I can't take credit for that that eloquent thread title. It's a lyric from a Killers song . . . so fitting for how I feel today.
I've been putting it off for the last week or so, but I finally did the necessary research and inquiry about an outpatient program. Just now waiting to hear back from the one place that I thought would be a good fit.
I can't decide if I feel like I'm digging my own grave or if I've started the long process of grave-robbing the one I put myself in so many years ago. Digging, digging away at the past 10 years to get to the girl I buried so long ago . . . 10 years? Did I say 10 years? What a sick joke I tend to play on myself. I'm trying to dig up the girl I never was . . . the girl I covered with isolation and books in my young years . . . the girl I hid with a shiny, overambitious facade in my teens and the woman I lost in a bottle shortly thereafter. I have an aversion to calling myself a "woman" though I'm slightly in my 30s . . . never had a sense of being an actual adult. Have never acted like one . . . It's said that one stops maturing at the age one begins living with their own addiction. Good thing I was a mature teenager
Thinking about engaging in an outpatient program makes this struggle so real. Makes me feel like I'm covered in filth that I can't ever scrub off. I try to redirect myself when thoughts like, "This isn't suppose to be my life" enter my mind, but making those inquiries today just punctuated the self-loathing sentiments though I know the support is necessary.
Everyday I wake up feels like the first day of kindergarten now. I don't know what's going to happen or if I'll make it through the day in one piece or what kind of new sober experiences in which I'll engage. Just going to the store or work or messing around my apartment feels so new. I don't know this life. I have no clue how to relate to my surrounding without alcohol or the remnants of it pulsing through my veins.
I'm trying to change my thought patterns, my instincts, even the scent of my febreeze has changed so my living environment doesn't feel the same anymore. I'm trying to corrupt my old habits and senses to encourage a new way of life. I haven't even spoken to one of my best friends in so long because just reading her innocent "How are you?"/"I miss you" text messages triggers me . . . we love each other as people, but man, nearly all of our activities revolved around getting smashed. She doesn't even know I quit drinking much less that I am on day 25.
Wrapping my brain around all of this is still in the infant stages. Like I threw myself down a flight of steps and haven't even hit the first one yet . . . still in mid-air with flailing arms and a look of panic on my face. I know there will be many bumpy levels to this healing . . . but when I get to the bottom of the stairs, I get to decide to enter another building instead of the one I've been living in for so long . . .
I keep trying to be open to adding to my foundation of recovery. Outpatient. Outpatient. Therapy. Group support. Makes my stomach turn. It's going to be a tough wall to knock down. My ideas of what it means to engage in this type of program. It means I've earned my stripes of weakness? Who is this person I am? Who is this person that I've become? Who is this daughter who's caused her mother's vocabulary to include words like rehab and caused her mother to be be aware of all the people she knows "in recovery"?
God, I can't decide what hurt more, thinking my mother didn't care about my former alcoholic psychosis (which, I've soberly realized, was a delusional symptom of way too much depressant in my system) or the stain I've placed on her by putting her through my "recovery" . . . Her daughter was suppose to be beautiful, successful, creative and independent, not an alcoholic. I am so lucky that she has become so supportive (or, I should say, I've recognized her support finally), but the guilt of it weighs over my head. I tell myself I'm not going to talk to her about it because I want life to become what it should have been had I not entered this abyss so long ago . . . but man, she is my best friend and greatest blessing in the world . . . and I know it's the right thing to do to be as open with her as possible, even if as I hear the honest words coming out of my mouth, I feel they sound stupid.
It's like a whirlwind. I know I want to stay sober because I'm taking the steps to keep myself sober ie outpatient and plans to finally go to periodic AA meetings (lol - haven't quite gotten to one yet - baby steps). I know I can't do this on my own because I've tried and tried in the past to no avail. Seriously, it's like standing in the the eye of a hurricane and just waiting, waiting, waiting until I am strong enough to forge my way back through the turmoil of the storm. I'm trying to be gentle with myself for the first time in my life. "Sobriety is your number one priority, sweetheart!"
I wonder when I will fully wake up out of this dream-like state. I wonder when being sober won't feel so awe-inspiring. I wonder when I will stop semi-hating myself for putting myself in this position. I wonder when I will stop trying to pinpoint when I slipped into my former oblivion. I wonder when I will stop feeling it is necessary to isolate myself from my friends. I wonder when I will stop feeling like I'm fighting for my life. I wonder when days and weeks sober will stop feeling like such an accomplishment.
As much as I've bathed in the "devil's water", loved it, enjoyed being a rebel, that person feels so dead to me. And it was a body of water that I almost drowned myself in . . .
Day freaking 25.
Stay sane and sober all. So many thanks to you all for being here.