Nobody can teach me who I am. You can describe parts of me, but who I am, and what I need, is something I have to find out myself.
— Chinua Achebe
this letting go book used to be my savior, but i can’t really get on with the last few chapters. the chapters that make me feel like i haven’t totally been saved by the authors words.
the chapter in which you can think your way through healing of diseases and serious medical issues. it’s easier said than done. fuck, isn’t everything? but i can only read a few pages at a time, and i don’t soak it up like a sponge. the words don’t really resonate, they just bounce off me. i wonder if there’s even a point in reading it at all. but i only have thirty pages left. so i will eventually conquer my first and only book of the year. but it’s something.
i’m trying to not focus on these weird chapters. maybe i’ll go back and read all my underlined sentences, the ones that i know i will need to reread and write down until they are memorized and easily called upon in moments of weakness.
i should’ve done that last night.
to be totally honest, i did what i did out of anger and guilty. out of fear. out of the anxieties that have ate away at me for well over a year. none of this has been easy.
i’m trying to focus on the good. in everything.
but its hard.
and my appetite is completely demolished. i only ate six hundred calories yesterday. i didn’t even bother making a protein shake or eating a bunch of nuts at the end of the day. so much for fixing my hormones. so much for stabilizing my hunger queues. so much for stopping intermittent fasting.
and all these things just make me feel more low. and i can feel the weakness and the moodiness that comes with eating so little over a span of seven days.
to be honest i haven’t reach above a thousand for this whole past week. and the count just gets lower by the day.
i told my therapist this. and we both know i’m the one in control here. i’m the one who can fix this. it’s up to me.
but a part of me wants to punish myself for the way i’ve been behaving lately.
ruining every good thing with my doubtfulness.
and to top it all off, mercury is in gatorade. (ha)
but seriously… i don’t know how to feel. i want to just shake everything off and be fine, but i feel bad about doing so.
i want to just focus on me. and stop caring about everyone else. but i think if this version of me is so bad when i’m trying so hard. what’s going to happen when i stop caring? i know what kind of absolute demon i can be.
i fucked up last week. and honestly, i feel like i’m done berating myself or accepting berating from others.
i’m still proud of myself.
i’m still trying.
i’m still on the path to sobriety.
it’s been a hard seven days at that.
somehow last time, when i got to day thirty four, it wasn’t this hard.
i didn’t feel like it was hard. i didn’t want to drink.
it was easier because you were with me. you came over the day after rana and ekta and i drank, and you made me feel good. even when i knew i didn’t behave the best. you made me feel less alone. less alienated.
and now it’s just me. and my head. how badly i’ve just wanted a hug. or someone to talk to. the one hour with my therapist isn’t enough. especially when it seems that all the bad things happen right after my sessions. and my brain goes from clear to crumbling so quickly.
is any of this worth it?
i reread my day thirty four entry. and i am so sad. i am so, so, so sad.
how can i do it again? i did it easily because i felt so loved and supported and things were looking so great on the horizon. things were going to get better.
now i have to remind myself: it. will. get. better.
and my mind shouts louder: no. it won’t. you failed. you’re a loser. you fucking stupid bitch. why did you drink again? how could you have done that? how could you have been such a fucking idiot? you deserve nothing good. you deserve nothing at all.
i can’t stop thinking about everything. if i love you so much i would quit drinking? don’t you think i want to? don’t you think i wish it was that easy? don’t you see me desperately fucking trying? i’m trying. i’m trying. i’m trying.
i’m trying to be sober. i’m trying to not relapse with my ED. i’m trying not to self harm. i’m trying to save my money so i can’t get the fuck out of here. i’m trying to keep all my problems and issues out of your life. i’m trying not to hit you up only to vent and be emotional. and at that, i’m trying to stay on top of my emotions and not act irrationally because of them. i’m trying to keep up with my DUI class. i’m trying to keep up with AA. i’m trying to keep up with therapy. i’m trying to be honest with myself. and it is all very hard.
but it’s worth it. god fucking damn it. IT’S WORTH IT.
i forgot that it was for a while there. but i’ve got to get my head up. i keep looking down as if that’s going to get me anywhere.
life is still this beautiful, great thing. and maybe the lesson in my fuck up will be revealed through my comeback. i can’t be naive and say i didn’t see a slip in my judgement coming, so i can’t act like i didn’t also plan how i would deal with it. and i’m fucking over being sad and angry with myself. it’s just guilt. i feel so guilty. and i need to stop. i need to stop playing victim. i made a bad decision. so what? what am i gaining from beating the fuck out of myself up about it? why am i still punishing myself? is that really going to make me not want to drink? or is being happy and forgiving to myself going to help me avoid liquor again? i know i’m smarter than this. and i need to act like it.
i have so much to be grateful for. and even though the past week was difficult. and i wanted to drink. i’m going to celebrate. i didn’t drink. i didn’t argue with my mother. i didn’t go out and get wild to forget. i didn’t do anything dishonest that would upset anyone close to me, including my sometimes partner… and every week going forward i’m going to celebrate and rejoice.
nothing happens overnight.
one day at a time.
day by day.
i just have to keep telling myself. it’s okay. it’s okay. i will get better. i will get better.
i need to get better if i ever want to be the person that could’ve helped me.
and that’s the only person i aspire to be. now and forever.
after it all.
after every binge purge.
after every long, cold day of avoiding food.
after every explosive fight.
after every morning covering up black eyes and busted lips.
after every daydream of suicide.
after every bender.
i want to be the person that could’ve helped me.
that’s the only way there can be sense it all this mess.
the only way.