Planning a relapse…

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141 days today! I have not been in a good place for several weeks now. Not really understanding why, at first, I just resigned it to a blue mood and to just wait it out. I was feeling all balled up inside and could barely make a sentence that made any sense to myself about how I was feeling and why. As the days went along, I kept telling myself that I really had no good reason to feel the way I was, because after all, we are going on a cruise for my 50th birthday. I kept telling myself how grateful I should be, and that life is pretty good. But still, I felt a dark bleakness come over me daily. I was truly feeling depressed and a relapse was sounding like a great relief (not). Last week I began having panic attacks. So, now I’m really thinking, “What the heck is going on with me?” Here I have all this sobriety under my belt, I’m turning 50, I’m going on a cruise with my family… and then it happened. I had a flashback of my mother lying on the bathroom floor in her own vomit. She was burning up. It was my 49th birthday. We got her to the hospital. 2 days later we received the diagnoses of terminal cancer. 39 days after that she was gone. It was awful! Every last second of it.
Sometimes I cannot get in touch with my own feelings, and now I’m realizing that it is a recipe for a relapse.
On top of dealing with the one year anniversary of my mother being diagnosed with terminal cancer, my husband has been a real schmuck to me for a couple of months now. I tried several times to get him to talk about what was up with him, but being a passive aggressive who does not communicate, I knew I was beating my head against the wall. Last week, he told me he does not respect me anymore. What? Excuse me?…
I asked him to come to my therapy session last Saturday. He reluctantly agreed. During the session he apparently had and “epiphany”. Please share I asked. He was as giddy as a little old lady with a new, vintage Powder Puff Doll. “I finally figured out why I’ve been such an ass to you.” “Yes, and…” “I’m resentful that you don’t drink anymore. Life is boring now. I wish we could have some fun like we used to. I don’t like the way things are now.”
I can’t, I just can’t… I’m still in shock! Here, this guy berated me everyday to quit drinking. Told me I was a bad mother, and wife, and that I was destroying all of our lives. He shamed me constantly. He was completely surprised that I was not happy for him and his “epiphany”. He said, “Well, now I won’t treat you as bad now that I know why I was angry with you.” “Angry with me? I have almost 5 months of sobriety that you practically begged me to do.”
So, as you can all imagine, I’m pretty confused, and pissed off!. I feel damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. I’ve found myself planning a relapse on the cruise because I’m so upset about everything going on in my life. Believe me. I know that is not the answer. I’m just saying it out loud to be accountable. I’ve put a call into my addiction doctor. I don’t usually ask for meds, but I am so afraid of throwing this all away. So, Ive asked him for a temporary anxiety med., and an increase of Antabuse (I was on a low dose because it upset my stomach). I’m implementing these safeguards because I truly do not want to start all over again. It is so not worth it. But, I am worth it! Even if I do have an ASS for a husband. Just saying…

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Addiction and Emotional Pain…

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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.

Ramblings…

Angel of grief

Today is day 83, of my journey back to sobriety/recovery. I’m feeling deep angst lately. Although my life in general is fairly stable, the gut wrenching anxiety has returned. It’s time I start journalling on a more regular basis in order to process all of anxiety ridden feelings stirring around in me.

My father’s birthday was a few days ago. He passed away 7 years ago. He would have been 77, had he lived. I never expect anniversary dates to rattle me, but with both my parents gone now, (Mother passed away May 2015) I’m realizing that I cannot escape the waves of grief that come over me on certain anniversary dates. I miss both of my parents so very much that, yes, it hurts, it hurts a lot. One thing that really hurts, is all of the unfinished; the conversations, plans, goals, etc., but mostly I miss their energy, their living energy. I know they say that energy never dies, but why can’t I feel them? Or maybe I can, I just don’t realize it because I happen to be one of those people who, if I can’t see it, touch it, feel it, then it must not be there. On the flip side of that thought, I consider myself to be  somewhat empathic, and there are just too many things that have happened since they have passed that I cannot explain.

Today my parents would have been married 57 years. Another anniversary. It’s all just so bittersweet in it’s way. So much sadness I feel, coupled with so much happiness for the lives they had. They both loved life, although it wasn’t always easy for them. They persevered through some very hard times, along with my sister’s and I. They were deeply passionate about so many things, that it has left me envying them both. I only hope that someday I will experience the level of passion that they had for things most important to them.

Grief is a complicated process, one for which I wish I had a manual for, you know, so I would know exactly what to do every step of the way. I’m such a control freak, and the not knowing exactly how to maneuver this has me all tied up in knots.

Note to self: Slow down, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that this is a hard emotional process. You can do hard things. Believe in yourself, the way you believed in them.

Every little thing is going to be alright…