What A Year For A New Year…

“It’s not a day-to-day matter.  It’s more of a minute-to-minute matter.”

Although she is TEN YEARS YOUNGER than me, she is already wiser.

My friend is dealing with a crippling illness, high school and daily life at 17.  It’s a humbling thing, really.  Any time I gripe about ANYTHING, I feel like a douche.  Yes.  A douche.

All of her friends pretty much ditched her when she got sick.  (Which is total bullshit!) Because I live where I live, and am besties with her oldest sister, I offered to be her SV buddy.

She’s now one of my best friends.  She gets it. Seriously. Just yesterday my Dad said that I should just “cheer up” – like it’s something you can just decide to do. He really doesn’t understand. It’s really hard to explain to people who haven’t gone through it. My Mom did, so to sit down with her isn’t a difficult thing at all. She’s still one of my best friends, and my biggest cheerleader.

Having this new(ish) best friend in my life is wonderful, though. She understands literally EVERYthing that I’m experiencing. And, she makes me grateful for my other friends.

So. For the NEW YEAR? I am just going to be thankful for my friends. ALL OF THEM ARE AWESOME!

Mischief Managed!

I’ll start off by saying that I haven’t written in a very long time. As if it were something new and different. THIS TIME…. it is.

I’ve been on a “booster” medication for about a month now (“booster” referring to a medication you take in addition to ordinary antidepressants). For reals, the difference is like night and day. Some things haven’t changed – insomnia (but that’s a life-long battle, that is) for example. But almost everything thing else just feels better.

It’s a strange thing to wake up and only grumble because it’s early, and not because your biggest desire in the world is to not leave your bed for the day and to drink to cope. You go to work and don’t feel like either sleeping the day away or throwing stuff at people who ask you simple questions. You get home and pick up a book, or call a friend…simply because you’d be bored with just sitting around. You don’t want a drink, just something normal to do.

You get excited about weekend plans, and don’t dread Saturday morning because you know you’ll have to actually do stuff that day. You start making plans for the future, because you’re excited about the unknown again, and not constantly second-guessing yourself when it hadn’t normally been in your nature to do so. You look for projects.

It’s like the last few years were a nightmare of your own creation, and you’re finally awake and things are as they were. Normal. Just normal. Not spectacular or crazy – and that fact doesn’t bother you one whit.

The only thing I’m somewhat nervous about now is that inevitable time when I’ll want or feel ready to go off the medication. It’s not something that’s constantly bothering me, but I’ve felt so good recently that I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind. Since that’s the ONLY thing bothering me (very occasionally), I feel comfortable saying that I think I might be over the hump. Taken a loooooong time to face myself (and my not-inconsiderable demons) and I finally like the future I see.

Immediacy is the Watchword

I had a very interesting string of thought occur to me today, and it gave me some much-needed insight on myself.

It all started earlier today when I read an article about joblessness. It is a condition that was shared by more than 6 million people in the country at the time I suffered from it. Of course, my only thought about that was, “Great, now there are even MORE people gunning for the job I want…”. Since the article was composed mainly of write-in excerpts from jobless people, it was much more powerful. Most of what was said, I have done, and most of the feelings that were expressed, I kept bottled up. All in all, a good read.

The second thing that happened was the most innocuous thing ever – I was taking a bath and reading a (cheesy) youth novel. All of a sudden, it occurred to me:

My whole life, I have lived for the immediacy of the situation, and been constantly frustrated when it didn’t happen; when it took too long – I gave in when I could.

In gymnastics (ages 3-12), I was consistently frustrated when I couldn’t get a new trick immediately. I could understand the theoretics of it, but when it came to execution, if at first I didn’t succeed, I flogged myself mentally before trying again. Oh, and the mental anguish was high if someone else I considered to be less of a deserving person than myself got the trick first. It would take a while to get over.

Move on to school, where most things came naturally, and at a natural pace. I was content with this. Except where math was concerned. It was a constant struggle. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t understand. So, I did the best I could, got help where I needed it, then got the hell out for good after junior year of high school (which was a dual credit college class that meant I could skip out on it in college entirely). The same was true of science. That lasted until senior year of high school. I needed one more credit in college, so I took the cake-walk astronomy class and said goodbye forever.

