It’s grief. And it acts like grief. It comes and goes, sometimes in waves, sometimes trickling in a little at a time. Today, it is a stream – not overwhelming but a steady flow.
I know I shouldn’t dwell on it. I know I’m blessed abundantly. I know I’m forgiven and I’m a new creation and a beloved child of God.
But I grieve about what I did, that I hurt so many. That crazy became a part of my persona. I grieve about how it affected my kids and the impact it had, has, and will have on them.
I grieve that my mental illness and the wrong medication stole from me a job I loved and was good at, and where I felt I was making a positive difference.
I lost myself in the mess. I lost the me I had gotten to know over the years, and though I often didn’t like her, at least she was familiar.
This new me is different. She’s more subdued, quieter, much more uncertain, timid, and withdrawn. She’s not excited about ideas or projects. She just does what she does without passion or inspiration.
I’m settling for her because the old her was devastation.
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