Rock Bottom on the Bathroom Floor.
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By Yentl T. De Luna
Often we go through life so fast, from one scene to the next, just taking it all in, letting it all go, without really taking time to evaluate or process what we’re doing.
We’re just dealing, being Superwoman, until some force of nature — a memory, a word, hell, even a look — pulls out the one brick that causes the entire wall to fall down, landing right on top of us.
Your true character is tested by how you manage to get out from under the heavy load, and rebuild your life and yourself in a way that will keep all aspects intact. It’s about leaving nothing — not a single brick — with the ability and power to bring everything down ever again.
A month ago I found myself on the bathroom floor — the one at my place of work, might I add — lying flat, arms at my sides, looking at the ceiling, as tears gushed down the sides of my face.
I can’t say exactly what brought on the overwhelming sadness I was feeling — not that I don’t remember — because, while it was one thing that pushed me over the edge, it was a combination of thoughts, memories and emotions that just decided to lie there with me.
They were pulling my soul out, ripping it into little pieces and then stuffing it back into me, leaving me to sew myself back up again.
I didn’t move at all, so the whole scene must have looked hilarious: me with my arms stuck stiffly at my sides, legs lifting ever so slightly during each gut-wrenching sob, trying to quiet my moans before any of my colleagues overheard.
The thing about a life-changing breakdown is that it opens everything within — every pain, every word, and every moment that somehow broke your soul — that you thought you could just experience and move on from.
In the very center of the breakdown, it’s like your heart takes you on the worst journey of your life. It’s throwing blurred images back at you to witness and account for, like:
Take this! Look at how you moved on from being broken when he touched you! How does that feel, seeing it in Technicolor? Why weren’t you there for me?
And: So, your mom dies and you just move on with your life, as if it was nothing?
And, and, and…
We all have experiences which scar us. People’s pains are either so much worse or so much easier than ours.
We ask ourselves why we have to go through losing a loved one, when Suzie’s only problem is that she didn’t get the red heels she’d been hinting at for over a year for her birthday. Or, we marvel at how the girl in the newspaper has the strength to carry on after she was gang-raped.
Here’s the important thing to remember: each individual is wired differently.
What I am able to handle easily might be something that would be intolerable to my own sister, and vice versa. It’s imperative that we keep this in mind when evaluating ourselves with our problems, as well as those of others.
We should respect one another, even with the baggage. We should always be keeping in mind that someone might be hiding behind the anger, the shame, and the false ever-present smile that heartache can be the cause of.
We’re taught to be tough. We’re taught not to be babies, not to let things pull us under, and not to dwell in self-pity.
So, we march on like soldiers, with our chins up, allowing a tear here and there, but not giving ourselves our moment. These are all avenues heading to the same place: Rock Bottom Highway — where it’s always bumper-to-bumper.
As I was on that bathroom floor, I wept silently while my heart broke for all the traumatic events that I was told I had to be strong about and move on from.
I cried for the child who was not hugged.
I cried for the child who only heard ‘I love you’ from one person; the one person who died when she was only nine years old.
I cried for the child who was sexually abused, who went to foster homes where she was disregarded and treated as if she was nothing.
I cried!
I cried because I had gotten so used to being someone of benefit, rather than someone with feelings.
I cried, and cried, and cried.
Eventually, the tears dried up. And when the tears dried up, it was like I had had a revelation, a sort of revealing, and a new beginning.
You come to a point where you realize that most of the painful points you’ve had to endure in your life were not asked for, and that you had no control over it, and that you were not to blame.
After the storm, you see how nothing that you’ve gone through could have been avoided, and that you are the beautiful, fragile, yet strong person you are because of it.
The wall that collapsed might have been devastating and agonizing to face, but at the same time, it allowed you to see where the construction had gone wrong, highlighting the areas that needed fixing and attention.
It counts that you stand back up.
It counts that you see where you have gone wrong, and where you can improve, and learn from it.
It counts that you see those scars as marks of survival, of the remarkable person that you are, what you have managed to withstand, and to be able to love who and what you see.
It counts that even though you’ve found yourself at the bottom, you don’t give up, and instead you throw a rock back.
When I unlocked that bathroom door, I felt lighter for allowing myself to be weak. I left from the common place of hitting rock bottom, and I walked out feeling empowered. I left thinking that after all of life’s hits, I have been willing to build myself up from the bottom, and to rock while doing it.
So can you…
*****
Yentl T. De Luna is a Child of the Earth, who was born with an ‘old soul’. She is a staunch believer in people and kindness. Since falling in love with words and the wonders of the world, coupled with an active imagination and an intense connection with her emotions, she is rarely found without a notebook and pen, scribbling away to her heart’s content (or despair). She wishes to add color and love to the world with literature and song by using it to connect with whoever may be emotionally available to explore themselves fully, as she explores herself in the expression of these arts. She can be found on Google+ and Twitter: @Yentltdeluna.
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