Some days I wake up and I feel like I’m on top of the world, like everything is going so well and I can’t ask for anything more than I have. I’m ahead of the game; life is good.
Other days I wake up and I dread getting out of bed because I barely slept the night before. I can’t comprehend brushing my hair or taking a shower. I barely make it out of the house by 8 and I’m supposed to be at work by 8.
I’m not sure why my days are so extreme or what I can do to make them more stable. Although I feel such extremes, I usually still go through the motions the same way. I wake up and I go through the same steps, regardless of how I am feeling. I think that is the only thing that you can do to make it.
I smile, I’m happy; I’m angry and I hate my husband; I don’t understand—I love being single, I’m finding myself; I want someone to hold me and to take care of me, for once. I’m searching for something to fill me, I find it, and I give it back. I’m not sure if I’m coming or going. I feel like I’m falling apart; I’m picking up my pieces and putting myself back together.
I went to counseling on Friday and it lasted for 1.75 hours; it was really a good session, but sometimes I feel like I’m going too far; I’m digging too deep. Some things aren’t meant to be talked about and I feel like I’m at that place. I’m supposed to keep them inside; that’s what I’ve always done. Now all of a sudden, they are being laid out there and I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know how to deal with the feelings that they are releasing.
My therapist told me to research “ACOAs” (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and I’ve never heard of such a thing—but as I was reading, I felt like I was reading about myself. Things that I have been doing, that I couldn’t figure out, that I never understood, they were all laid out there, clear as day, written for and about me. It’s as if I’ve learned that I’m not actually “crazy” and these things aren’t even my fault. They are someone else’s. I’ve destroyed relationships, I’ve blamed myself, I’ve hurt myself and others—because I never learned how to deal with something that was never even my fault. Now I’m here alone, left to clean up the pieces.
I wonder if I would have known about this sooner, would I have been able to get help sooner? To stop blaming myself sooner? Would I have been able to make it work, if I would have known?
I’m not sure.
I know that it’s too late to think about it, and there is too much damage now to dwell on it; I have to move forward and continue to accept the help of others and to accept that I’m going to be okay.
It’s hard, at least today. But maybe tomorrow it will be a little bit easier again.
