Lindsay opens up :

After Zoe-Beth was buried, I stayed at my mom's for another week. I was not 'with' her father. I eventually went home, had my life handed back to me, and told, "Call if you need us!,". I rarely called. I felt guilty for her death, and didn't want to bother anyone. I had been on some form of pain-killers since I awoke from surgery. I stayed on them, ordered more scripts, and used them to mask both the physical pain and the emotional pain I was in, so that I could take care of L.O. and our home and animals...all alone. I found a doctor, who, because of my R.A. would prescribe even stronger meds.
They didn't always work completely of course, and the unresolved grief that bubbled up during the 'off' times on the meds, was more than I could bear. At one point I wanted to join Zoe-Beth. I was just so alone, and unable to reach out. Everyone thought that I was just being so strong, or ambivalent, depends on who you were talking to at that time, but I was in an emotional hell, and no one seemed to care.
One day I decided to take scissors to my wrist, but by the grace of God I only ended up cutting off ALL of my long locks instead,(note the picture in the, 'Under the Tree' post) and cut gashes into my legs that will probably prevent me from ever wearing a bathing suit again without a skirt. No one knew that I was going through this. I could not feel God at all, back then. My hair is finally growing out.
Meeting K again, changed a lot for me. I know he was sent from God, back into my life when I most needed him in it. He tried to understand it all. He listened, and still does.
He's helped me get off the meds and was completely understanding, and I have been opiate free for three weeks today. I started painting after the fifth day (I was lying on the couch unable to move for the first three days) I wasn't sure I could stop, and I wasn't willing to make this public until I felt I could beat this or was at least in the process. I'm not out of the woods, but I see the forest through the trees.
There is a two-fold reason for posting something this personal. Firstly, I know that opiate addiction is common for women leaving the hospital with a script for pain-killers and a box of their child's few belongings, instead of their baby. I just want those who are ashamed, like I was, to know that you're not alone. Zoe died in October of 07, and I've only stopped for three weeks. Hating myself for all of that time that I only coped by taking pain pills, helps/heals nothing. Now I'm trying to let God heal me, and trust Him to do it. I know he wants me well and joyful. I'm getting there.
Secondly, I believe that this is where my 'painter's block' has come from. I only wanted to paint the beauty, but it wasn't all beautiful. I've completed two beautiful works, with no sign of the blacks and reds (the colors that surrounded Zoe-Beth's birth)that fill my thoughts at times. I suppose I can't only paint the pretty part. I can only paint pieces of the truth, as I see it, and hope that they convey some beauty after all.
It's like I was with the pills. I couldn't take the good with the bad, I took pills to keep the 'bad' at bay, and it barely worked. With my work, I can't only represent the beauty, I must represent the struggle too. That's how I got where I am right this second. I must accurately portray the whole journey if this is to work out.
So, off to painting #3. I hope the sadness will add some beauty, and help me to heal from what was so scary and life-shattering almost a year and a half ago.