There’s a pale, diffuse light creeping in. Little by little. It started when I unburdened myself of the secretive shame of these thoughts and feelings that have overcome my soul.
I told my husband. No, that’s not it. I had been “telling” him all along, but not to the extent that these blog posts delve into my psyche. So, I finally cast my fear aside and let him into the funhouse that is my brain. Almost instantly, I felt better. No, not completely. It wasn’t a cure. It was simply a few pounds of weight taken off the mental barbell on my shoulders.
It’s so terrifying to admit to someone you love exactly how fucked up you are. There’s a not-necessarily-unfounded concern that telling your significant other you sometimes drag safety pins across your flesh to feel better will make them run far and fast away. And then what?
I don’t have an answer. My husband responded with an amount of love and concern so great I could not help but feel a bit better. It was as though I poured some of my darkness out into his hands and it ran through like sand. I felt lighter, and he was no worse for the wear. I am blessed.
I encourage you to find someone you trust and share your struggle. Even if it’s a helpline or website. Share your burden and it becomes lighter.
It’s still dark. But there’s some moonlight now. And I’ll take it.