I had a rough time one night this week, a lot of old fears bubbled up suddenly, I’m not sure I know why.
I never really trusted anyone to tell me my night fears were groundless until I met Maria and lived with her.
The other night, I woke up abruptly at 3 a.m., the symptoms were familiar – I was sweating, shaking, my heart was racing, old feelings of terror. Usually, I just lie in silence until daylight.
This night, I touched Maria’s shoulder and said, “Maria, I could use some help.” She sat right up, talked to me, brought me back to reality, told me what I was fear wasn’t real. She is always generous with herself, she loves to help.
Okay, I thought, it’s time I believe her, trust her to tell me the truth. And so I did. And then I fell back asleep.
For most of my life, I never believed anyone who told me it was okay.
Being mentally ill is an extraordinary experience, really, rich and challenging, and surprising. You can, if you wish, recover every day, but if you are paying attention, you know there is really no absolute cure.
It is always there, sometimes hibernating, sometimes hiding, sometimes roaring like a lion.
I think as much as anything, everyone needs someone trust.