This summer I began reading PJ’s blog SpinOrginal
She and I sharing a similar pain.
And yesterday she wrote something that touched me. Made Clear,  read it here.
For the past week and a half, I haven’t known how to feel. I’m stoic. Not happy, not sad, and pretty much numb. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling; sad that my husband and I are seperated, or happy that the kids and I are out of that situation and that we are getting the help we need.

It was late last night and I just wanted to go to sleep. Before closing my eyes, I wanted to read something from the Bible, so I prayed and said, “God, I’m tired. I’m going to open the Bible, and I pray that You will show me what I need to see.” When I opened the Bible, I saw THIS DEVOTIONAL. It made everything clear. Thank You, God!

I have been very careful about revealing too much of myself. My blog is about sustaining good mental health with alternativeve treatments. I never want to betray a family member, husband, etc.
But I am hurting. Isn’t life weird? How can two people help each other out of an abyss of the dark side of traditional mental health treatment and yet be so unhappy with each other?
How can two people help each other get well, look out for each other, stand up for each other and protect each other for the world and yet hurt each other so much?
I feel like I escaped from a torture camp with a fellow prisoner. We both navigated the world, helping each other out of the Hell we experienced. The Hell of the fog of the psych drugs and  the disrespect the professionals was a much worse Hell of the dysfunction of or relationship.  I have read about these types of marriages….the type where both parties help the other succeed professionally, financially and otherwise…but the give and take of truly sharing each others deep  feelings….the respect for each other…that wasn’t or isn’t there.
When I tell my husband his words hurt and cause as much damage as a slap or a kick, he doesn’t understand. He says I misinterpret the reality of the situation.  He doesn’t say, “Oh, I am sorry you are in such pain. Tell me how you see it.”
I see that we have “passed” for normal human beings with a normal life, a normal marriage. We have jobs, friends, a cool place to live and respect in the community. Something neither one of us had 10 years ago when we were in the abyss of the mental health system.
I think my husband is sick….but he doesn’t have a genetic, biochemical disorder. The mental health industry did him much more harm than good by doping him up….and fogging the reality of the situation.
But now he says, that he doesn’t have a problem.
He says that I have a problem accepting the realtity.
The reality is….his words reduce me to tears.
I have asked him to stop.
Instead of stopping, the hurtful words have escalated.
I am so disappointed.
I am out of the pain of being labeled “mentally ill.” We gave each other a short respite. I am not mentally ill. I know what I hear. I am strong. God loves me and he doesn’t want me to spend my life like this.
This is from PJ’s blog.
(PJ, I hope this is okay.)
I read in my Women’ Devotional Bible tonight, this devotion, written by Anne Christian Buchanan. The passage that this devotion is centered around is Job 14:7-9:

For there is hope for a tree,
If it is cut down, that it will sprout again,
And that its tender shoots will not cease.

Though its root may grow old in the earth,
And its stump may die in the ground,

Yet at the scent of water it will bud
And bring forth branches like a plant.

Here’s what she writes:
Can’t be fixed: A child’s face stares bleakly up at me over the plastic shards of a shattered toy.

Can’t be fixed: the giant oak lies among the hurricane’s debris, its roots upended helplessly.

Can’t be fixed: the man and the woman stare across the distance between them, shocked into silence by brutal words finally uttered.

Some things in life can be patched up, shored up, repaired or redone. But some words are too grievous, some blows too shattering, some rifts too wide to be pulled back together. Some experiences – a divorce, a betrayal, abuse, neglect – leave us permanently wounded, our psyches disfigured. We live, we go on, but we’re not really fixed.

Yet I believe there is an alternate plan for things that can’t be fixed. It won’t work for shattered plastic, but this plan can make an astonishing difference in living, growing things like trees and people. I’ve seen it in a new shoot growing from a shattered stump, in the faces of a couple whose counselling sessions are finally showing some progress. I’ve seen it in people who have hit rock bottom and admitted their own helplessness, only to begin growing again from there.

As far as I can see, God’s strategy for broken trees and limbs and lives and souls is not repair but growth; not being patched up but being granted the gift of starting over:

Can’t be fixed – but can be reborn.
Can’t be fixed – but can be made new.

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