Pardon my language, but this week was total bullshit. Sure, it started on a good note. I finally got my first tattoo. I did quite a bit of writing for the blog. But somewhere along the way everything just fell apart.
Emotions I worked so hard to overcome came back with a vengeance, refusing to be ignored. Refusing to let me forget all the horrible lies my depression and anxiety tell me everyday. Insisting I replay every fear that was validated this week by people I considered to be friends.
When I was drinking, alcohol helped to silence the negative messages rolling around in my head. I didn’t think about how much hotter the girl next to me was. I didn’t worry about my past defining me. I wasn’t worried about fake friends saying hurtful, untrue things about me. But now, all I can do is feel the sharp knife of betrayal in my back. I feel it to the fullest, but I don’t want to.
This week, I missed drinking. I missed the taste of bourbon whiskey and how impressed people were when I’d shoot it like it was nothing. I missed loud music and dancing with my friends while we drunkenly giggled.
This week, I hated going to the pool and drinking vitamin water while everyone else sipped their vodka cranberries. I hated not ordering a glass of wine with my dinner. I hated making and serving alcoholic beverages that I couldn’t drink to other people. And I hate I felt that way.
As I write this, tears stream down my face. I’m still sober. Temptation didn’t get the best of me, yet I am embarrassed. I’m humiliated to admit that after seven weeks of strength, after doing my best to work through a trigger, I feel incredibly weak. I’m angry at myself for missing something that made my life so terrible.
I refuse to drink, but I am in desperate need for a new outlet. I’ve turned to music, which helps, but not nearly enough. I write until my fingers cramp up. I call out to God for comfort, but I can’t help but wish I had something to numb the pain.
I know things will get better at some point, but today I’m hurting. Today, I’m pushing through the emotions and doing my best to shut out the lies a younger, less confident me would tell myself.
“You’re not skinny enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart, witty, or flirty enough. Someone is always going to beat you at all of it. You will always be the second choice. All the proof you need is right in front of you.”
So yes, while I am still sober, today, I am believing the lies. Today, I fear… I am just not enough.