another relapse

Another relapse brings me back here. I once again will try to examine why i remain so self destructive. i look back at the last posts and see that the last one i did was well over a year ago. i seemed to be doing much better while i was blogging. Writing everything out heightens my awareness and keeps me mindful, and keeps me accountable in making better decisions since i anticipate reviewing them at a day's or week's end. Definitely more regularly than a month or year.

In allowing myself to be ignorant of negative undercurrents that have been running, apparently, for a long while, i've reverted to an old behavior that i worked so fucking hard to put behind me. But here i am again, razor in hand dragging it across my flesh, bringing an immediate overwhelming emotional release and sense of ease. i got sucked back in to the easy way out.

i did notice some of the slipping points. There are a few moments where i know i made the wrong decision. And yes i remember in those moments consciously and willfully making the wrong decision. The first being when i bought my car last August from a family friend, in the center console i found a package of razor blades. When i first saw them i called my then-boyfriend in a panic and asked him why such a thing would be in the car. He said it was for scraping shit off when it was stuck. It made sense to him, and to me. So i kept them there, just in case. Just in case meant a different thing to him than it did for me. They went untouched for a year and a half. The entire time i knew they were there, like a security blanket. The second moment came in the kitchen during the summer, a year after i decided to keep the blades in my car. i was slicing a bagel for lunch and i wasn't careful with the knife. i cut my hand, and it felt good. i started romanticizing the pain and the blood and wanted more. i did not try to rework the thoughts into a healthier frame, i did not tell anyone about the thoughts i was having. A few weeks later i had a minor relapse with cutting and i worked through it with my therapist and it resolved after 2 days.

But for the last 3 months, it's been on my mind. i've been able to resist, to think about all the work i've put into being healthy and built up my life in so many positive ways, and everything i have a risk by backsliding.
Last week, i was met by so much emotional pain that all the defenses i had faded away. i went into my car and grabbed a blade and began a cutting ritual. In the shower, warm tender skin, a superficial cut, feel some pain and bleed a bit. Let the physical pain extract my emotions from me, let the blood carry them away, wash it down the drain. It's much easier to manage the bleeding in the shower and the clean up is much simpler.

It felt so good that night that i've repeated it for the last 6 days. i'm starting to become alarmed by how i'm already so attached to this feeling and what i think it does for me, and how i'm already in the habit of turning to this and have come to rely on it so quickly, and how it's already progressing and there's a tolerance building up and how i need more and more to get the relief i'm looking for, needing to cut a little bit deeper or bigger.

i feel powerless. i feel like this has a hold over me. i feel like i'm not in control, that i am bound to this.

i've reached out for help. i've broken through the shame i feel about relapsing with this and the reluctance i feel to give it up, and told the key people in my committee that this is happening. My poor therapist, this sweet old hippie lady, on her way to retiring, mostly dealing with retired Fairfield County folk navigating depression, i must be by far her most interesting case (and i do take a sick satisfaction in that), she doesn't know how to handle it. i told her when it began. She hasn't done much follow up since. And if she doesn't ask me if i've done it again, i don't want to tell her. Which i know is gamey, and protective of the sickness. i know. i get the feeling that she's hoping it will resolve on its own. It might. But it's not yet. i've told my sponsor, so that she can help me apply the 12 steps to this. i've told my priest, so that she can pray with and for me. And i reached out to my old therapist, who was with my ten years ago when all this was first going down, and been in touch with through the years. He can still give me a good ass kicking when needed. He has a way of saying things that really pierce through my bullshit justifications and hit me in the core, and help me shift my perspective. So i'll need him in my corner for this.

i'm trying to shake this off and get back on the right path. i'm trying to let go of the comfort and solace i feel with this. i'm also trying to deal with the disappointment that i've stepped backwards and am struggling with this again.

If i map out my relapses, they happen about every 4 months, whether it's self harm, eating disorder, sex stuff, and i wonder what that's about. 

Message Received.

