Something really horrible happened to me a bit ago. I’d rather not go into exactly what. However, it has been an ongoing crisis that has left me extremely emotionally vulnerable and not my usual self. I can say that I fought with every ounce of strength in me because my life and that of my girls (four-legged, if you remember) was very much on the line–and I do not mean that figuratively. However, that fight has sapped me of any reserves for the moment. I will recover. I will never view the world the same way again. For me, that’s saying something.
As a general rule, I don’t post my personal issues here. This blog was never meant for that. I am making a slight exception now because what happened, and is happening, has so adversely impacted my ability to function on WickedWomanMag.com. I had to take the site down for what I thought would be look and feel fixes that would take a day or two at most, but could not be allowed to continue as they were. Then, just as I finished making repairs, the theme was updated and the update broke all but two pages of the site. Needless to say, I was pretty angry. Knowing that anger would do me no good whatsoever, I contacted the developer who looked and said that he thought I’d need to rebuild the site altogether. As we were trying to find a middle ground, my life fell apart. I haven’t been up to working since, although I am doing my best to try to get the site back up by Friday.
In the last few weeks I have been degraded, humiliated, debased, abused, harassed, terrified and thrown into a chaotic hell. I’ve been close to petrified that I’d lose the only family I really have–my canine children–and learned to hate something fierce. It’s not that I hadn’t experienced the feeling of hatred before because I have. The Cleveland branch of one side of my family is better named either Borgia or Medici than its actual name. There are a couple of good-hearted people in it, but I can count them on one hand. The rest . . . well, as I said, Borgia or Medici would be better surnames. Be that as it may, what happened to me has brought about feelings that surpass anything I’ve felt for the worst of the twisted relatives. If my old therapist still took my insurance, I would be sitting on her couch within the week.
As bad as everything is, I have no choice but to muddle through. The remainder of my life depends on what I do now. I don’t have the time to curl up into a fetal position until I can breathe again. I have to continue to do the work I started. But for an angel who rescued me, I wouldn’t even be able to do that. I only wish that someone could have shielded me from all of the other crap that happened, but they couldn’t. Worst of all, I couldn’t–and seemingly can’t–do anything myself. I don’t do powerlessness well at all. It’s not something I can accept. To do so is the most frightening thing there is other than losing my girls.
I am going to sleep and work some more later today. I just wanted to let you know that there was something going on and that’s why WWM has been closed for so long. I am going to fight through this depression and anxiety because I have to. There are people who are depending on me to do so. Inside, in my heart of hearts, I know that I will never be the same. With luck and time, maybe I will be stronger, but I will never be who I was.