The Stick

Love this.

Quite often, it makes me cry when I read it, sometimes it's because I'm the one screaming for a stick. Quite often we don't realize how incredible our actions are; we're just trying to survive, and then someone points out to you what it is you're fighting against, and you're like; "Fuck! Yeah, I am aren't I?"

When I posted it to a forum I'm in, I got this reply from the Administrator and cried again. "Thank you for sharing with us in the forums Tricia. I remember all you have been through this last year, and you are doing an amazing job! We all are!! Being challenged with anxiety and depression can feel like such a fight at times. I know I have had to wield a few sticks myself this year! But here we are… moving forwards… knowing we can do it… and having that ‘fight’ inside us to keep on going. Looking back, 2017 has come with its challenges for me, for sure, but it has also been a huge one for me, in seeing I really am capable of overcoming the hardships. I hope you continue to see just how incredible you are. Well done, just for being here, and sharing with us, stick in hand"

Yeah, way back in 2017. My (edited for publication) thoughts at the time were;

I guess I'm tired of being strong all the time, and [my then partner} did help with the load. So much so that he allowed me to be 'weak' and totally fall apart. Just so I can put myself together again, and dig out all that stops me being me, and build the person I can live with for the rest of my life. I know without going through that, I still would be strong, but going in circles. [He] told me in our last conversation that he thought I was ready to and already am beginning the rebuilding. And that I CAN do it.

I guess what I'm scared about is; if I pick up some of those old useless pieces and put the back in their safe but useless places, I'll keep what's familiar instead of the big shiny pieces that are really me.

And, I have many extra pieces that stop me being me, the pieces 'added' from PSTD (that we've only realised about in the last couple of months) that haven't been dealt with yet, because we simply didn't realise were there. The pieces taken on from my parents, that help make me, but limit me; I don't need to be my broke mum or my too strong dad. I don't need their voices in my head saying you're not good enough, there isn't enough money. I need to find the me before and after that, the me that isn't scared of failure or even trying. The me without anxiety stopping me, changing me, limiting me.

Fast forward two years, and I'm still here, this meme still makes me cry. Now, I know however, that it's because I recognise where I was and where I am now, how far I've come, but HELL, how far I've still got to go. Anxiety as a way of life is gone, maybe a bit of depression now and again: what I call Reasonal depression, (more on this later) because, yes it's there sometimes, but more and more often there's a reason behind it; it's winter, there's an anniversary happening, life is bloody hard sometimes and I'm still dealing with dads estate and the loss of so many loved one's. Stuff that is overwhelming at times and makes a memory slip from my eyes and roll down my face.

I'm still looking for all the big shiny pieces 'real me' pieces, and I'm a lot closer to finding all of them, making them a habit instead of the programming installed in Little Trish so long ago. I grabbed the sticks offered and used them as best I could. I handed out sticks myself. I recognised that some sticks weren't really for me, they were sticks that helped the one handing them out feel better, 'token' sticks, so to speak. Or, like my ex, the sticks would've helped his version of life to be better. Not that I'm ungrateful for those sticks, because they helped me enormously, however, I recognise that they were, after all, their sticks, their way of dealing with life, and also their limitations. Bloody handy sticks at the time that helped me rebuild enough to seek my own values, face my own limitations and find my own motivations in life.

Just for the record, I wasn't temped by suicide, it's the whole of the context after those words that's important to me, and to almost everyone else who's been affected by this brilliant little piece since. The fight against depression and anxiety. The Stick. The Marine. The will to survive. The incredible fight to become whole and 'real'. "With no hope, running on nothing you're ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that's what it takes to get you to safety. All I'm doing is handing out sticks. You're the one staying alive."

It is recognising me in there, in the jungle, behind enemy lines, fighting to survive, and knowing I will get there. It's grabbing those sticks and handing out those sticks when you can. Being incredibly thankful for those sticks and the people taking them and offering them.

It's learning to love yourself enough to have the will to overwrite the programming installed, to dig out those long deep ruts and replace them with beautiful paths that are your road, your destiny. It's staying alive as long as you can, so you can live the life you need.

It’s becoming you, the best you you can be.