Unseen Truth

Earlier in the summer I went on a small vacation. I was sexually assaulted while there. There are only a few people that know. I am not telling the world because I feel the need to. Rather, the weight of this is breaking me. I am undone. My knees are buckling and my clavicle snaps like a twig.

The desert is non-forgiving. It will eat you up and spit you back out.

The mirror betrays me. The person I see is not the person I’ve seen in the mirror for the last 44 years. I don’t know who I am seeing. I don’t know who I am right now. And, I don’t know where I went. I disappeared on a sunny day in July.

I remember standing in the desert’s amid harsh tumbleweeds and various types of cacti. It was beautiful and alive and gave wings to my outstretched arms.

It’s been two and a half months since I last worked. There are days that I feel just okay. There are also days I can’t get out of bed.. days that I cry all day and days when sleep is my only friend… until I wake up and remember.

Most people think brown is the only color in the desert but they fail to look beyond. Varying hues of oranges, reds, yellows and even greens paint the desert in an endless pallet of color.

I go to a therapist every week. I see a psychiatrist every three weeks. She adjusts my medications and is the ultimate decision maker when I can return to work. I saw her yesterday. She didn’t clear me.

Today, as I watch the sun go down, I only see brown. It’s such an off-putting shade, and I have to look away. I feel the sun burning my skin even as it goes to bed for the night.

An enormous amount of pills. Oh the pills. Pills that lessen nightmares.. pills that are supposed to help the depression.. pills to help me sleep.. and even more pills to give me more of a boost during the day. But, I sleep anyway. All those pills, and sleep is my only relief.

The desert isn’t actually a dead place. My brain knows this. It teems with life. Roadrunners, coyotes, bighorn sheep, beautiful butterflies, snakes too. I’ve seen them all. They thrive in their element. I wonder if they’ve seen me watching them, trying to get the perfect photograph.

When it first happened, I was afraid of being inside. I’d panic while in enclosed spaces. I could walk outside and breathe easier. I visited some horses in the area and they seemed to read my countenance… talking without the luxury of words. It was communication in its most basic form. It was beautiful and gave me hope.

There is very little hope in the desert today. A never ending ocean of death is all I see. Dead Joshua trees, dead earth.

I used to tell my trauma experiencing patients that sometimes you have to sit in the mess of it before you can go through it with the hope that it brought them comfort and some peace. I try to tell myself that now. It hasn’t worked for me. I wonder if it worked for my patients or if they thought I didn’t know what I was talking about.

My doctor said I need to have more good days than bad before I return to work. In my heart I know she’s right. The tears flow again as my head explodes in quiet frustration and anger. I’m so angry. She tells me to be gentle with myself. I feel like slapping her.. and me. Instead, I thank her. I know she cares.

I scream into the desert. My voice disappears into a vacuum of dry heat.

Please God, don’t let this be the end of me. I’m afraid it is. I’m afraid of so many things these days. What a strange season of life this is. Still, I’m thankful. I have a daily ritual of listing everything I’m thankful for. Thankful for my wife. She is a rock and walks this journey with me, tirelessly. I’m thankful for a small group of friends that send encouraging lovely notes of hope, wishing me peace. I’m thankful for a place of employment that provides avenues of job protection.

One day, I will return to the desert and see the beauty once again. There will be a day that I can easily inhale the air into my lungs without feeling the weight of gravity. This day is coming. I get the occasional glimpse of that day coming soon. One day, you’ll see a Phoenix flying with its wings outstretched. Know that it’s me, finally free.

“In order to rise from its ashes, a Phoenix must first burn” ~ Octavia Butler