How quickly the bliss fades away. Every day changes me, and i often forget that i can decide how it changes me. Yesterday, God was clearly sending me a message. He was calling me back to Him yet again. i was also asked to remember the recent reflections. And i should also read more.
So i need more God in my life. i'm getting very caught up in my suffering and i'm losing sight of important things. i've reverted a bit. In my therapy session this week, i defaulted back to arguing with my therapist trying to prove i am a bad person. And just like every other time i've tried this through the years, it's clear that there is no proof of this, but in fact much evidence of just the opposite. And i could feel my blood boil because i feel so strongly that i am a worthless piece of shit, i don't know why, and i don't know why i can't let it go.
Then we began to dive deeper. We uncovered the undercurrent of my life - quiet, persistent, insidious shame. i've had it as far back as i can remember. It makes sense, the way it was installed in me. My parents - young, unprepared, stubborn, fucked up - couldn't handle some of the challenges of bringing up a child. So i was yelled at, locked in my room, other disciplines that maybe made sense. But they loved me. i know that. i couldn't quite reconcile angry adults with their loving selves. i figured there was stuff wrong with me. i was very sensitive, and easily absorbed those messages. It all erupted, of course, in puberty, and the rest is history.
Now, i am still very sensitive, and have to be very mindful of my self talk. What is helpful? What is true? What is harmful? How can i shape my thoughts to build me up best? God is key in this. i believe my Creator loves me immensely and has great plans for me. i feel that presence often in my life. The story of Jesus Christ helps guide my daily action - how to stay connected to God through prayer and meditation, how to be kind to people no matter what, how to have fun and be sassy and have a heart so overflowing with love. When i look to that, i live better. When i blind myself with the mire of my life, there is so much unnecessary suffering.
So how am i going to stay connected? i gotta meditate more, root myself in my humanness, set a quality rhythm to my breath, work on intentions. i'll pray, open up a dialogue with God, speak up about all my hopes and fears and plans and cravings and annoyances, get into the nitty gritty, and remain open to a response. Reading helps too, right now it's the Tao of Pooh and is so fantastic, on deck is the Four Agreements. Music, the nectar for my soul. Being in nature, hiking, frisbee barefoot in a field, chillin at the beach, climbing trees, floating in a pool, feeling a breeze, sunshine on my skin.
i'm grateful for the awareness of all this. i'm very hopeful with this new plan.

There Ain't No "I" in Frendly Here...

i went to a music festival and it changed everything.

i joined the volunteer crew. i met up with another Frend from my area and we hauled up together, grabbed another guy on the way, and set up camp on the mountain. i had a tent and air mattress my coworker gave me, and a backpack and sleeping bag my therapist gave me. i brought my own food, and the best attitude i could muster.

i was a little nervous going in on my own. It's scary, what with my heaps of anxiety, and also a priority for sobriety that would be tested. But i really rooted myself down into my core, i sorted out my values, and i stayed in that center.

My tent lied on a 30 degree incline the whole weekend. The rain got much of my stuff wet, as the tent proved to be leaky. i wasn't as vigilant with the SPF as i should have been. And all these things are way overshadowed by the incredible loving powerful experience of it.

The volunteer crew was phenomenal. Positivity radiated through us. We connected, shared stories, food, drugs (to which i said no thank you), songs, our vibes filled the atmosphere. It transformed me.

The music lifted me up higher than i could've dreamed of. i discovered another fabulous Dead cover band, Sleepy Man -  a fan frikkin tastic bluegrass band, Upstate Rubdown - such beautifully layered vocals and rhythms, Madaila - groovy tunes for my soul. One night, Nahko & Medicine for the People blew my mind with their songs of healing. About halfway through the performance, i felt a barrier around my heart break and fall away, and i wept. i was so awestruck. They just hit me, tapped into something that needed some tenderness, broke me down and brought me back together so much better.

The best drug there was AcroYoga. That was such a rush of grounded loftiness, strength and weightlessness, connection and harmony.

There was free Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and Deep River potato chips. There were hikes, with an amazing view from the top of the mountain. Tye dye workshops, frendship bracelet making, hammock lounging, mud jumping, flow toys, fun and Frends abounding. i also had the  best burgers of my life there from the Burger Barn. A local farm, fully self sustained, has their seasonal food on wheels. 1st burger - Ethan Allen: burger with cheddar, grilled apple slices, and cranberry garlic mayo. 2nd burger - Nutty Goat - goat cheese, candied walnuts, bacon, carmelized onions, mayo. Tastebuds were in awe.

The journey home was surreal, trying to process all that had occurred. Adjusting back to my typical life was difficult. But i feel how i carry these experiences with me. It was such a necessary trip. i feel lighter and brighter, hopeful and level.

This season has a few more festivals on the horizon. i'm very excited for what's in store.

Somewhere in the insanity...

Floodgates have opened. Emotions are flowing. i've been feeling and talking and crying and regrouping and shaking and writing and processing and distracting and doing everything i can to get through. i'm so raw right now, carrying on with normal daily like right now is a huge challenge. i'm pretty fed up with my home. My messes stare me in the face: material, emotional, familial. i am a fucking mess.

