So it's been a while, to say the least. My first 6 months back in Canada were basically spent in recovery. I was in hospital for 3 of those months. Pacing back and forth across hospital floors. I have had 7 doctors, some of which I see up to two times a week. Flipping through waiting room magazines. I have been on 5 medications. Dozing in and out from sedation. I have done self-harm workbooks, cognitive behavior therapy, self-esteem posters, medical and therapeutic reading, occupational therapy, recreational therapy, hypnosis, relapse prevention group therapy, relaxation, yoga, 'healing' prayer, a vegetable cleanse, and anything else you can think of. But for me, like last time, it somehow seems to be just a matter of time. The depression comes, plunges me into despair for months on end and then suddenly, after 6 or 7 months, slowly starts to receed. Finally my head is bobbing above water. The nights are still bad. The sadness is still there. But finally, I am able to breathe.
Since getting out of hospital, I have got a job working with children with developmental disabilities (I go into their homes or visit them in the hospital) and I am loving it. Although sometimes the cases are palliative and remind me of the hospice, these beautiful children make me smile. I have been volunteering with Servants Anonymous Society of Calgary, a great group working with former sex trade workers.
I told one of my doctors recently that I don't see God right now. I thought I was doing what would please Her in Africa, and it was making me happy too. And then everything fell apart and I don't see Her in my recovery. But my doctor looked at me and said that maybe I can't see Her, because She is in me. Holding these children. Visiting with these women. Staying friends with other people from the psych ward.
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