another bad year

Wow.  It's been nearly two years since my last post.  I could say that in neglecting one forum I use as a writer, I've spent more time on my private writing, whether they be musings or works that I hope will one day reach a wider audience.  I could say that but it would be a lie.  The truth is that I haven't done much of anything in all that time except fall apart (again) and begin to heal (again).  Well, there was one huge thing that happened but we'll get to that later.

2012 was nothing short of a disaster.  After the strides I had made in my mental and emotional health over the preceding few years, I found myself even further back than when I had started.  Some things were done to me.  More things I had done, whether it be to myself or to others.  I hurt people I loved.  I lost people I loved.  I neglected people I loved.  And I nearly lost it all.

All in all, it was quite possibly the worst year of my life.  I'm ashamed to admit that.  I'm ashamed to admit that another year I was given to spend with my greatest treasures - my sons - could be bad, let alone the worst.  I'm ashamed of the knowledge that I've had a few rock bottom moments when I was younger, experiencing tragedy on a deep level, hurting in ways that many people in my circles have not hurt, and still I've found that what I went through in 2012 was worse.  I'm ashamed to have lost so much to my severe depression.  I'm ashamed of the fact that I nearly willingly gave all of it up.  Think what you will of that last statement.  What you imagine is probably true.

I'm most ashamed of how 2012 ended, in a severe breakdown that took me days to recover from and a relapse a few months later.  The breakdown itself was not the tragedy, nor was the relapse.  Similar to my shame in being severely depressed when I had three very tangible reasons to be happy, what made the breakdown worse was the one circumstance that should have made me happy.

Yet another unexpected miracle made its presence known around that time.

Among the tears, the freak outs, the breakdowns and the tantrums was nausea, weight gain and the tell-tale flutter in my belly.

We were pregnant.  (That would be the one hugely significant event of the last couple years.)

As it were, we later found out that we weren't just pregnant, we were expecting our first daughter.  Before she was, hope was born.

I wish I could say that that was the moment I began to heal, but it wasn't.  As my little girl grew inside me, so did my grief, my frustration, my resentment and a bevy of loss that I could not get over.  And my hope began to die.

Until I finally decided that enough was enough.  My sons needed me.  My daughter needed me.  I needed them more.  I needed them desperately.

And so here I am, healing, hoping, trying to take control (again).  2013 was the year of hope and mental health.  Also, getting caught up in having a baby (again).

But since I'm already wordy by nature and these things seem to take longer than they should, I'll end this shortly and expand in other posts.  (I'm DYING to write about my new princess)

I hope to be doing this more.  In mentally returning to my latest but most true passion, my children, I have decided to also return to my longest-running and first-intended passion:  Writing.

I don't do resolutions.  I end the year with lessons learned (something else I'll have to get back to, later, or chuck entirely) and I begin the next year with mantras.

My mantra this year?  Simply:  Love.

So that is how we will begin.  With love.  My love for my children.  My love for my husband.  My love for my family in heart.  And my love of writing.

See you very soon.

"Use your mentality, wake up to reality." -CP