Today I am Just ok, and that is good enough

If language bothers you then I am not your girl and you should stop reading.

I am not a sailor, I cuss like one. I am actually a good southern girl living is northern California.

I am 45 years wise and tired.

I have never been so fucking tired.

I am married to a saint.

She has the strength of 1000 people in her petite but powerful frame.

I have a massive lazy dog who is so deeply imprinted on my soul that I swear I gave birth to him.

I have son who is my physical twin and totally opposite of me personality wise.

My unconditional love for him could be my demise.

My name is Melissa and I am just Ok.

I was the girl growing up that other girls hated for no reason.

I looked like a “bitch”, decades later we call it RBF, resting bitch face.

Guess I was ahead of the trend.

I hated that people always asked me what was wrong.

“Why don’t I smile?”

“I’d be even prettier if I smiled.”

No one really wanted to know what was wrong.

And if they did, and I answered truthfully what would they do?

“What’s wrong with you?”

Well, I was molested many years when I was little, no one helped me.

I was raped by my best friend and when I went to tell my mom she was high on speed so I kept it to myself.

Both my parents are junkies, one functioning in society, one that is the epitome of the crack addicts you see on a movie. Both would make a killer episode of Intervention.

I married a man who beat me.

I was disowned by my completely mental family.

I have struggled to parent a very challenging kid trying my best to never be like my parents.

I mean for real, how would people have reacted if I answered them truthfully?

Through all the shit I always made it through.

I always prevailed.

I always found a solution and a way out.

I am the person that everyone comes to for support and advice.

I am that person.

I am that woman.

And now I am fighting for my life.

All because of a phone call.

In July of 2018 my life was forever altered.

5 minutes of discussion undid 44 years of self work.

I have never hid from my past, clearly it didn’t matter.

That was the day trauma claimed me as its slave.

Pandoras box was opened.

I had made it through some of the darkest shit imaginable. Like a fucking beast. I always rose above the flames. If I could make it through abuse, molestation, rape, abandonment and the fear of my child ending his life due to depression and suicidal ideation….

 I could face any monster that came into my life.

But not this time.

Here I am, now 10 months later and I am seeking treatment options for PTSD. Me… the strongest most stubborn bitch on this earth.

If I don’t I will die.

Plain and Simple.

And they will win.

It’s pretty fucked up that I am so competitive that I don’t want to die because they will win, but truth be told, if that is what keeps me here so I can get better than so be it.

Am I a depressed and sad person? Hell no.

This is not me.

I repeat THIS IS NOT ME.

I am so pissed that this is even happening.

I want my life back.

I want to be the person that my wife married.

I want to continue to be the person my son is proud of.

I won’t share all the messy details right now.

I write this because PTSD does not discriminate.

It does not care of your schedule is packed.

It does not wait to show itself until you are safely at home and alone so others do not have to witness how it can make you its bitch, its slave. How it takes you over. How powerless you become.

You do not want to tell others, simply because you do not want to deal with the

“Oh, gosh, don’t worry it will get better” or the

“You are only given what you can take” Tony Robbins bullshit.

Or even better the “friends” that end up needing you to make them feel better because they feel so bad for you.

PTSD, depression, and all the other icky mental health issues keep you prisoner because people all react differently and when you are deep in it, or when you’ve come out of an episode the last thing you need for your own health is to have to “make it ok” for others.

Therefore most of us decide to simply not talk about it.

So today, in this shit show of a day, I am ok.  Two hours ago, not so much but today, at this hour, in this moment I am just ok.

I don’t have to smile.

I don’t have to be anyone’s cheerleader.

RFB and all, I am okay…

And that is totally fine.

If you are feeling lost, depressed or unsafe in your body and mind, please reach out to those who can help you. Therapy works, but remember life is in stages. It’s continuos. There are layers. Commit to the work at each stage of your life and you grow and evolve your therapy will grow and evolve. And do not be scared to shop around for the right therapist, or break up when it’s time to move to a new one. Just make sure you aren’t leaving because of you…. don’t run away when it gets icky or when you have to face your part of the whole thing.

If you are caring for someone going through these things, don’t take it personally. Don’t discount what they are going through with an easy go to “all will be fine” mantra. Don’t tell them how sorry you are. Don’t smother them, just shut the fuck up, don’t make it about you and love that person without judgement or advice.

That’s what most of us need to be ok.