This has been surprisingly hard to write, which is strange. I’ve spoken a lot about the issues that exist, there are various blogs you can easily locate on the site which detail history, such as it is. However, something important has happened in the last couple of months. My husband was sorting through pictures of me after my daughter was born. A number of them I cannot remember being taken. This person may have have looked full of smiles but there’s no depth to the images, they’re a lie.
So much of my past is just that.
This picture is from 2009. It is small, and blurry, but these smiles are genuine. I’d passed the lowest point a year earlier, and considered ending everything. I’d come close enough to planning the exit. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t think about how worthless I was, what a failure woman had become as wife and mother. What changed, ultimately, was an ability to see in the dark, forgiving myself, creating a new existence that factored me into the equation.
I was a wife, mother and daughter, but nothing of me that made any sense, or was actually true. All the stuff that had mattered in my teens had fallen by the wayside. That had been willingly sacrificed when kids were born, including friendships and career, but without something to call my own, there was simply no point. In the darkest depths of despair, arguing in decreasing circles, truth was inescapable. The only person who would save me was myself. To redeem existence, truth has to be found.
Depression did odd things to my brain, PMT making things worse, plus some horrendous issues post my daughter’s birth with body’s general state of disrepair. It was time therefore to drag myself outside (best therapy ever prescribed to me, it must be said) and start walking: when daughter started Primary School, I’d do an extra fifteen minutes walk home, often returning exhausted and dripping in sweat. Slowly, that became an hour. The local leisure centre had a Gym, and I’d pay to go use the treadmills. Then, when husband was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes, came a Gym membership.
At the same time, brain therapy pushed me to write every day, about World of Warcraft. Issues were kept secret from everybody, and only when comfortable enough to tell people did it happen. During both pregnancies, a lot of old friends were left behind. Some I treated well, others not so much. There are two that are regretted even now, but considering the history behind them both, everybody wins by us not being friends any more. In 2015, whilst on holiday in the US, a ghost from the past tried to follow me on Twitter, and pushed me into answering some major questions.
That might mean of course they’re reading this now, and that’s always something that never leaves me. There’s a lot of people I’ve met and passed by, many with whom friendship was mutually ended and the occasional person who frankly scared the crap out of my by refusing to let go. It was this issue, that some things were out of my control, that finally pushed brain to start questioning how stuff is processed. This year it was that which finally led to the confirmation of an ASD diagnosis.
Then there’s anxiety, which is now well managed, occasional issues with light sensitivity and sound input and the fact it appears to take me twice as long to learn new Gym exercises than everybody else. All of that is eminently manageable because now, I’m happy. This might be the heaviest I’ve ever been for a while, but it is undoubtedly the fittest and mentally alert. Steps have been taken to redefine what matters most, and yes all of that works, on a daily basis. A lot of that is to do with comfort in everything, including my sexuality.
Now, when asked to complete application forms (and there have been a lot of them in the last year) the word ‘bisexual’ gets ticked. I’m happily married to a guy who I’ve known for 30 years, and long may this continue because nobody in that time has even come close to bettering what he is to me. I have been a flake to him, a coward and a bitch, but he still stands beside me as the best person to love. Only realising what I truly was in the last couple of years, this final confirmation changed entire sense of self.
We are equal, in every respect. The other people who matter don’t see a label, they understand me. What this means going forward is being capable of accepting these changes, and not allowing others to affect the quality of life that’s now been achieved. This is the happiest I have ever been, and were this to be the last blog post ever written there’d be no remorse that life isn’t what was either hoped or planned. Every day is a constant reappraisal and reorganisation of everything, and that’s perfectly fine.
This is my story. It is part, inescapably, of what I am.