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I’m imprisoned by this capsule. A capsule of depression and anxiety. It keeps me from doing the simple things I once enjoyed so much.

Running- I use to feel so free when I would run. The wind I created in still air as I would run off my fears. It was a time I could reflect on thoughts and pain. I could run anytime of day and any weather type. It would just hit me and I’d go. The sweat, the deep breathing and heavy heartbeats pounding my chest was a medicine that I could consume. I could even leave my body and just be a spirit swirling gently in the wind. Mother Earth would heal me, even if just for the moment.

Writing- I’m having to force myself to sit down and write. Before, I would just write; anywhere and everywhere. I have a tote full of notebooks, pizza box lids, Milk Duds box that I opened up and wrote on the inside because something just came to me and I had to let it out. Happiness, sorrow, pain, love, thoughts, moments. memories, a flower I spotted growing in the middle of cement, a beautiful person walking near me; I was truly inspired by so many different things. It’s where I felt whole. I could express my lightest and deepest me.

Working out- I started pushing myself in a way I had never known I could. I was becoming so strong and powerful. I learned how to manifest the pain inside and let it out in a healthy and productive way. I would do research on new workouts, I joined a gym and loved it. I followed people on Instagram and read articles about people overcoming personal obstacles with the power of self discipline and self love.

Social settings- I’ve always been told, “You know no stranger.” I’ve continuously been able to walk into a room and start talking to anyone. People have, without fail, opened up to me and told me their life stories. I was so interested in learning about others and share a little piece of myself with them that it felt so good to be around others. Strangers telling me secrets and peeling back layers right in front of me. What a privilege that I held in my own existence while standing there with them.

I can see all these enjoyments for inside this capsule. The physical pain I feel walking into a room full of people is so intense that I can’t utter the words to describe it. I’m trying to do little things I once enjoyed to spark that excitement I once longed to engulf myself in. I went to a Thanksgiving dinner with a small group of people I did not know (besides three) and I thought about it all day. I tried to prepare myself for questions about who I am and what I do. But the anxiety of having to talk out loud to people just overwhelmed me. I thought of reasons not to go but the notion of my friend and her little girl forced me to shower and go.

Working out and running takes so much energy that I do not have. I’m so tired all the time. Having to shampoo and condition my hair consumes so much of my physical energy that the thought of doing something more feels like a height that I can’t get to. Then I’m inundated with anger. That anger makes me feel irritated by everything around me. The irritation wraps around my shoulders and I feel like a ball of sadness trapping me inside these feelings.

I don’t want to feel these ways or be this person. I started doing yoga and meditating for 5 minutes each in the mornings. I did it for 4 days straight. It felt as if it was helping me. Baby steps to progress each day. Then the physical pain at night hit hard. I was up all night in pain (a pain outside of my depression and something I’ve been dealing with for years now). I have another obstacle that I have to work around and that breaks me down once again.

I want to be…different. Different than the person I am today. Different than this person in this capsule.

How can I describe Linda? How can I express the feelings I’ve shared with her and the light she gave me? I’m not sure that’s possible, at least not at this time.

Linda came into my life after I reached out to CancerConnect. When Bubba (my Dad) was  first diagnosed with cancer I had meltdown, or in other words a panic attack. I knew I was going to have a very difficult time. I was here in Austin, Texas while he was back home in Conneaut, Ohio about 1500 miles away.

I started questioning how I was going to survive this. How could I be there for him if I was here, so far away from him. I knew I couldn’t do it alone so I started doing research online for resources. That’s when CancerConnect, which is now apart of The Care Communities, shined like a beacon. I called and told them a little bit about my situation of being long distance with my family and not having money to get counseling. They said they would connect me with a counselor who could help. A few days later is when Linda reached out to me.

Linda had experienced giving long distance support for her family when her father got sick. She understood me in a way that no one else did. She wasn’t pushy about getting a lot of information right away. She allowed me to open up as I felt safe to. I still struggle with letting people in, to let others know my true feelings inside but she didn’t mind. She had me start with that day and go back as I needed to. That’s when I knew she was different. She would be there to help me through this painful time of my life and guide me with experience and true concern.

She wasn’t getting anything out of it. She wasn’t getting paid (at least not from me) yet she was so present. She was the most sincere person I had ever met. If I started down a hole that would lead me to more darkness, she wouldn’t cut me off. She allowed me to express the shadows that were weighing me down and then showed me how to crawl out from under them. The power she showed me I had was remarkable. Never had I understood the capacity I had to endure so much.

Within 6 months of my Dad getting sick, he was gone. We lost him early Saturday morning at 1:50 a.m. on February 18th 2012. I was suppose to fly out on Friday but I felt a pull on my soul. I knew he needed me and I needed to go. I changed my plane ticket early Wednesday morning and flew out to Cleveland within 3 hours. Linda told me I could call her while I was there whenever I needed to.

