Six months is a long time. It is half of a year, much of a pregnancy term, and if timed right, can be almost 3 seasons. Today marks 6 months from the date of the accident. It’s a very hard concept to swallow. I have thought of it all day long, and much of last night in between sleep. How can it have been 6 months already? How can time have traveled that far? When the accident first happened, days and weeks just faded away and I distinctly remember saying “I cannot believe it has been 5 weeks.” Now, It actually does feel like a long time ago….. but half a year? No way. My flashbacks have been extremely bad today. I do not know if it is because the thought of this anniversary is in my head. In any case, it is not easy to deal with throughout the day. I cringe at the thoughts in my head, tell myself “not now Cassie.” To make this even more intense, my 4 year old son who was in the car that day asked a couple of questions about the accident last night. It was as if the pieces of the accident finally clicked for him. It scared me. It still scares me. Do I take him to talk to someone? Do I not take him to talk to someone? If I take him somewhere will it stir up more, make it more confusing and hard from him? What is the right thing? I can barely handle this trauma much of the time, I do not want to do anything that makes his memory of the day more clear. I woke up today with one thing in mind, and that was making it. Although today was a tougher day to get through at work, I made it.
Last week when I walked into therapy she knew right away my week had not been going well. She could see from my face that it had just been hard. I spilled it all. I told her that never in my life had I ever understood depression the way I do now. I told her that instead of going to work, I wanted to drop my kids off at daycare and drive home to be alone, in bed, sleeping or watching Netflix. I cried through it all. Why would this be what I feel like doing, why do I want to do this with my life? I like work, I take pride in work, and I am not nor ever have been the type of person who lays in bed all day long. Why? I asked her. Why is this what I want to do? Because I don’t REALLY want to, but it’s all that I think I want, and sometimes all that I am able to do. Her answer has been in my head since. I have told myself it a dozen times today alone. “You have got to fight for your life.” She explained to me that in my head, doing those things is a way to numb out. Not face anything. Not be anything to anyone. Just be. No wonder I want to do that lately. It’s the only thing that makes me feel calm. I don’t feel overwhelmed; I don’t feel like I am doing it wrong. It involves no stress. I can watch shows about rich people in the Hampton’s and not think about what is going on in my reality. But, I can’t. I cannot do this; it isn’t healthy in any way shape or form.
Today I fought my emotions back, pushed through at times when it would have been really easy to just pack up and go home. I wouldn’t have to have even felt bad about it. It’s the 6 month anniversary, I was emotional, and nobody would have cared. But of all days, I decided to fight for my life today. I came home tonight after an extra long evening at a Dr. appointment for my son, and I cried. Aloud, alone and a lot. I had to let it out. I imagine I will be exhausted tomorrow. My therapist did say that she is not giving me permission to drive home after daycare drop off to lay in bed and watch Netflix, but that I need to also not be so hard on myself, and to realize it has only been 6 months. It’s only been 6 months. Half a year, two trimesters in a pregnancy, and a couple of seasons. Suddenly, 6 months isn’t a long time. It’s not long at all.