Soul Mosaic

The departure of that “presence”

Just as I had a lot of work to do to piece myself back together emotionally, Ed, too, was waging his own battles, physically and emotionally at the same time. But at least we were starting to work together to pull each other out of the darkness. And the word “darkness” doesn’t even come close to describing his ultimate dark place at that point…that “presence,” just off to his periphery.

At the worst of that time for him, that deepest, suicidal point, he could feel a constant “companion,” a black depression that was so crushingly real it felt like a living, breathing entity standing right at his elbow.

“It was right there, just out of my sight, off to the side. I felt like if I could just turn around fast enough, I would see that dark form standing right by my side. My peripheral vision was just frightening DARKNESS. Like I could touch it. It was ALWAYS right there.”

To this day, whenever he speaks about those days, I can see intense fear in his eyes and a deep revulsion in his facial expression. It is the expression of someone who came so close to the edge of a cliff that it still scares him to think about.

Blinded by the fog

If there were a painting to depict a large chunk of my life, it would be this one. In looking back over the entries now, I can see how many periods of challenges there were, sometimes a few at the same time. There were also places of joy and calm — and we made our joy in any given moment. But always lurking just out of sight was the question of what might happen or be needed next.

Here are the rest of the photos showing the sequence as I painted the piece for New Directions. It’s a dawning of true brightness on the path, after wandering in the dark for so long. Tomorrow, the rest of the story.

Note: All paintings by the author

The image for New Directions

The next several entries in this “Old Country” section of my memoir — the “Old Country” being the story of my life — cover these last fifteen or so years of my life. It has been the part that has gifted me with “New Directions.” Joyous directions. Directions full of curiosity, creativity, and most especially, PURPOSE.

This last segment has been the part that finally took everything from my life, synthesized and transformed it into something that has just blossomed. While I managed to thrive in some fashion through all those earlier years of pain and hard work, these past years have been an absolute joy to me.

As with all my earlier posts, I have paired the text with photos or paintings that represented those times. So, it is only fitting that for this “New Directions” phase, it has its own painting — a visual expression of what I felt to move beyond so much struggle and emerge into the life I was born to live.

The seeds of thriving

The thriving wouldn’t come overnight. It was more of a slow-growing plant nurtured by my wonderful therapist. And it is a still-going-on process. But at that time, her help gave me hope. I didn’t expect it to turn out as wonderfully as it has. Hope was enough then.

The help of my therapist, and the medications the psychiatrist prescribed had brought me back from the edge. The PTSD anxiety was coming under control. The depression was improving, though it would take a little longer.

The best way to show its progress was in from something I wrote in 2017, about a 2011 trip Ed and I took.

I can’t do this!

Maybe I didn’t dare speak those words at that point about my life situation…I felt it for sure. But as long as I didn’t admit them, I could go on. But I did have to say them about working in the memory-care center.

I had started volunteering there in the fall of 2008 and helped with the Christmas party for their residents. We danced, brought out food, and sang songs. I tried to keep my mood light and match the delight of all the patients. It was surreal, though. One moment, someone would seem worlds away mentally, then you’d play a certain song from decades ago, and they would come alive, smiling and singing along. While it was nice to see them have a moment of joy, it broke my heart because they would mentally “slip away” once the song was over.

Lost in the chaos…

I spoke in an earlier post about my struggles with female friends. During that time period, there were a couple of friendships that really triggered me. The conversations seemed to have an energy behind them. There seemed to be undercurrents of things unsaid, and even the things said felt provocative, interrogative, almost confrontational. So those things added to the trauma from that December intensified my anxiety.

I literally began to feel unnerved. Like I was being watched…viewed as guilty of something…bad….poked at emotionally…and unsafe. Maybe the weird energy was mine projected on them. Maybe it was both. I know that after almost losing Ed, and realizing I couldn’t be the strong, self-sufficient island anymore, I was desperate to nail down a friend I could depend on. I felt lost in the chaos of life and started to question my sanity.

The movie

I mentioned the movie “Doubt,” which came out at the end of 2008. It hit such a nerve in me that I was unable to watch it…then.

It was set in a 1960s parochial school, and centered around the possibility that the parish priest was sexually abusing one of the altar boys there. And the Sister principal of the school, sometimes too rigid but determined to protect the children, was equally determined to stop him.

In 2024, I was finally able to watch it. By then, I had the anxiety and PTSD symptoms well under control, and had a lot more awareness about myself, friendship, how to live a healthy life, and what those years of abuse and trauma had done to me. While it was still a hard movie to watch, I viewed it SEVERAL times, and NEEDED to. It was time, and it was calling to me.

Fiddler crabs to the rescue

I went to see my regular doctor, desperate for any kind of help. Whereas in 1978, I had refused to take the Librium the doctor gave me because I viewed it as a failure to use them, now I had no such illusions. He did give me a prescription for Prozac, but I later learned it was such a low dose it wouldn’t have done anything for me. And he wouldn’t consider increasing the dose or changing the med.

The only other thing he offered was some Ambien or Lunesta for sleep, and some Xanax for anxiety. I didn’t want the Xanax. I had used it once in the past, and I feared its addictive powers. So I tried the sleep meds.

To me, those seemed “odd.” Yes, I “slept.” But it was more like just flipping switches on and off. I took them, they’d hit, and shortly I’d be “out.” Then, when they wore off, it was like flipping the light switch back on, and I was conscious. But not rested. It wasn’t “sleep.” More like “suspended animation.” I am sure they are helpful for others, but they just didn’t work for me.

I was so desperate, I even looked up one of my old gynecologists. She had the same last name as my dead aunt, who had been a nun. Could that be a sign from heaven? However, she didn’t have anything else she could offer me other than possibly some estrogen.