I had started a post to let everyone know…Hey I’m fine look at me one post away from having finally beat this bitch and being healed. Almost everything I’ve read and “researched” (frantically looked up, googled) says it takes years to heal…Years.
At first when I read it I was overwhelmed, I don’t know what I was a week? Month? into my recovery and I thought I have years to go through this, I give up then, because there is no way I can do this for another day… let alone another year or two or ten. Turn off the lights, go ahead and send the band home… I’m done.
Then the conceited part of me thought, that’s them, I am Kelly and I can do it quicker. I have raised three boys while, managing a farm and still found time to bake cookies and coach basketball, bring it.
And I have healed… I have overcome a darkness which at times was so black no light, NONE, was seen, not a glimmer. I have felt such a release this last week, like a 200 pound whore was lifted off my shoulders, and I could walk almost upright again.
This morning I laid in bed with my husband, watching The Pioneer Woman (who? If you just asked that question you are officially banned from my blog until you go check her out, she’s amazing and someday I’m going to meet her as soon as the “restraining order” is lifted) and her “Thanksgiving Leftovers” show came on. Guess what? Thanksgiving is a double trigger…one given to me by “the whore” and one given to me by last years feast (not a story for today).
I could feel it building in my chest, the tightness…and then the whispers, the voices got louder. I could not stay in bed with him for another second, and my husband who I love, I LOVE HIM, i do..but I couldn’t lay with him any longer because he was “that man” again.
After a brief breakdown in the kitchen which ended in tears and me crying “I can feel it coming” he carried me into our bedroom, opened the curtain, handed me my coffee and computer and said “get it out, I’ll go make breakfast”. Here I sit, propped up by pillows, typing, “getting it out” listening to the sounds of him making Saturday breakfast… alone. The tightness is gone, and voices muffled, but I have been slapped in the face this morning with the knowledge that healing takes time no matter who you are…
I wish my journey of healing was done.
“We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
‘Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love – we’ll give it a shot: