a year later

It’s been a little over a year since the pandemic was announced. Around March 13th, the world started panicking over this virus. We all seemingly forgot any Intro to Bio classes we had ever taken and proceeded to lose our minds. None of us understood what was happening, how, or why for that matter. For a portion of us, the pandemic was Hell. For others, it was a sort of Purgatory, and I’m assuming there’s even some that thought of it as a Heaven.

Where was I? Hell, thanks for asking.

I had just broken up with my boyfriend at the time the night before. The next thing I knew, I was trapped quarantining with him in my mom’s home with no escape in sight. At the time, I was losing my mind. So was he, but that’s another story for another time. That dark relationship, unfortunately, defined a large portion of my 2020.

Honestly? It chewed me up and spat me out. By mid-2020, All that was left of me were the remnants of who I used to be, nightmares, and trauma with occasional anxiety attacks.

It’s not like I was doing great prior to this relationship, either. I did experience periods of mild depression and anxiety. I had great deals of trauma that I hadn’t finished, or even started, processing. I was in therapy, but I struggled to open up to my therapist fully. I saw my therapist for three years, but it wasn’t until my final year that I truly started to open up and be vulnerable. I made a lot of progress with him then, yet I still had a ways to go—I mean, that’s why I ended up in that shitty relationship anyway.

I’d like to think that if I were to encounter another person like that, I would know better now. The therapist I saw over the course of last summer really helped me work through my new trauma.

Doc, if you ever read this, thank you. You don’t even know how much you helped me.

Fast forward to summer 2021, and I’m seeing a different therapist now due to insurance shit. She’s been helpful too. With her, I’ve been backtracking and working through elements of the past. Many of my skeletons were buried deep in the recesses of my mind. I guess I thought that if I planted flowers over them, I could move on with the gorgeous garden I’d built on top.

Well, it turns out that those rotting corpses aren’t great fertilizer, and everything continues to rot. My new therapist and I have been digging up the bodies, giving them a proper burial elsewhere, and replanting the garden.

You’d be surprised by how beautiful it’s starting to look.

I only see germinating seeds so far, but I’m optimistic that they’ll bloom soon—so long as I take care of myself and my mind.

Author: Vero Silvestri

A 22 year old trying to figure shit out.

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