4. Living Journal


2011 I started journaling again…

Journaling was something I had done for most my lifetime, but somewhere in adulthood between love, marriage and step-parenthood, working on an ambulance, and fighting MMA, I stopped.

In 2011, my Whirlwind touched down, and had it not been for my therapist, a woman named Jessica Cemenska, and my living journal, not to mention the love and patience of friends and family that have loved me through some unloveable moments, my lowest moments of self-loathing and self-destructive, I probably would not have made it to today.

I’m trying to continue walking forward, not chasing my tail in self-destructive-self-medicating circles thinking depression and anxiety are things that will disappear if I just keep numbing them and running away from them….TRUST ME I TRIED.  I’m gonna be telling you all about my trials and errors, my two steps forward, one step back life, so that I ensure I continue walking in the right direction, and maybe there will be a reader out there that will HEAR THAT THEY ARE NOT ALONE and be encouraged NOT TO GIVE UP.  I have wanted to give up many times.

Therapy really began for me a session or two in…sitting across from a woman not much my senior.  I wonder if it was easier to open up to her because she looked like someone that had circumstance been different, would have been a friend…  Finding my voice didn’t happen overnight but it wouldn’t have happened were it not for Jessica.  But saying things out loud, to someone that was really a stranger to me, was nothing that came naturally to me.  It has been frustrating for me, not having the courage to put words to things…learning to do so was the beginning of a journey…  I began the process of finding my pen and my voice when I was 33 years old in 2011, after my marriage and life had begun to fall apart, when I emailed a cape-wearing Superhero of a therapist and told her “There are some things I can’t say out loud, but I can write anything.”

I had this haunting feeling that until I learned to get what was trapped IN me on the OUTSIDE of me, I was going to be sick…I was going to be in a purgatory of sorts.

Therapy changed my life.  Asking for help has never really worked out well for me…but had I not asked for help and worked toward finding my words and my voice, I imagine I wouldn’t have stood a chance…it’s the only way I knew how to fight for myself…




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