Free, Free, Free

Two things tonight:

One is that I have the app Timehop on my phone that allows me to revisit the past.  Today, this status of mine  popped up from five years ago:  Nicole Mansfield..."sometimes wonders if it will ever end, knows in her heart, it will not and is filled with sorrow."
Cory's depression plagued her.  The voices still bothered her five years ago, although she was doing so much better by that time, and the delusions had subsided. Still, there was that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Always.  Extreme stress could trigger an episode.  Changes could trigger an episode.  Conflict with friends or loved ones could trigger an episode.  There were so many factors at play.

There was always that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop because the goal was always to see her episodes become less severe and less frequent.  I don't think either of us ever dared to hope the mental illness would ever leave entirely.  It seemed almost too much to ask.  For her illness to become manageable was enough; it was everything.  For her mental illness to no longer be the focus of her life, but simply a part of her life- that was the goal.

The second thing is that I watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy tonight in which an aging mother and her adult son with schizophrenia were hospitalized for surgeries at the same time.  The mother was more concerned with her son's fear than her stomach nearly rupturing with a growth that needed emergency surgery.  She refused to leave him alone and afraid.  She was patient, incredibly patient, and used little tricks to distract him from the voices, soothe him, calm his fears, and help him feel safe.  It all came rushing back to me, and the tears just streamed down my face.

I remember all of that.  I remember Cory being afraid that she was being followed.  I remember how she became convinced that cameras had been planted in our house and on our property.  I remember how there were certain restaurants and stores she could tolerate and others that she couldn't.  I remember her suspicion if someone looked at her for more than a second in passing.  I remember The Agents and the way that central delusion terrified her and ruled her existence for months.  It got so bad, she started to think her food was being poisoned and that a tracking device had been placed in her body.

The worst thing about Cory's illness was watching her be scared almost all the time.  The second worst thing was not being able to stop it.

As her birthday looms, my anxiety is climbing the walls.  That persistent feeling- Wolf Teeth- of my teeth being too big for my mouth has returned.  My heart is a small black bleeding sack in my chest.  The flashbacks and nightmares of finding her broken and twisted on the road have returned.

Watching this show on Netflix took me back in time to a different personal hell- one I walked with my Cory Girl for far too long.  I'm in hell now, but at least...and it pains me terribly to say this, because I am a deeply selfish woman and I long to have her hand in mine at any cost...at least, she is not in this hell.  She is no longer in any hell.  She is not afraid today.  She is not.  It is incredibly frightening to live in this world without her and it is killing me, but there is the smallest comfort in knowing there are no voices berating her where she is.  No one appears to be out to get her or do her harm.  She is safe.

She is safe, and she is free from all harm- real or imagined.