Four years ago today a beautiful woman went missing.
An accomplished physician.
She was found a few days later, discarded in a ravine, in a suitcase. Murdered by her husband.
Two years later he finally admitted his guilt and was sentenced to 14 years in prison.
Not long enough, if you ask me.
The anniversary of her death haunts many of us who knew her as a brilliant, funny, beautiful woman. I can’t imagine what today is like for her children, her sister and her parents.
You are fiercely missed, Elana.
Depression is like a black hole.
It’s so black you can’t see anything around you. You can’t see the love, the happiness, the light, the strength. When you fall inside, it wraps you up in a blanket and squeezes so tight you feel like you’ll never break free.
Even the thoughts are black.
“You’re not good enough.”
“They’ll be better off without you.”
“You’re bringing everyone down.”
“There’s no point in fighting it anymore.”
Only there is a point.
It’s called life; and it’s messy and hard. It’s unpredictable and it’s amazing.
It’s embracing the suck, asking for help and getting on with it.
For months I was slipping deeper into the black hole; ashamed to admit I was there again.
I finally asked for help and talked about it.
Now the time for reflection and self-healing begins.