by Colene Pefley

Created on: August 04, 2011

Sometimes I feel sorry for my children, because I never know if my brain is going to be my best friend or my worst enemy. I never know when the anxiety or depression will consume my being and leave me a shadow of the strong, independent woman that I know I am. I am the mom, but sometimes my 13 year old is the one who has to leave the light on for me when the darkness troubles me, just as I’ve done for my children so many times before. Sometimes I am a rock, and sometimes I am scattered grains of sand.

I am not a child, yet sometimes my terrors remain as vivid as they did when I was a young girl. I have grown past most of my fears, but still I am troubled with the possibilities of what lies within the darkness. I know that these manifestations are the effects of a debilitating psychological abnormality, but when my mind is at its blackest, that is absolutely no comfort. Sometimes I wonder if my complicated mind is the effect of my childhood or my environment, but I know that it is not. I know that this condition is well ingrained within my genetic code and that I have passed this on to my offspring long before I even knew it was there.

Sometimes I hide. When I hide, I contemplate. I contemplate the origins of my condition, and the potential outcome of my situation. I think about life, its meaning, and very often death. I think of all of the ways that I will potentially exit this world, including by my own hand, although I know I am too clever for that. I will not be defeated.

The most exciting part of my disability is the journey back. I have come to realize one absolute truth: life is about perception. For some, that perception is solid, for some it is liquid, but for me its form is a gas. It travels and combines with other gases and creates a new perception each time. I love having the ability to scavenge through those perceptions to find answers.  I feel sorry for those who have solidified their perceptions because I fear they will never learn the truth.

The truth is, there are many truths, but many falsities as well. Sometimes, things that I have known to be truths my entire life turn out to be false, and that is ok. Life isn’t about being right, it’s about survival. The meaning of life is subjective, it’s different for everyone, and that is ok too. The meaning of life for me is to survive. I will not be conquered, neither by myself nor anyone else. My perceived weaknesses have strengthened my will to survive, and that I will.

And tonight, I will sleep well, knowing that my faith in my abilities is strong. Tomorrow they may be weak, but that is the point where I have to begin all over again, and enjoy the journey back.

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