needed to grab hold of that which was within me, or I would die.
It was a physical vibe, a tingle, a tiny field mouse, running through my guts, bringing me to consciousness. I caught hold of it, and a sensation rushed through me, one I recognized; it was purpose. My body was weak, my mind ravaged, but I had found it, the will to live.
At once, I was acutely aware of the beat of my heart, the sound of each inhale and exhale, of the tiny beads of sweat that had formed upon my forehead, I relished the small smile that played upon my lips as I vowed to myself to never again face this alone.
Deep, devouring depression.
It has been two weeks and five days, and I am a survivor.
***
Vanessa Jasek is a wife and mother of four kids. She is a student pursuing a Liberal Arts Degree after a long career in Human Resources. Vanessa is now an author who is following a new path in life, a brilliant path of words, mysteries that unravel as each new word appears on the screen. She loves to read. She loves her two bulldogs. Life is good.
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