This Crazy Life

I saw a couple of posts yesterday on a Facebook group that really stuck out to me about medical PTSD and being a survivor.  A lot of days I feel weak.  I feel like a failure.  I haven’t been able to get my daughter to get better.  I’m not strong enough.  Another person could have done a better job.  I also suffer from headaches, full body aches, I’ve been clenching my jaw a lot, so I’ve been working on that.  Basically, I’m a walking ball of stress.  And fear.  And worry.  Sunday, she had a bad day.  Monday, I had a bad day.  It’s crazy how a bad day can cause that.  Can cause such a physical reaction.  I need to remember that it’s ok to have bad days.  That I’ve been through a lot.  I need to be nice to myself.  I can’t always put on a happy face and pretend that everything is ok.  Because it’s not.  Not even close.  But it’s hard.  I can’t let down with my husband because I try to protect him too.  Same with my kids.  And my mom.  My oldest sister has no kids and while she tries and means well, she doesn’t know.  Other people that have been through the journey get it, to a degree, but they haven’t been in my shoes.  So many things that feel impossible.  So many things I try to push through.  Everyone has been through a battle.  Everyone has something going on.  We should be more kind and not so quick to judge.  FBT worked for you, it doesn’t work for everyone.  Leverage worked for you; it doesn’t work for everyone.  I think what everyone forgets is that there is no magic cure.  There is no one size fits all approach.   I didn’t write what I’m about to share, and I’m not sure who did, but I saw them, and they stuck to me so maybe they’ll help you feel less alone and understand that what you are going through is very real too.

Medical PTSD is real,

Seeing your child slip away,

Fighting for them to liv,

But losing pieces of yourself along the way,

Leaving nothing but a sense of decay.

It doesn’t happen all at once,

A monster leaves a rip here, a tear there,

Yet you adjust your grip,

And refuse to give up,

You continue to stare into the face of it.

Now your child is home,

And your heart is full,

Half the battle is won,

But there is still more to come,

The grief is great, but you shoulder the weight.

After all, you must hold up the sky,

Pray the other shoe doesn’t drop,

And the illness returns to eat your child alive,

Pieces of you scattered behind, yet you cannot stop,

The grief is great, but you shoulder the weight. 

Some of us have been through things so traumatic that the human mind isn’t built to handle, but we fight and persevere every sing day and night.  If that’s not strength I don’t know what is.  You are a survivor.