But my safe haven in this storm has been my job. It's pretty awesome to have a job that i love so much. i can go there and have fun, feel at ease, connect with my fabulous coworkers, shift my focus to better things, turn myself around. Really, my work does something that nothing else can. Once i get in the water, the outside world melts away, i come face to face with my kids, we splash and play and laugh and take some risks and grow. i throw myself in and submerge myself in the puzzle that each little person is. It helps me forget myself, my worries, my insecurities, my pain, my deficits. i feel productive valuable, happy. Working here has been so important to me well-being, i am so so grateful. It's been a wonderful reprieve from the insanity i'm currently immersed in.
i'm so sure i haven't unraveled thanks to work. i'm pretty sure my boss has picked up on this, and she's picked this moment to ask more of me. i'm getting parent & baby classes added to my schedule, and i'm now also training to teach the upper levels. To think, i joined on as a simple lifeguard... It feels incredible to be trusted and valued so much. In many ways it still doesn't feel real. But here i am.

On another note, the other night i was at a women's AA meeting. It was a particularly powerful gathering for us. i shared about my struggles at home, my displacement, exposure to active addiction, my anger and fear. Afterwards, a woman who i've looked up to for a long time came up to me and said, "You are a strong woman of dignity and grace." i was taken aback, but i smiled, thanked her, and tried to let that in. i didn't look behind me to make sure it was indeed me she was talking to (as if she would randomly pause our conversation to jump to another person while maintaining eye contact with me). i didn't challenge her, though it was tempting. i know my perception of myself is warped. So i tried to accept it, and i still am. But if someone i so admire can see this (and she definitely does not say things she does not mean), i can go ahead and give myself the chance that she gives me. This external affirmation is working itself inward. i know that even though i feel so bogged down, i'm still showing up. i go to work and teach my kids, i go to meetings and try to be a friend among friends, i can be grateful for the little gifts and daily miracles instead of letting the pain blind me. i can be mindful that this pain will transform me to a stronger, smarter, more compassionate, more balanced, better person. i can have full faith in my journey.

Following Freud's Suggestions...

What are the connections between disliking or being angry at my mother, and hating myself? What happened that i'm not forgiving myself or her for?
i can stare at these questions for a significant length of time and come up blank. i think because my mind and body have worked hard to create walls and block it all out - keep myself numb.... It's probably the same part of me that bucks against me every time i take a step towards health. i can't quite tell if it's getting easier or harder as i go on.
i've done a lot of work on my relationship with my mother. Since entering therapy 10 years ago, i think i've dissected every moment in my memory about her. But apparently i need to do it again.

