By Gerri Graves

It’s been a pretty difficult couple of months. I’ve had to move again, as my son cannot work at the moment per his neurologist’s orders. He had no choice but to move in with me.

Living with my adult son again, has its moments, but I got to say…… we’re in a good place right now.

We have long conversations about politics, equal rights, civil rights, women’s rights, the plight of the homeless….. and America’s dire crisis of the ever expanding numbers that make up the community.

Past few days we’ve been talking about history. William the Conqueror. Mesopotamia and Gilgamesh. The Ottoman empire. The hanging coffins in China of the Bo people, which were completely wiped out. Ghengis and some of the Khans that came after him……and the human toll that affected not only a broad number of people and swaths of territory they laid claim to, but the after effects of millions of rotting corpses actually affected the climate! (I almost died when I read that. That’s such an insane fact to wrap your head around.) Saxon and Viking invasions…..and King Arthur, of course.

I absolutely LOVE history. I’ve literally forgotten half the knowledge I’ve gathered from independent study. Lol My love of history actually consumed many hours/days of my younger self. I was rather insatiable for it the first half of my life.

That he’s taken a liking to history, has really kept my mind off of devastating events, like the presidential election and pain levels that have been out of control.

All of it led to another cycle of smothering depression. Ugh.

The diversion of history has really been instrumental in taking my mind off of how much pain I’m in, though.

I never realized how much I isolate, when the pain spirals out of control. I lock myself in my room and keep it all to myself. (No one likes a whinger. Lol)

I don’t think my son realizes how much he’s helped over the past few days. With the distractions as well as…..just plain loneliness.

I know he feels like this point in his life is at a stand still. That he’s in some surreal waiting room, just waiting for his number to be called to resume a life. His life.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate his company, and what his intellect brings to the conversation. The conversation that distracts a mind hyper focused on the pain she’s experiencing.

I once journaled and reflected on isolating, loneliness and pain. I compared myself to a field of sunflowers. Stoically, standing alone. Feet planted, facing the sun and reaching for whatever warmth it would stingily gift.

I may look singular, but if you look long enough, I am not alone. I am, in fact, surrounded by many experiencing the same.

On the surface, we’re all reaching for that warmth, but feeling like we’ll never find it. Like we’re the only one in a sea of millions. Same, but not the same.

What they don’t know? That within the black of the soil, my roots reach for them. We connect in the darkness. Millions of singular beings that provide support where none can witness it. Always there. Always reaching.

Silently holding your hand in the darkness, as we brave this messed up globe we all reside on.

Thank goodness for history, writing and a son that holds my hand, without holding my hand……. and all the many that hide in dark places. Paving the way towards internal acceptance and a public understanding of this malady of the mind.

Mental Health was once a thing no one discussed. Because of many brave souls willing to discuss their own personal fight, we grow to understand each other better everyday.

Perhaps one day we can hold hands in the light. Exist in the light. LIVE in the light. Perhaps.