No Shame In Being Vulnerable

It's been a year since I had the grand mal seizure that I believe changed my life. There are so many thoughts, so many emotions to express, that I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what I want to say, but here it goes.

Honestly, though there have been beautiful moments since, it's been such a difficult year for me. When I was in the hospital, it was hard, because I was in the hospital. If you saw me, you'd see two black eyes, what I can only describe as skid marks on my face; one above my right eye, and another on the bottom right side of my face, and a goose egg on my forehead. It was so obvious that I had been in some form of an accident, that I didn't want to go to church for weeks for sheer embarrassment. I was angry at myself because I absolutely TERRIFIED all of my family, specifically my parents and siblings. I was mad at myself because this should've never happened. I mean you'd think after about 17 years of taking medication, I'd do it. Therefore I hated talking about it. I strongly disliked being visited, talking about how terrible I looked, about scaring my family. And most of all? Feeling the need to admit to everyone that it was my fault, that it was because I wasn't taking my medication.

And after that? I was left an emotional wreck, more so than I already was. I wanted to be my old, independent self, that felt comfortable alone, but when I was alone? I felt a twinge of nervousness. Almost every month after August, I had at least one grand mal seizure, waking up on the floor, not really having any idea what just happened, and then calling one or all of my siblings sobbing as I tried to explain from my foggy brain what I thought happened. I was going to spend Thanksgiving with my friends family, but I had to cancel because I had a seizure the day before and my sister and I thought it best that I spend that time with her and our relatives. And with all of this, I felt like such a burden to my family and friends. But I kept trying to look forward, to see the bigger picture. God had better plans for me, even if I didn't know what they were, right?

Then I got fired. And I was shocked. I was so stunned, that I didn't really ask why, or defend myself. I wanted to talk to my mom and dad, but they wouldn't be awake yet. So I told my sister because I needed to feel comforted. And when I got home, I tried to act like nothing happened, it was just another day. And eventually, because of the reality of it, I broke. I suddenly was uprooted, moving home, my life seemingly no longer under my control. I saw a cramped living space, where I felt unwanted, stuck, frustrated, and weaker than ever. I had no privacy when I wanted to cry, so I'd lock myself in the shower room and ball my eyes out, being frustrated at God for allowing this to happen to me, I was trying to tell myself that maybe there was some reason that I needed to be home, but I didn't understand, I felt like life at home was worse than away. I wanted to talk to certain people, people I felt comfortable (sort of) crying in front of, but they were either asleep, or in different states, or countries altogether. And I just got tired.

So I became suicidal. I just got tired of living, tired of continually going through the trials of my life. Tired of having no one really to talk to, tired of fighting back tears. Tired of no longer feeling motivated to do anything. Though I never truly wanted to kill myself, the sheer idea of it scared me. I never wanted to die, I just didn't want to exist. And I never planned on telling anyone that I had suicidal thoughts because I didn't want anyone to freak out, or look at me in that way. But as I and my sisters and a friend were planning a trip to Moab, we were talking about how much it would cost, and I just got so anxious. And so, I took a trip to the bathroom and had a panic attack, and stayed in there longer than a bathroom break would require. My sister knocked on the door, and I let her in. And then I let it slip that I was suicidal. I just couldn't hold it in anymore, even if I wanted to. And after that, slowly, little by little, I talked to my parents, my Bishop, my neurologist, and I started seeing a therapist. I opened up, I felt understood and loved. Someone besides myself understood that there is a difference between wanting to kill yourself and wanting to not exist.  Someone who agreed with me when I said we need to start thinking of people who have been suicidal not as weak, but strong. For they have lived through something difficult, no matter how short. And slowly I've felt better, and happier.

And I've learned that you need to tell people what you're going through. Maybe you don't need to give all the nitty-gritty details, do what you feel is comfortable for you. We can all learn from each other's experiences, positive or negative.

I've learned so much this year. Sure, it's been a hellish year, but there have been beautiful days. Days that I personally felt an indescribable feeling of happiness, and at peace again, which is the best feeling in the world. I've learned that things really do get better, your life situation may not be too different, but your attitude can change, and that's all that matters. I've learned more and more that I have a truly amazing family; immediate and extended, who are all so loving. I've learned that I have a great group of friends, even if we don't get to see each other too often. I've also learned that if you don't feel comfortable with someone, then don't have them in your life. I've learned that if all you do is get dressed for the day, that it's enough. Don't expect to get back on the bike after a serious accident, you've got to take baby steps, and then use training wheels, and then you can try again. I've learned that there is always something beautiful to see, and therefore something to be grateful for. Find what makes you happy, and surround yourself with that as much as you can.

I never liked talking about my epilepsy. I never felt comfortable talking about a major difference between myself and others. I waited until I absolutely had to talk about it, and even then sometimes I just never brought it up. I mean I had a seizure at work, and no one knew that I had epilepsy, and then my coworkers/employers asked why, and I had to tell them it was because I have epilepsy, and I felt terrible that I didn't let them know. But I've learned. Talk about your experiences. Tell people about your health, because if anything, they can learn how to help you, what to do and not do around you. And mostly, because they probably care about you, and want to know about this major thing in your life, so tell them. You'll have a stronger and closer relationship.

Again, it's been hard, but I've focused on that enough. I want to focus on the things that were/are beautiful. I was able to go to the Spiral Jetty, Moab, Bear Lake. I was able to be reunited with my favorite place; Hatch. I have had moments of immeasurable peace and serenity. I have been able to enjoy the rain and thunderstorms, overcast skies, sparklers, nature that surrounds me, handwritten letters from my favorite person, the laughter and happiness of those I love, hearing my own laughter, and just being constantly reminded that there are as many beautiful things as there are sad. As I've looked back on my Instagram accounts, you know what I see? I see someone who is happy, blessed, creative, beautiful, and strong. I don't see the pain, the tears, the fear, and the doubt. And for that, I am unable to put into words how grateful I am.

In the end, life is tough, but so are you. Life is beautiful, and so are you. I know I've said this time and time again, but I mean it. I love you all so much, and each of you has made an impact on my life, and I'm forever grateful. If you need a friend, I'm your girl. If you need a hug, a dad joke, or someone with a stranger laugh than yours, I'm your girl. If you need a shoulder to cry/sob on, I'm your girl. If you need someone to talk about anything but your trials, I'm your girl. I'm your girl forever and always, and I'll love you as much as I can. Because you, you are worth my time.

All I have left to say is thank you.
Mercedes