I normally title my blog posts before I start typing them as I normally know what I’m writing about, but today I haven’t done that. I don’t know what to call this post. I’m just writing because if I don’t, I think I might do something stupid, and I don’t want to do that.
My family is in crisis. Without going into any specifics (my social media is being watched *beady eyes*) we are spiraling downwards so fast, and I can’t catch my breath. After the husband’s admission into hospital 2 weeks ago, he was admitted into a different hospital on Monday this week, after blacking out and losing consciousness 3 times last Friday morning. I had never experienced his blackouts to that degree anymore; I was genuinely afraid for his life. For the first time ever I watched him convulse and fit; he’s never done that before. And when he came to, he could barely say his name, let alone mine. And then it happened again. And then again. The only reason he wasn’t admitted on Friday, was because both of the hospitals didn’t have any beds available. He was discharged yesterday, but he’s being admitted into a different facility on Monday next week. A specialised psychiatric clinic.
Specialised psychiatric care. I’m not ashamed of him. I’m not rolling my eyes at him. I’m so proud of him. I just want to hold him and absorb everything that he’s feeling. I just want him better again. I want him strong again. I want him confident again. I want him happy again. He’s willingly going in on Monday, but only because the specialist psychiatrist that saw him yesterday upon the feedback given by the psychologist that saw him the day before, is that he needs this. He needs time to be able to take a step back from everything happening in our lives, and reevaluate. To realise that he is a good, decent, honourable man, who provides for his family. To realise that he is capable of happiness and success. To realise that those who are persecuting us will eventually fade from our lives. To realise that together, we can beat this.
I’ve been holding down the fort for the past 2 weeks, and I can feel my foundations starting to crumble. My foundations are starting to crumble, because he is my foundation. He is my rock. And he’s crumbling right before my eyes.
I have never made fun of or questioned mental illness. I have openly admitted suffering from PPD after the births of all 3 of my children, but this is different. So SO different. Our families have been amazing; I created a whatsapp group as most of his family are in other provinces, and the support shown to him, and how everyone has rallied around him has just been phenomenal, and I’m so damn appreciative. Even a family member that I wouldn’t have thought would have truly been there for him, has. It has opened my eyes to how truly blessed we are. Yes we are going through a bloody awful time right now. Financially, emotionally, spiritually. But the universe in its own small way, is looking out for us. From friends offering professional services, family support, even Morgan-Lee’s teacher has been amazing.
So as I was told 3 week’s ago by one of our persecutors; yes, we will get through this, and we WILL be stronger from it. In that regard, you were so very right.