Broken

  • BLOG
  • March 9, 2019

I’m on probation. Yep. That’s right. Well, no, it’s not “right” but it’s true.

I’m on probation because I committed a felony. What was the felony? Losing my mind and having an affair. Well, that’s not right either. My felony was a result of losing my mind and having an affair.

The affair was illegal because it was with a prison inmate and I was prison staff. The affair happened because I lost my mind on the wrong medication prescribed for my depression. And because I was so broken.

At age 49, I had a complete mental breakdown.

At age 50, I became a felon AND was diagnosed with bipolar.

At 51, I became a registered sex offender.

At 53, I am now half way through my five year deferred sentence.

I want to petition the courts for early termination of my sentence, but my attorney doesn’t recommend it. It would feel so good to have this monkey off my back – the quiet shame that I always carry in my pocket. That reminds me to be on guard. On guard against attack. On guard against stigma. On guard against trusting people too readily. Or at all.

Sometimes the fear of trusting anyone rises up and I become cynical and caustic. I post stinging memes, cloaked in sarcasm. I put on my “In memory of when I cared” shirt. I withdraw, hunker down in my office, and chant “people suck.”

Sometimes I feel I have a right to pull back and avoid people. After all, it was “people” that shattered my generous and kind view of humanity. It was people who sneered at me and rooted for me to go to prison.

But it was also people – God’s people – who loved me and cared for me and encouraged me through the hellish turmoil. It was God who healed me through those who carried me through the trial (literally and figuratively).

I am easing my way back into humanity. When I tap the outside with my toe, if I sense the slightest twinge of risk, I flinch and draw back, cowering in the corner like an abused animal. But other times, when I’m received with love and genuine kindness, I creep out just a little bit further, and tentatively try one more time.

I have learned that humanity can suck sometimes. But God never does. He’s loving. He’s constant. And He’s a healer.

I don’t know if I will ever be fully healed, which, in my mind, means going back to the way I saw the world before. Maybe fully healed includes the scars that bear with them more wisdom, prudence, and confidence.

Welcome
I am a 57 year old woman, raised by an undiagnosed mother on the spectrum. At 12 I developed bipolar II disorder but was not diagnosed until I was 50. At 30, I had a son whose father dropped out of the picture when I was seven weeks pregnant. I met my husband when my son was 4-1/2 months old and we were married 17 months later; our daughter was born 18 months after that. We had a great life raising the kids, going to church, being involved in the community. My husband was always loving, patient, and kind. Twenty years later, our kids were grown. What we didn’t know was that the bipolar II disorder that started when I was 12 and, that went undiagnosed and untreated, was worsening. A pile of life stressors led to a serious bipolar episode, an illegal affair with a prison inmate, a suicide attempt, (finally) a correct diagnosis and appropriate treatment, and felony charges with a potential of 100 years in prison. This blog traces my journey, sharing my experience, insights gained looking back on 50 years that hadn’t made sense, and tools used in recovery. I hope that this will provide encouragement, insight, and tools to help others traveling a similar path. I'm Sherrill and this is my journey.

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