I always felt so weak but she shone lights on things that didn’t make sense to me. I felt so pathetic and broken without any strength left to go on but she saw me in a different way. She understood my weaknesses and imperfections but said that doesn’t mean I’m feeble or inadequate. It means I’m human who’s gone through some traumatic situations and I need to be patient with myself.

I called her while I was in Ohio, after it all happened. After I had sat there holding his hand for days. After calling for the body donation people to come get him. After curling up in his chair where he took his last breath and dreamt of only white for a couple hours. She didn’t say much but just having her answer her phone was significant. She showed me that she cared enough even though she didn’t have to.

That is what set the tone for your relationship. She was there when I needed her. She was still there after I came back from saying Goodbye to Bubba, to the abusive relationship that ended, to starting a new relationship, to losing grandparents and most life altering after my Dad, losing my brothers. She has helped me so much.

Linda has sat on the floor with me as I collapsed on her rug as soon as I entered her room the day after we lost Adam. That’s all I remember about that day. Crying on her rug that had given me so much comfort before. Her presence with that rug soothed me in a way I can’t explain. She’s hugged me and I felt some pain melt away. She would gently rubbed my back as I exited her door and that gave me a sense of ease that I could walk out that door and not dissolve.

Linda and I shared precious and painful moments for over 5 years. I learned so much about her and from her. She became a trusted friend who I love and cherish dearly. The amount of tenderness I hold for her can never be measured. Her pure heart has made a genuine difference in this world.

She retired the last day of September. I have mixed feelings about it for only selfish reasons. I miss our meetings and that rug that soothed me. But I’m happy she’s doing what’s best for her. She gets to experience life in a new way and she deserves that. She can take her pup for hikes whenever she wants, she can bird watch and travel the world.

Linda, the woman who changed my life. Thank you. I truly do love you for who you are.

There’s this saying that goes something like, “Pain is Inevitable but Suffering Is Optional”. I HATE that saying.

My life has changed drastically for the worse these past few years. I have lost 3 of the most important people in my life. The ones who knew me better than anyone. The ones who held me when I was sick, when I was heartbroken, when I was damaged and needed put back together. I can tell you that I am not choosing to suffer.

My days are filled with raw emotions. I cry every single day. I scream inside as I see smiling faces, laughing families and love that fills the air. It makes me angry that I can’t share that with my brothers and my Dad. It makes me sick knowing that I will continue to meet milestones in my life and they won’t be here to see them. It infuriates me that I can’t see their faces and hear their voices.

These emotions I speak of come on without notice. They run up my back and beat against me until I’m dizzy and can’t see. They fight me when I try to think of something good and break me down each time. These emotions are more powerful than anything I’ve ever experiences. They are relentless.

So tell me, when do I choose to suffer? Where do I choose to suffer? How do I choose to suffer?

I go to counseling, grief meetings. I write. I scream. I talked to people who loved them. I talk about the good times. I get up and go to work. I even laugh here and there yet the unyielding agony is so deep in my soul that I’m in constant pain. My body aches to the bone. My muscles cramp with tightness. My head throbs with misery.

So please, tell me, how do I choose to suffer? How can I make my days better? How can I see my life any different than how it truly is? Because my life is nothing how I would ever want it. Not just little things that you can work to change. If you don’t like your job then work to find another one. You don’t like where you live, make a plan to move. But my life was ripped from me. I had no choice in how anything was going to happen.

But my soul, my being, those have changed. I lost the most valuable love to ever be created. And I didn’t just lose them. I watched them slowly fall from my grip. It’s as if they were hanging off the top of a mountain and I tried to hold on to them the best I could but I wasn’t strong enough. I pulled and tore at them as they were slipping from my hands. My body was thrashing against the rocks and dirt as I tried to fight gravity as it pulled with all it’s might. Now I’m sitting on the edge of the mountain, bleeding from my heart, from my eyes, from what remains here on Earth. And I wonder; why not just jump?

So please, tell me, how am I choosing to suffer? How could this be what anyone would ever want to feel or experience? Because this is the most desolate feeling.

I have these aches that permeate every part of me.

These aches are in my muscles, bones, blood, brain.

There’s an ache that vibrates my mind and an ache that drills into my soul.

I feel these aches when I’m awake and when I barely asleep.

These aches seem to take place of all the pieces I’m missing; I’m missing a lot.

I feel as if I’m living in this black hole of misery and elongated pain.

Even if I do laugh or smile I still have these aches surrounding me.

Then I have guilt but at least I still have my aches to allow me to feel something true.

Sometimes the only truth I have is the crippling throb of sorrow and heartache.

With each twist and turn the ache deepens and I can’t break away.

Many times the only thing I can feel are the aches that confine me to myself.

I’m fenced in by fear of what’s to come.

For I know these aches are apart of me now.

I’ve lost too much for them to ever disappear.