Teen mom, i was born the summer before her senior year. She was tutored from home for part of the year and she graduated on time. She went on to college without skipping a beat. Bachelor's in math, then Master's. Grama and Grampa helped out a lot. My dad kinda floated in and out inconsistently. From what i remember, up to age 5 was pretty normal. A lot of love, a bunch of tantrums, being a goofy kid, getting into sports, exploring outside. i have some memories of parties (and we're Irish, there were a lot of them), the adults around me getting drunk - loud, slurry, sloppy. It was scary at the time. It was difficult to make sense of as a kid. i remember at a young age trying to help mom walk when she would stumble too much. But for the most part, i remember her hugging me and cuddling me, picking me up from school and bringing me to dance swim soccer music, she worked hard on her homework. We would go to the park or out to eat or to the aquarium or shopping or get ice cream or take a trip to the bookstore. i loved her so much and she was my hero, and remained so until the 6th grade.
Then the hormones flared up, the veil dropped, and everything in my life changed. It seemed to have happened suddenly with no particular catalyst. To the best of my memory, it went: starting middle school, adjusting pretty well. i had swimming and lacrosse and singing and sleepaway camp. Mom broke up with Jay who i loved and had become close to me than my dad at that point, i didn't feel much about it and i knew i should be sad, but i couldn't really access it. . Mom applied for her own house and things started moving on that. She promised me she'd stay single for at least a year to focus on herself and me. But she met someone else within a month and attached herself to him and he even had the same name. i didn't like him at all.
The moment i got hit with self loathing was in 7th grade, walking down the hallway in the middle of a school day, and i turned a corner and had the thought that i was not meant to be here, on earth, i came from a teen pregnancy, nobody wants to have a baby at 16, i was a mistake, my existence is a fluke, and i don't deserve to live. i sat with that for a while before i told anyone. Things at home were very complicated. For starters i felt like i didn't have a home. i didn't like being at mom's because i didn't like J and how weird he was, overbearing and knit picking and cranky. Grama let me stay over a lot, thankfully,  but always said i belonged with my mother. i sometimes went to my dad's.
Mom started to fade away. Grampa took me to school all the time. He picked me up the most too. Dad took me to sports practices. Mom was having back problems. She tried a few things but the doctors gave her pills and told her she needed surgery. It happened that Spring and she was never the same since. i was changing too, and mom must have picked up on it because she put me in therapy. i had told only a couple friends about my existential crisis, and i felt really certain that my life was worthless. So i went to therapy and spoke the bare minimum. i was going to hold onto my self loathing and suicidal ideas as mine and not let anyone take it from me. i started to drink - the first time at home, alone, 2 am, kitchen floor, quiet house, glass of vodka. i downed it, and i loved that it took me out of myself, it burned my insides and transported my mind elsewhere. i could feel fuzzy and numb and unburdened. i started smoking too. i knew it was bad for me, i breathed in the toxins and hoped it would rot me. And then i stopped eating. And then i started cutting. i so desperately didn't want to be myself, didn't want to be here, i fully immersed myself in self destruction and i didn't want anyone else to know. i couldn't tell my mom because i saw her at that point as fragile - with her back problems, physically deteriorating, work being affected by that, financial stress, and clearly needing a man to feel whole - i felt like i had to protect her from myself, that dealing with me would be harmful to her. i couldn't tell either of my grandparents even though we were close and i trusted them, because it would just break their hearts. i couldn't tell Dad because fuck him, his anger issues, his absence, his unpredictability. i didn't like my therapist. But i was scared, there was a small piece in my core (that has turned out to be really damn strong) that wanted life and health and happiness. i ended up reaching out to a teacher and told her i was depressed and having a really hard time at home. She listened, and empathized, and that felt good. i reached out more, and perhaps overreached. i really like the feeling of being cared for, and i was closed off from that at "home." Well of course mom was notified, and she responded pretty well, she assured me she loves me and never even regrets having me and always wants to be there for me. But i was already on a roll, the self destruction snowballed and became huge. And even though mom probably meant what she said, she never really seemed present. She was always either doing work, cleaning, watching a show that she didn't want me to talk during, or zonked out on her meds. She didn't really pay attention to me anymore. So i carried on.
Then mom got pregnant. For a while i couldn't decide if i was excited or angry. But my little Moo turned out to be one of the best things ever. i feel a bit parentified with her, and i see mom being different with her than i remember her being with me. i have certain expectations of mom as Moo's mother, and i get really upset when she falls short. i think i also still feel and hold onto the hurts she caused as my parent and want to prevent Moo from going through that. i pretty much know that i've stepped into the caregiver sister role all on my own, but mom didn't really do much to stop me.  i did so much to help Moo, so much fuming at mom, so much running away from my damn self, i could never just sit still, take a breath and calm down, and grow in the ways i needed to. i tried that, thinking moving in with Dad would be a step in achieving that. But i was still so wild, so connected to the destructive ways, i felt i couldn't let go. Dad did introduce me to AA, which i am so grateful for and feel that it has helped me in ways i don't think therapy can. But i needed that 2 years of secluded intense residential therapy. It was there that Dad and i had a falling out, i grew more upset with my mother and her own struggles, and i started to look inward for stability, nurturing, strength, and motivation. After 2 years, mom signed me out AMA, Dad was pretty pissed, but i went home to mom and Grama. It was chaos. i stayed connected to my own strength, i found some people in my school that i could rely on, and struggled through the rest of high school just barely keeping my head above water. i found my mom to be an empty well most of the time. Occasionally she would produce a good few drops for me, surprise me, trick me, for it was never consistent or reliable or sustaining. Despite that, i really stabilized. In my therapy and recovery work i've learned that i can't go to the hardware store for milk, can't draw from an empty well. i orchestrated my own support system. Mom plays a very small part in it. And sometimes she actually acts as a harmful person to my well-being. There were times that my strides in recovery were a thread to her comfort in her particular way of life, and she'd try to undo my work - trying to get me to drink, or to cosign her shit, or ask me to do a think that would enable her unhealthy decisions, and i would have to distance myself from her. It has made me really sad, ti know that something has hijacked my mother - formerly Mommy - and made her resentful of my health and an obstacle in my happiness.

i think i'm afraid to feel angry about it, because i know she doesn't necessarily want to be like this. Even though i did do the work of recovery and have significantly diminished my own self loathing, there's still a piece of me that's mad at Mommy and mad at myself for feeling that way. In a pivotal time in my life, there was a huge, sore absence, and so many years later i'm still confused about it. i'm still not completely my own person, there's a lot i need to learn, and i resent my mom for not teaching me. i'm upset with her, and when i know it's not her fault, with the circumstances. i hate myself for hating her, and until i really heal that, i don't think i can be whole.

