Still Loading
Sometimes I think the hardest part of healing is when the physical pain is gone and your scars heal: the only pain left is the pain that people can’t see. A pain people can’t cringe at just by looking at you. A pain that only exist in between moments in your own mind unable to formulate coherent thoughts and complete sentences. A pain that people can now morally disconnect themselves from because you are no longer physically in harm’s way.
It’s been almost 7 months since that night in November and 4 months since my last stint in a psychiatric ward. I haven’t cut myself since February. In fact, all things considered, the scars on my arm have healed quite nicely. You get used to them after the initial internal shock. My drinking is what I consider to be “under control” which means I do my best not to drink when I’m emotional fully understanding that emotional drinking can lead down a dark road with consequences I don’t have the means to face. Frankly, AA scared the shit out of me, and I realized rather quickly that though I appreciated everyone’s honesty about their addictions I didn’t want to become a cautionary tale of what happens when social drinking turns into emotional turmoil, irrational decisions, and successful suicide attempts. Therapy didn’t last too long either (for reasons I will explain in another post) but I do believe that my therapist saved me from myself more times than I could count. She was exactly what I needed when I needed it; she listened and allowed me to pour my truest self into her without the fear of judgment or unfair criticism.
I haven’t been back to work yet and I seldom leave my house unless I feel it absolutely necessary. Solidarity has become my new favorite color and I am looking to find a new one. Or at least one that blends well. Often times it’s hard to hold conversation and I find that it’s just been easier to confide in a single friend rather than a group of people. I try to keep my insecurities at bay by only divulging in my irrational fears when I feel if I don’t let them out to be heard I might spontaneously combust. I avoid the question, “so what’s been going on with you” at all cost by becoming all together unreachable. On the off chance someone breaks through the barrier and ask the dreaded question, my automatic response is “nothing much, same old … what about you?” as I silently pray there will be no follow up question, because I have no legitimate follow up response.
The world continues to move around me and though I feel glued to my seclusion it is a comforting feeling knowing that the world doesn’t begin or end with me. My parents come home after work and I can almost feel their anxiety about whether or not they are enabling bad habits or helping me towards self recovery, by allowing me to stay home unemployment and searching for the meaning of my own life. I can hardly blame them. For sometimes I myself find it hard to tell the difference. I aim for routine, consistency, and some slither of determination to feel good enough to feel good about the day but if I were a betting woman, I wouldn’t bet on myself just yet.
I am not the same person I was almost a year ago. I don’t think any of us truly are but the thought unnerves me. I never considered the essence of who I am tied to another person or situation yet here I am, unsure if my favorite color is really purple, or if I really like Mac Miller as a rapper? Do I think tattoos are attractive and do I really want another one? Am I funny or am I just funny awkward so people are actually laughing at me and not with me? Am I nice to be around or just tolerated? What are my passions? Were those really my dreams? I’m ashamed to admit that I altered so much of myself to fit into spaces of life that were not reserved for me. I made myself small so that others could remain large. It wasn’t something I thought about rather something I just did. I have to come to terms that I don’t completely know who I am and I’m not even sure I like the parts that I do know but I won’t find that out safely tucked away in the comfort of my home, in my room, even with hours of self-reflection.
The comfort in knowing the world doesn’t begin or end with me brings with it the knowledge that my purpose, my essence, whatever I aspire to be isn’t tied to another person or situation. I am only here to be the best version of myself, and that isn’t determined by how others see me. It is only determined how I can see myself. When in doubt, I ask myself if I like who I am, hopeful that the answer is yes!