Day 145 and I’m not exaggerating when I say I want to drink more today than I have since this entire sobriety endeavor began on 6/30/20. Not even sure exactly why; I just know it’s gray, drab and chilly out. Candles are lit, Hightown is cued up on free day 3 of Starz and all I want to do is ever so slowly sip some moscato while the constant vacillation between depthless depression and reckless hope continues unabated in my brain as it does every fucking day. I’m sick of it. Worn from powering the fuck through. Tired of forcing my lips into a smile and holding back oceans of tears. I don’t understand how the fuck people just continue on every day. The inside of my mind looks like this right now.
And there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing’s changed. I still live at the beach, have a cake job, have support (though far, far less than I’m used to). What do you do when you feel like you need a motherfucking vacation from your own psyche? Historically, I drink.
I know every single thing I need to do in order to make myself feel better, and still, here the fuck I am. There’s no way everyone else feels like their own worst enemy most of the time. Is it a Pisces thing? An only child thing? An I have no fucking idea wtf I’m doing with my life thing? Would the endless spiral questioning and exhaustive ruminations cease with different scenery and situations? Nice thought, but…if I can’t be consistently happy here, I’m afraid I’m too far down the rabbit hole to hold onto much hope.
When does it start to feel effortless? When will I be able to string 24 tearless hours together? When will zen last for more than a handful of minutes? When will I say enough of being elbow deep in the detris of the past, sifting through memories and motivations as if my very life depends on it? When the fuck will I be able to trust that I got this, no matter what vile creature is waiting for me around the next dark corner? Does that ever happen, or is everyone else just a little bit better at faking it?