[Just sitting here, I feel like I’m going 100 mph.. so much so that I’m not really sure where to start. Can you get writer’s block with feelings? That’s probably what this is.]
So that part above.. I wrote last night after therapy. I decided to come home, NOT make a drink, and just write.. but as soon as I sat down, I got that far before my emotions got the best of me, so instead of allowing myself to feel, I said fuck this, and got back to my OITNB (which I just recently learned is Orange is the New Black, for those who aren’t currently binge watching Season 6). It was, in theory, a good session, but I left bawling when I realized how fucking unbelievably broken I am. Says everyone.. I know. But like when you really dig into it, it’s damn unpretty. Anyways, leaving therapy, I felt a whole lot of crap. I went in with Level 42 anxiety. Aside from the anxieties I’ve been feeling about life upcoming, I recently made a mistake, which led me to two further conclusions.. one of which is just another variation of my insecurities and the other I’ve just been in denial about for some time now.
Let’s start first with the drinking since it’s easier to attack – at least for me. I used to find excuses to say I didn’t have a drinking problem because “everyone was doing it”. I was raised to see that after a stressful day of work, you come home and have a beer. On the weekends, you have people over, you grill, you go out, or you just make drinks because it’s Saturday. As I got a little older, I did the social drinking thing and thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until I got into my mid to late 20’s, and my depression got worse that I realized I was pounding wine like it was water. When I went on my diet and the girl suggested clear liquor instead of wine if I “had to have a drink”, wine switched to tequila. And it wasn’t just a drink with dinner or a few while out with friends: I fell into a routine. Take off work clothes, put on pjs, make a drink, and cook, clean, etc.. do whatever it was I was doing that night. One drink turned into four. And it’s not like I’m measuring out a one ounce pour either. The worse my day was, the more I drank. Luckily, I’m not one to get hangovers, so I woke up fine and went to work. But an incident over the weekend made me realize that, while I really don’t think I 100% have a problem (Not in denial: I am actually able to stop when I feel like I’m done and, like yesterday, I’m able to just say no), I definitely need to cut down a serious amount before it actually ruins relationships.
Conclusion #2. Although not really a conclusion because I’ve known this, I did something that made me truly see how much my deeply rooted insecurities and painful bouts of depression take control my actions. It’s a first for me, but I’m actually ashamed to write out the full story – mostly because I don’t want to give out much info about the people involved. It comes down to like 19 different things, hence the feeling that I’m never gonna be fixed took over my body when I left the session, but here’s the biggest one. I am in a constant state of feeling alone. My friends and relationships are incredible, and I know they mean well when they want to help. But, truth be told, they’re never going to get it. I’ve said it before and I could write a book about it.. me and everyone else with this shit.. People who haven’t experienced depression will never understand what it feels like. So even though I’m constantly surrounded by so much love and support, I still feel very much alone in the way I’m feeling.
I sidetracked, but okay. Continuing on. I live in a constant state of numbness and misery. If you were to ask me what I’m really feeling, I would say I feel absolutely nothing. I can’t remember the last time I can say I felt genuine joy, and when I do feel anything, it’s usually some level of anger. Once in a while, there’s a little bit of happy. Otherwise, I just exist. So to see people around me, even those close to me, living SO carefree, never worrying about anything, or worrying about ridiculous things, rarely feeling alone, insecure, jealous, uncomfortable, sad, or angry.. it’s infuriating. And I know how that sounds. Like bitch you can’t be happy for your loved ones? No. I can’t. There’s times where I think, you know what? If I gotta be miserable 24/7, you can fucking handle it for 20 minutes.. your ass can see what it feels like to be in my shoes/eyes/head/whatever. And I actually go and DO something to make them miserable so I feel less alone. In those few minutes or hours, they’re able to feel the way I’ve felt almost consistently for the last I dunno how many years. I’m no longer alone because they’re feeling what I’m feeling. I couldn’t stop bawling and I couldn’t tell if it’s because of how bad I felt for acting the way I did or because I realized what kind of a raging fucked up cunt you have to be to intentionally make someone you love upset. Thankfully, the damage I caused is repairable. Oddly enough, I’m calling it my “Demi overdose”. I was letting myself slowly spiral, and maybe I needed a wake up call. I got too used to the usual ups and downs that I needed more than just a “relapse” to whip my ass into shape. Stay tuned.