This is part two of Mary Rogers’ story. You can read part one at this link
I am still in the process of healing with the help of a psychiatrist, a therapist, and the love of my life. He has been my lighthouse showing me my way home. He was my beacon in the night. I am working hard daily, to show up, be present, and deal. I am finding strength and have determined that maybe God doesn’t hate me and maybe hope isn’t bullshit after all.
My psychiatrist has been an angel in disguise. When I first came to her, I was a shell of a person who had become used to having my cheeks stained with mascara as I could not stop nor contain my tears.
She immediately set me up with twice-weekly therapy appointments, started me on medication, and began working closely with me to offer me other alternatives.
I learned of the calming benefits contained within ashwagandha and about how your body can absorb magnesium through bathing with Epsom salts. I learned a lot about exercise (releasing endorphins while getting fresh air and sunshine). I learned about nutrition (and the mind/body connection). Most importantly, I learned the importance of communication.
At first I had a very difficult time converting my emotion into words. I was very “stuck” in the fourth stage of grief: depression. Under my therapist’s suggestion, I wrote my mother a letter.