it's been a month and a 1/2 since i've written on this blog.
it's currently 232 days of sobriety.
there were a few moments where i felt jarred, that maybe i wasn't as solid as i thought. but i made it through. everything is strengthened by it.
there was just so much going on, in my head and in real life.
it's my 1st inclination to say "im bad at this". im bad at what i set out to do. i apparently can't commit to writing. taking that 10 minutes out of my day to have a creative release of my pent up thoughts. maybe nothing has changed, it just wears a new set of clothes.
but....im going to say: "im good at this". i have been going about things in such a way where i can't put aside that time. i don't want to lock myself to a screen, because in all honesty? this doesn't take 10 minutes.
sigh,
i just realized that number is something my brain made up to make myself feel bad. i know i could omit that fleeting thought, but im just gonna let it sit there. proof. minutes, good one.
i haven't been allowing my thoughts to turn on me as much as they used to, and it's making that small part of me pissed. the part that hates me. the part that tells me im not good enough.
old habits die very, very hard.
i spend a long time writing these entries. it's so hard to fully encapsulate emotions and situations i've never been confronted with. i try my damned best to explain. it may be a long time in between, but it's my all. i owe that to myself if anything.
collect my thoughts and dump them out when it fills to the brim, that's how things seem to be naturally occurring.
i need to go with it. i cant control everything like i want to.
Part one: a catch up:
march turned out to be an incredibly hard month. harder than the month i had when i first started writing online, the month my roots planted. the month my skin became tough.
march was a wind that pulled on those roots. a wind that stung my cheeks.
i left off with my 6 month coin. still shiny, still filled with the good vibes of my group members ju-ju, and feeling new. i have all of them in a small leather coin bag. 30, 60, 90, 6 month, and also my rehab graduation coin and my outpatient graduation coin (because that happened, to be explained in a minute) all jingling away like im from some distant time. i earned these coins. blood, sweat and tears.
a little over 2 months until i add another to that bag, a louder jingle. she's doing it.
when i collect my 1 year, im going to put them all in a frame. they make frames with mats especially catering to these things, because im not the only proud one.
a few days after that coin was the 7 year "anniversary" of almost dying due to my use. a major accident. i was left severely injured. flown away via helicopter to someone who could save me. surgeries for years to try and fix the damage. 7 years later, and i'm not done yet. it still haunts me. the surgeries that are left are now elective, but im sick of being cut open. i miss my old face. the dr's tried, and did a good job. but no one knows your face quite like yourself. yet another way it haunts me.
all i wanted to do was go home, get to my room in the basement, and nap it off.
i fell and an angel caught me.
i like to think it was my grandfather. he died when i was young, and i know, deep down i know, he tries to make up for all he's missed. he regrets not getting to know me.
he came to me in dreams while i tried to sleep on the hard mattress in rehab. i bought a nice goose down blanket for a shred of comfort, but it barely worked. i brought a plant to add some cheer to my room, but on the day i was released i accidentally ripped that philodendron out of it's pot, disconnecting the vines from their roots. i try not to read in to that.
my grandpa, who passed away when i was 5 or 6, told me i could do it, that he'd be there. he gave me my 1st shred of hope.
i was told that the feelings were so vivid because my brain was in the beginning stages of re-wiring itself from 14 years of abuse, 10 of those heavy use. nothing more. just my brain recovering. my comfort merely a byproduct.
thank you for informing me of that.
fuck you.
i drink like he did. i get angry like he did.
both sides of my family have members with hollow legs. almost like i was born destined to be this way.
it was the 1st time i had march 6th pass without me "celebrating" the fact i was still alive.
with a clear head, i realize now how backwards it is to celebrate in the manner that got you in the mess in the 1st place.
it was another way i told myself i was fine. another reason to drink. a seemingly logical disguise to get completely obliterated and have no one question it.
there were times over that 7 years, probably more than i'm allowing myself to recognize, where i wish i had passed on. a person who doesn't care anymore deserves that kind of ending.
i'm embracing the fact that i just wasn't ready, and i need to find out why.
i need to go with it.
Part two: a major change:
in the midst of this everything, a more tangible change was occurring.
i was packing my things away- it's was time for a move, in so many ways. just a shedding of a former life.
almost 2,000 miles away from a place that i loved (and will always love) so dearly i have a tattoo of the area code on my arm.
and as freeing as it felt, and that i knew it would be, a part of my heart was broken. actually, i don't even know how to describe it. i tried. i really tried to make it work there.
i packed up boots that stumbled home so many times. one pair had dried puke on them, out of sight out of mind. that's disgusting.
my wedding dress, covered in dribbles of jagermeister and reeking of cigarettes, because only my vows were sacred that day.
mopping up a pool of blood from the time i cut my foot open on broken glass. glass that i broke, and i don't remember how, and who knows why. i'd call them my war wounds, jokingly. the O+ blood blended into the dark wood, so it was out of sight out of mind. that's disgusting.
vacuuming out the corner of our room where i had sat down surrounded by old pictures and sobbed. i would bang my head against the wall. hard. wake up with another war wound. put on makeup and head to work, make sure to brush my teeth 2-3 times and cross my fingers no one would be the wiser.
it's embarrassing to see written out.
i need to go with it.
when everything was packed tightly into my small car, and the moving van was arranged like the ultimate game of tetris, i drove away from that house and i didn't cry. i said goodbye and headed in the direction of a new chapter.
i misted up when i saw the skyline in my rear view mirror. i remember the day i 1st moved to the city, and how i felt seeing that view, knowing this was not a visit but my home. a packed up car, misty eyes,
parallel universes.
i didn't play any music, or listen to talk radio like i normally do. my standard company for long drives.
it was time to be with my thoughts. to process these things that were finally happening- a date that had been circled on my calendar for so long. the boxes of a former life packed away to be opened in a different state like underwhelming christmas presents.
my thoughts that once scared me. keeping me company.
i'll go in to the journey and the now's later. it's sunny here where i live, and laying out in the sun during april is an option, unlike back home. because that place will always be the original home.
it's not because im bad at this. im good at this.
