Out of the ashes...

Okay, so I guess to say "a lot has happened" since my last post would be an understatement. I honestly really don't know where to start. Most know the snip-its that are on my Facebook page, but here's my chance, my page, my words. The last 6 weeks have been anything but dull...

Clyde William Calvit was called home on the morning of July 11, 2011. He was my Grandaddy and I miss him so much. Even as I type this, I can't help but cry. His service was simple, short, and filled with so much love...just like he was. I tried my best to write a respectful eulogy for a man who was the patriarch of a family that adored him. I tried to make people smile. To remember what we shared with him. To remind us all to hold those memories close to our hearts and be thankful that he is no longer fighting a terribly, painful disease. He is free. One day I will see him again. And I can't wait to hear him tell me how to bowl, fish, or attempt to play the banjo better. Grandaddy, your love for Grandmommy and our entire family was so great that it is still felt, and missed, today. You married a very strong woman...but I know you knew that about her. I think you finally let go on your own terms and I have to respect that - but I still miss you. So much. Everyday. There are things that I still have to deal with and accept. I don't know how to grieve for you. I'm not sure I'm letting myself mourn. I think I'm scared to feel it.

***The rest of this post is pretty graphic and comes from a very raw and vulnerable place. I know it is I that writes a public blog, but all I ask is that if you send me messages or comments, be respectful. I'm still a work in progress.

Most of you know all the medical problems that I have been going through and all the doctors and tests and surgeries that I've been through in these past weeks. Well, as normal protocol for patients in pain, doctors prescribe pills. Little did I know that Army docs will write the shit out of some prescriptions. Then there's me who has...in her entire life...taken 1/2 of a vicoden after one surgery and then 1 loratab after having a c-section. All other pains and problems were handled with Tylenol. Even when prescribed more, I never would take it. I have been in such unrelenting pain, and I was sure the doctors were smarter than me and knew how to fix me that I did what they told me. Here's what I was on...on a daily basis: 2 MS Contins (morphine), 8 Oxycontins, 2 Tramadols, and also had a drawer full of Percocets. I have NO recreational drug history and my past prescription use includes help with sleep, periods of anxiety, and birth control. I weighed 120 pounds at the beginning of June right as the worst of this started happening. (Today, I'm trying to push 110.) I listened to the doctors and took what they said, when they said. They never replaced anything with another drug, just simply kept adding to the cocktail. I can only assume to quiet the current pain with no thought of what it may do to me in the long run. Here's where the scary part starts...I will now say that I was within days of literally killing myself. Suicide is no joke to me. I have lost 2 friends that way and I hold them dear in my heart to this day. Wondering if there was anything that could have stopped them. I know I have Jaxon. I know I am married to an amazing man who has given me a beautiful step-daughter. My family is beyond amazing. But, in this haze, I couldn't hold onto those things. I couldn't make them matter. I laid in bed. In the dark. Crying. Wishing I would just close my eyes and never wake up.

My low point came last weekend when I was sitting on my bathroom floor, holding a razor blade in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. Literally, trying to figure out which one would hurt less, which one would be "easier" for Jamie to find. Saying a prayer for God to watch over my precious babies and to make sure that Jamie and my family were always protected. This was my bottom. This was it. I was terrified, scared, numb, high, sad, angry, confused, exhausted. Then, somehow, from somewhere, a little light caught my eye in the crinkly glass cubes of our bathroom window and then it started raining. Hard. I lost it. I don't think I have ever cried that hard. I screamed and threw both the pills and the blade across the bathroom. I took every bottle of every prescription out of my drawer and stopped taking them that night. I wasn't that girl. I didn't want to be that girl. And I was not going to take any more fucking narcotics to band-aid a horrible, constant pain that no one can fix.

Turns out you just don't put drugs like that down and turn your back. They don't let go that easy. Next came the withdrawals. I didn't leave my bed for three days - minus the few peaks into the living room to fake a smile to Eden, Jamie, and Jax. I drank about 1/2 cup of Gatorade over the course of those 3 days. I ate 1 peanut butter cracker. I texted my sister and asked for help. It didn't take her long to tell me to go to the hospital. I got 3 bags of fluids and a doctor in my face telling me that I had ketones in my urine - my body had shifted into starvation mode and was breaking down muscle to survive. I was dehydrated and starving. I cried when I finally came around enough to talk to the doctor. He asked how things were at home and if I had ever thought of hurting myself. Didn't tell him the events that lead me to him. I know what they do to people that say "yes" when asked that. And I could not ask for a better husband. But I had missed everyone. I withdrew from my family. I didn't want to be held. Touched. I didn't want to smile or talk.

The hospital was on Thursday. It's Monday night and I am finally starting to feel like me again. Ash says the withdrawals from the narcotics, the mental scary stuff at least, may still jump up and bite me for a couple more weeks but my body should be over the physical part of it. I went to my mom's over the weekend and got a lot out there too. Today, Jamie said I sounded a little like the old me. That felt good. I miss me. I miss my life. I loved my life. I love my life. I want my life. But, just for some added security, I think it's still best that I talk to someone. I have a few more issues that I've suppressed for a while and after talking to mom, I think it will help. If there is one thing that I will NEVER be ashamed to admit is that I have gotten help from a counselor before and I will again. I am very grateful for the people in that profession.

So. Here I am. Trying to climb out of the ashes. Back into my life. Back into the real world. The world that will now be taking my husband away for a year in the spring. The world that no longer includes my Grandaddy. The world that gets a little scary sometimes. But, I know I have battled demons before. And I know I have a strong bitch inside me somewhere. Just still trying to hang on like hell til she gets to the surface.

Just breathe...