Dearest Gentle Reader –

First off – I want to start off by saying thanks to those who have checked out my blog thus far and have reached out to give me tips or just say they like it. I truly appreciate the support!

Disclaimer: (which I will probably start putting on all my posts) – this blog is mine and mine alone. I will be writing my thoughts, my beliefs, my morals. If you do not agree, if you get offended, then maybe this isn’t the place for you. I will not apologize for sharing what goes on in my mind when you are choosing to read it.

With that said, here we go, let’s talk about it – how did I end up on a grippy sock vacation. So as I mentioned in my last post, I woke up one Wednesday morning and realized that I lived the majority of my life in one constant state of panic. This morning, I had already woken up three times in a state of panic and remember feeling like I just wanted to run away. I didn’t want to tell anyone. Not my parents, my best friends, or even my son. I just wanted to up and disappear completely.

My ex and I had just broken up. We had already been on and off for almost five and a half years at this point. It was a vicious cycle at that point, which was most definitely adding to the panic I was having. I knew that if I wanted to be the best mom I could be for my son, if there was ever a chance my ex and I could have a good and healthy relationship, I needed to get help. Some real help.

Let me back up a little bit. My ex and I decided to move in together in October. I broke my lease and started moving my stuff into his house right away. I then went on a trip to Colorado to photograph a wedding. While I was out there, I witnessed some quite beautiful love. And I started realizing that I felt like the majority of the people in my life – friends, family, romantic partners (past and my current boyfriend) – all just kind of tolerated me. Now, looking back, that feeling might not have been entirely true as I was feeling it at the time. But when I expressed this to my ex, I felt like I was met with some resistance. And then we started fighting. A lot. What was once a happy union was now crumbling faster than I felt like either of us could gather the supplies to fix it.

In December, he went through his own thing. It got better for a while. Amazing, even. For a good few weeks, I actually felt like everything I ever wanted in my life, I was even calling it my “Epilogue Era”. I had finally gotten my happy ending. Then one night, we got into an all out fight while visiting his parents. That fight continued when we got home with both of us saying some of the most hurtful things to each other. The rings we had gotten each other for Christmas were taken back. And that’s when it was all broken.

My happy ending, the one thing I had always dreamed of my entire life was suddenly and very quickly ripped away from me, partly from my own doing as well. And that’s when the spiral of panic started. I took our son to a hotel for a few nights of space and the last night I was there was the night before I checked into the hotel.

I remember waking up that morning so clearly. I keep using the word panic because I can still feel how it felt. And somehow I just knew I’d be going to the hospital that day. I called the Veteran’s Crisis Line and they helped notify the ER that I’d be on my way. I packed up all my stuff from the hotel and went to my ex’s house so I could say goodbye to him and my son because I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be in the hospital. I remember crying as I was leaving because I was nervous and scared.

I know this was a lot to read and there was so much more I could put in here. There’s so much more I’m going to be saying in the coming posts. Which I’m going to try to posts on Sundays). Just know that it’s okay to ask for help. Looking back, I was so scared to go in because of the shame and guilt I felt. I was scared to leave my son. I was scared of what my family would say. I was scared of a lot of things. But being on the other side now, I’m so grateful for my grippy sock vacation. My next post I’ll talk about how the conversation with my dad was also part of the catalyst for pushing me to seek help as well as what the process in the ER was like.

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