Everything else – band, theatre tech, most sports and most classes came at what I decided was a natural (though accelerated when compared to most – in my head, anyway) pace. Again, I was content with this.

Step up to college – I started with a year’s worth of credits, and did well at most everything related to school. Also a contented pace. I’d set my sights on studying abroad, and the only depression I felt was during the holidays when I was homesick. Random trips and new friends took care of that problem; also, my satisfaction that I was accomplishing something I’d been dreaming about for a very long time.

After college, I had a variety of odd jobs, but I was waiting for relatives to remodel their house so I could move in and try my hand at the big city. I was happy to wait. After the move, however, I assumed that my natural charm and effervescence would land me a job almost immediately. Imagine my surprise (and subsequent short-lived bout of depression) when living with my relatives, and in the “big” city, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Although I’d moved to a place with nearly no potential employment contacts, I assumed it would be easy. It only took three months to land a job, but it felt like the longest waiting-period of my life (plus the extra month it took to find a place and move out of the terror took its toll).

Things were going swimmingly again. Right on my own whacked-out schedule for myself. I was making friends and loving my life. Until the rug was pulled out from under me.

I spent more than a year being unemployed. For some people, it’s a great excuse to brush up on the things they love, get out and try new things, or create a new and better life from the ashes. I did a few things I loved, and tried a few new things, but the life I created for myself harkened back to the dark days of when I’d first moved. When you don’t land an interview after sending out more than 100 resumes, or you don’t land the job after 15 interviews, you really start to think it’s you. I did not deal well with this, as is well-documented on this blog.

Moving home helped. Seeing a doctor helped. But, there’s really nothing out there (except my own strength of will, which has deserted me for a few years) that helps with a feeling that is very different from depression. It’s the feeling of immediacy. If things aren’t better right away, then they’ll never get better. That’s the feeling.

It’s why people love cough syrup, or lozenges, or Mylanta (I’ve said this before). You feel relief almost instantaneously. Anti-depressants take time to build up in your system, and the variety of cocktails to deal with the variety of mental issues and specific body chemistry is difficult to pin down. But, while you’re feeling the way you do, those thoughts aren’t helpful – thoughts that it will get better. You assume the worst. That no medication will provide any sort of relief, and that you’re simply doomed to live that way.

So, one might turn to something that does “help” in the short-term… alcohol or other more illegal drugs. Now, I’ve never sampled the latter, but am very familiar with the former. One could say we have been very good frienemies at various points in time.

For a long time now, I haven’t looked past the sum of the whole. I’ve been focusing on the whole package, and never taking the time to look at the fact that mixed in with the bad, there are tons of tiny great things about me. Things that have drawn friends and more-than-friends to me my whole life. And, while I’m hoping that the culmination of these things doesn’t completely repulse people, I know that there are plenty that accept the faults. Even when the faults are entirely horrible.

No, I won’t put down this Slim Jim that’s so tasty. At the moment, anyway. But, while I nibble, I’m certainly pondering if the greater picture of myself is the point. There seem to be a lot of good reasons for honing in on the trees for a while. Dealing with things as they come, and not getting totally pissed off when the first solution (which coincidentally, rarely seems to be the right solution) doesn’t work out the second I first put it into motion.

I have a lot to think about in the coming days, weeks, months and years….

And, hopefully those thoughts will stray far from the “quick fixes” in life that never seem to actually be all that quick. Case in point….

Did Some Things You Can’t Speak Of…

Sorry. I keep using lyrics from songs as my post titles.

Unfortunately, that song “Innocent” keeps running through my head. And describes how I feel about myself. Only, I am not innocent at all. It does help (the song) for a few minutes at a time, though, so I’ll keep listening.

The hardest thing is that I didn’t realize how DAILY this would all be. I pictured recovery/relapse/recovery as a montage. I feel like a moron. It’s an uphill battle. Every. Single. Day. And it totally sucks.

Even people who have been through what I’m going through are hard to be around. When you fail around them… Wow. It’s doubly difficult. Because they won. They overcame. And you haven’t. Not quite.

The great thing about new days is that they’re new. You get a whole brand-spanking new, bright, shiny chance to be awesome. Or, another chance to fail. And that’s just how it is. You get a black and white world when you’re an addict. One or the other. That sucks, too.

