Life has served me some severe blows in the last two years. I’ve experienced deep loss and pain, that at times, makes me feel like I don’t want to take another breath.
In July, 2017, our visa for residency in Germany was denied. I cried about that for 9 months straight. My eyes were constantly soft and puffy. I’d cry myself to sleep at night, or during the day while my daughter was at school. I wanted so badly to make Germany our home.
(If you don’t know about my deep soul connection with Germany, you can read about it here, here, and here.)
I thought that would be the worst of it …
Then, in September of 2018, I lost my health. I contracted a virus, which lead to a neurological and vestibular disorder. (It’s called vestibular migraines and seizures, with binocular vision dysfunction. You can hear me speak about it here.)
I’ve spent ¾ of the last 7 months bedridden.
I’ve spent almost all of the last 7 months in pain, discomfort, or anxiety. (Because living with dizziness and migraines and seizures and bobbing vision and flashing lights in your head 24/7 ain’t no fun.)
I lost Germany. Then I lost myself.
Although my condition is improving, living with debilitation feels like death. On most days, I experience flashbacks, (which is common for people dealing with death, trauma, or heart-break.)
I see myself running in the mountains in Germany; or playing at the park with my daughter; or getting onto a plane (we were a jet-setting family); or going to the theatre or a concert; or going for a long swim in the ocean; or getting dressed up for a girl’s night out, high hair, heels, and makeup. Or getting into the car and taking myself for a drive south—just because I feel like, just because the mood is right.
These are all things I can’t do anymore.
I don’t know if I’II ever be able to do these things again. Perhaps. I hope.
But for now, my world is my house. And on many days, it’s my bedroom with the blinds drawn with me on the bed. Not sleeping. But just laying down. Because I’m trying to deal with the dizziness and seizures, and I can’t handle light, noise, vibration, movement, hustle—the activity of normal everyday life.
And for the people in my life—(although they have been affected by what’s happened to me)—their worlds keep turning and moving on. They are able to do all the things I could once do. They still have their freedoms. And as much as I want that for them, it reminds me that I don’t have it anymore.
I’m changed. Forever.
On those days, when my loss of freedom and forced isolated hurts so bad it’s like a gaping wound across my heart chakra—(despite the fact that I know deep in my soul that I’m loved and that all is well)—I want to give up. It’s too much … too much hurt.
My human heart hurts. Even when the soul heart knows otherwise.
When we are sick and suffering we have the tendency to believe we are all alone in this, but we aren’t. We often think we are the only ones bed-ridden or trying to cope, deal with, and live with a disability or an illness—but we aren’t.
There are many, many people in the world dealing with these types of things. We just often forget about them because they aren’t “out” in the world, like most people are. They’re behind closed doors. Or in hospitals, or in homes. Tucked away from sight …
If you’re dealing with an illness, or depression, or grief or loss or trauma and feel alone, please know:
You are never alone.
The white light / God / love is with you.
Your angels and guides are with you.
Your deceased loved ones and pets are with you.
On my bad days, I remind myself of these truths and it helps. It soothes my heart.
with love,
Belinda
