Please be aware that this blog entry may be triggering for some people (self harm), and is not meant for young or sensitive people to read.
I believe I have mentioned before; I have once again traded one addiction for another. I’m 87 days sober, however it is now food that I crave, obsess over, and abuse daily to the point that I feel sick, and disgusted, to where I loath my very being. I can’t think straight, or concentrate. I wake up feeling hung-over everyday, but yet have consumed no alcohol. I don’t want people to look at me for fear they will see my inner ugliness. The ugliness that has defined who I am, but not who I want to be. I feel trapped, alone, frightened with no way out. Hopeless.
Something is rising to the surface, something from the depths. Something so dark that I feel scared, angry, mad… I cannot put my finger on it and I’m not sure that I want to. It frightens me. I just know that I feel really ‘messed up’ inside. I don’t know how to say it eloquently, or with real meaning. It’s just a fucked up ball of shit rolling around inside of me, awakening the Beasts that are trying to protect it from emerging after a very long sleep. It wants out, and out now! I want it out. I want to scream, yell, hiss, spit. I want someone else to feel the pain it is causing me. I think of the scene from the movie The Exorcist. I secretly wish to be exorcized to get it all out, to let it leave me and find a new host to torture.
The Beasts I speak of, they are a metaphor for the addictions that plague me; food, alcohol, unhealthy relationships, self-harm, and I’m sure there are more that I have not yet identified. These Beasts are a symptom of the toxicity living inside me. I don’t even know what to call it. The best way I can describe it is like a million dark shadows filled with evil that choke and smother my very soul. There are so many of them. Every time one of them rise up to the surface to rear its demon likeness, I see it, I feel it, and it rips through my soul like one of those man-made bombs filled with black metal shrapnel, glass, and nails. I can feel every single tiny shard rip into my flesh like a million knives being thrown by the circus freak, perfect in his precision. Instead of one knife at a time, he carefully propels them all at once. My skin oozes blood at a rapid spill, gushing like a glistening ruby river. When I look at it exit my body, it feels so amazing in its masochistic way, sinfully erotic, with hints of ecstasy tingling through my body. With it’s flow, it releases so much pent up emotional pain. It resembles hot lava exploding from a raging volcano. I now understand why cutters enjoy, and then repeat this vicious ritual.
For me, I also used it as a form of release from the pain that was, and still is, killing me inside. I no longer cut, however in a sick way, I sort of miss it. But that was then and this is now.
I sit here hopeless, not knowing how else to ease the pain, to keep the shadows at bay, what to do, or how to do it. Do I just let the shadows come, one by one? As they come they introduce themselves as bringers of peace. They promise me a second chance. They the ones who will set me free. Do they lie? They must, I question their sincerity. Who, in their kindness, brings with them such pain, but with promise of freedom? How can that be? I secretly lust over their promises, but yet I turn my cheek.
I run to my lover, all covered in his rich sweetness, and savory goodness. He is safe, kind, and gentle. He fills me with momentary, joy, peace, happiness, and love. He doesn’t lie to me, he worships me and I him. Our souls are one, as we reach climactic joy together. We’ve shared a lifetime bond, a mutual understanding; I am in control, I am his master, and he my slave.
Now, who is the liar? I am utterly alone. Who do I follow, and who do I run from? Who do I let in, who do I keep out? This, as it is happening, is blinding torture, but I am no victim, for I am its creator, and the one who continues to breathe life into it. Please set me free.
This is me, this is real, this is my mystery to unravel. I weep real tears.
Sober me silly... 
Oh. I want to hug you.
I do understand that dark black inner tar.
Mine also oozed out in early sobriety as alcohol at least let it inside, even if it was feeding it.
Without it I couldn’t stand the horrible thoughts in my head.
I have tried other control too. I have cut, I love to starve. To withhold food and feel the sharp deep hunger.
Of course, that didn’t help me. And depression really overcame me.
Do you have a good doctor? Therapist? I found reaching out for help has helped me realize I was not flawed and rotten. I was just so sad and lost. And I blamed myself.
Find help. There is a light. That pain can be released. You can be light.
For me, it has required medication, therapy, yoga, self care and just relaxing. Putting my own comfort and well being first.
You can do it too. There is peace in you.
Anne
Hi Anne,
I have a great therapist. In fact I’ve been in PTSD therapy since 2005. The disorder has improved by leaps and bounds since then, however I do have the occasional emotional relapse with the disorder. I also suffer from depression and anxiety which I do take medication for. I’m finding that without that liquid bandaid a lot more stuff is reaching the surface than before, and that is probably because I was drinking for all those years (with the occasional stretch of sobriety). My goal is long term this time. No more frequent relapses. I can no longer afford it, in so many ways.
Thanks for you comment!
you’re not alone, I often find myself trading one addiction for another…anything to fill the void…keep writing, keep working, and try to allow yourself to just feel the uncomfortable; things we can’t seem to grasp or even understand sometimes. Stay strong, the best thing you can do is never give up.
Thank you Chris. You hit the nail on the head! “To just feel the uncomfortable”. That was intolerable to me before, but I continue to push through. I will not give up this time.