The Lost Year, Part 1

One year ago, I was beginning this blog. I made a list of all of the things that I would talk about. Ideas were ready fruit falling from trees. I knew I wanted to promote my editing business, and I planned on reviewing hundreds of books. I would also talk about life with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. And then my life changed, suddenly, violently, in such a manner that I, master of compartmentalization, could not comprehend.

I made it a few days before the wheels fell off.

Allow me to back up a bit. I've been through bat country, honey. I've seen some shit. I've lived through levels of crazy that still define me in the minds of many. And for the most part, I didn't mind. Oh, I cried. I screamed. I drank. I did drugs. I partied. Hard. A lot. And when a one night stand tried to suffocate me, I survived and didn't skip a beat. When a stalker came knocking, I had a friend and his gun do the talking. When I fell into a physically abusive relationship, I had my love for my abuser's brother to carry me through and keep me alive.

I survived sexual assault. I survived attempted sexual assault.

I continue to survive the losses of the greatest loves of my life.

I made it through a confusing divorce and I live each summer without the flesh of my flesh, marrow of my bones, ginger nerd heart of my heart.

But life finally handed me something that I couldn't deal with. I was drug free, sober, adjusting to life with a debilitating rare illness, and I was defenseless. I had no vices with which to cope, nor was I ready for the sheer level of devastation I would encounter. After all, I'd made it through so much, much more than I detail here.

Lying to my child was the hardest part of dealing with my new reality. I spent two days in the hospital. He thought I had a really bad strain of the flu. That was the story, anyway. My best friend, my mother, and my husband all changed their routines on a dime. Without hesitation, they were there for me, making me soup or taking me to appointments.

I always smiled in front of my son. When the panic would hit, I made sure I didn't start stumbling or falling until I was in an empty room. To this day, he doesn't have a clue about my lost year.

I'm calling it that because I find that I am only now truly able to return to the world of judgment. This is a public blog after all. I'm sure some family members will want to know what happened. But they won't. And neither will you. That's my grief. It's my mourning. In a time when I share everything with my friends, my family, my doctors, my clients--everything that I have to give or to speak about or to feel--this remains mine.

And now I'm back, and able to open myself up to criticism.

The days slip by like water down a stream. Sometimes things flow faster, sometimes a memory will eddy and gasp.

It's been a long year.

And I'm back.