Let Go Or Be Dragged

"You're holding on to so much. And you hold onto it in your heart, your muscles, your mind, the way you talk to yourself, in your posture, in your bowels, in all the clutter in your room, there's no space for anything else in your life and you wonder why you stay in the same cycles."
i was a little shocked to be called out in this way, but dammit when a therapist is right, she's right. i keep that old stuff around, the hurts, the patterns, the assumptions, the feelings, and regard it as current fact. In the list of ways my past is keeping me hostage, each seem so impossible difficult to overcome. My heart is so heavy with how terribly i feel about myself, my muscles are always so tight and aching. The self talk is only slightly different than a decade ago. i'm frequently constipated. My body is tight, closed, hunching, defensive, even when i think i'm comfortable. And my room is filled to the brim, hoarder status, with stuff i feel like i can't get rid of. Clothes, stuffed animals, school binders, kid books, tchotchkes, notebooks filled with my angst, ages worth of stocking stuffers, craft supplies, photos, cheap jewelry, gifts never delivered, projects unfinished, and whatever else is buried under all that crap.

But i'm tired. This life is so unfruitful. i want more. i want to change. i want to feel what other people so adamantly believe about me. Bless them for carrying me through these tough times. It's time to molt - this old shell is no longer protecting me. Whatever mechanisms were useful in the past are actually quite harmful now. This week i've made the first real attempt at letting go. i'm cleaning my room. i packed up 2 big bags of clothes and 1 box of books that are no longer useful to me. It's going to take a while to go through everything, but i'm proud of the start i got. i've been avoiding it for a very long time. The emotions i've been dreading are coming up, and it's exhausting, but i trust that this will be a transformative process, as people wiser than me have told me so.

And i need some transformation because i feel some self sabotage in the works. My relationships are in danger as i'm giving in to my habits of isolation and numbing. i recently heard that the first thing to be destroyed in the disease of addiction is self esteem and the capacity to feel loved or worth loving. i believe it's probably the last thing to come back, too. i still struggle with feeling like i'm someone people value or want to be around. Like, i don't want to be around me, so it's extremely tempting to just close myself off. But really, the moments that i stay connected to people, live into health, explore my potential, welcome my emotions, exercise my intellect, i feel alive and content and hopeful. It's what i want my life to consistently be. So even though it's dreadfully uncomfortable to go through the new processes, stay present to the emotions, feel the new space in and around me, i know that one moment at a time i'll really change. The past doesn't have to haunt me, it doesn't have to take over my present. i can rather accept it as part of myself and be grateful for the experience. Some times i feel more strongly than others i'll get there. i'll try to stay focused on the hope and faith and willingness. i'm very glad that the recent cloudiness i was feeling is starting to clear.

Running

Running. i keep running. In a way that keeps my body sedentary and lazy and ever expanding. And it just dawned on me in a way that sprung me awake at 2:30 while struggling to fall asleep.
i run to noise, to distraction, to shiny things, to sticky situations. Just away from myself. It's a bit different than the frantic, obscene sprint i displayed in adolescence that caused me to be forced to sit still and quirt for 2 years. This new one is a bit smoother, more calculated and has gone unnoticed by me for a few years. The insanity of craving connection and closeness in my relationships and then pushing people away. Sabotage. i don't stick around long enough for friends to truly become my mirrors. Facing myself is still this dreaded thing. And i'm so afraid of or appalled by myself that i cling to any suitable person, but then retreat when it gets too real. A vicious cycle.
Like that Wellspring prayer: "Afraid to be known..." shit, i'm there. It's why now i'm new to these meetings, why i can't hold down a sponsor, or a friend for that matter. It's why i fucking jump when i hear someone say my name. Especially my therapist, she says it with authority, because she knows me. And i realize she's really the only non family person who knows me and has maintained a relationship with me. Even for my good few years of recovery, i don't know how to have a sustaining friendship. i could blame it on a dysfunctional childhood, or any mental illness, but why would it matter where the blame is? i'm still lonely and afraid and alone.
And so instead of taking a breath and looking at myself, i lunge and get in my own way. Calling friends and then falling silent. Going to an AA meeting, raising my hand and telling on myself, and then retreating back into my darkness. Having conversations and never picking them back up. Starting a book and not getting past the first few pages, reading or writing. Unfinished prayers and poems and journal entries and art projects. And a completely overwrought self.
i have hope being kindled by the fabulous people i'm connecting with at the meetings i'm going to. i'll have to commit to staying connected to them, calling them and seeing them at meetings. i have more incentive to follow through now, trying to work through the hard time of facing my single self. Sometimes all these emotions make me feel like my body will dissolve itself from the center out, i'm also back in touch with the fact that this too shall pass.