So, as countless others before me, I will continue to take everything one day at a time. And continue to hope that each day will be a white hat, brilliant, amazing day. So far, so normal….

Guess You Really Did It This Time

It’s easy to blame something on something outside of oneself. It’s much harder to take responsibility for anything. “Oh, it was the drugs…” or “blame it on the alcohol”…

But, (unfortunately) it’s all you. YOU are to blame. (As in, ME.)

It’s easy to listen to a song or read a passage and tell yourself that you’re okay.

Most of the time, you’re not. It’s hard. People who haven’t been there DON’T understand. How could they? It’s hard to make yourself believe you’re better, or that you ever can be. With all the people waiting for you to fall/fail (again), and you being your own worst enemy, how can you possibly believe anything will improve?

Weird as it may seem, you trust in Lorne. An empath demon on Angel, he has some of the best advice I’ve ever heard:

“It’s like a song. Now, I can hold a note for a long time…actually, I can hold a note forever, but eventually that’s just noise. It’s the change we’re listening for…the note coming after, and the one after that, that’s what makes it music.”

So. I have to change. Into what, or whom, I’m not sure. But, I can’t be the destructive force anymore. Because at that point, I’ll just be destroying myself.

If that’s what I’ve wanted all along, then, bully for me. Otherwise, I’m just as selfish and impossible as ever.

That’s not growth. That’s not change.

In apathy’s (and insomnia’s) stead, I choose both. I will grow and change.

As much as I can. And, as always, with the help of my loving friends and family. (Seriously, I would be LOST without you. And, Dr. Goodsell.)

I’m Gonna Let The Bad Times Roll…

Sorry. It’s the name of a song.

A good, solid two months without drinking.

I don’t know how much the medication is working anymore, if at all. I guess it just makes it easier to cope with, just, everything. Even things that aren’t that difficult for most people to deal with. Except that pang I get when I think about all the people I’ve hurt and let down. That, nothing but time will heal a bit, I suspect.

Still on my bad food kick, though I AM planning another hell week before summer starts. Lots less lax on the workouts, though. Building some serious muscle. You probably don’t want to fight me right now! Physical fight, that is.

Anyway, I just heard that song in a movie. It made me think about the last year (or so) of my life. If the world ends in 40 mins. then at least I can share where I’m at before it all goes away…

Here’s a video of the song… for your enjoyment (in the next 40 mins. at least)…

Always Moving Forward…Like A Shark….

I haven’t had a drink in a month now.

I’ve fallen off the food bandwagon more than a little in that period, but not too, too terribly. There’s a sub shop near where I work that makes a seriously killer steak and mushroom. Also, when a friend’s parent wants to take you out to lunch, it’s rude to turn them down, right? Even if they’re going to Olive Garden – mecca for all that is fatty. You graciously accept, then try to keep the breadstick count to a minimum. But, I digress…

The important thing about this tiny milestone is that I’ve been on a new medication, and it has finally had enough sans-alcohol time to start working its magic. One of the biggest reasons I’ve repeatedly failed at conquering depression and sobriety is that I’ve never given anything a chance to work.

I think that’s a reason a lot of addicts fail. Drugs and alcohol start to take effect very quickly. Medication (of the legal, pharmaceutical sort) needs time to build up in your system before you feel it (unless it’s Mylanta). It’s much easier to take the downhill path. It might lead you to a place past rock-bottom, but at least you’re getting there rapidly.

One month might not seem like a lot of time. For me, it’s been the difference between a self-medicating alcoholic who was most likely slowly poisoning herself, and a mostly emotionally-stable person who can see a light at the end of the tunnel (to be trite).

What a difference a month makes. I’m not anxious at the thought of falling asleep; I’m not anxious at the thought of getting out of bed; I’m not anxious about making weekend plans (and really not wanting to stick to them if I did happen to make them). I didn’t want to leave my room because in my head and in my heart I felt like everyone (including myself) would be better off if I just stayed put in the dark.

Without all the anxiety, I’ve finally started to beat insomnia (which has plagued me for years), I feel good about getting up and going to work every day, and I’m excited for the weekend not because I’ll be spending the whole thing in bed, but because I have plans with friends and family. That, in and of itself, feels like a victory.

With that small triumph, I’ve started to dream again. Trying new things, traveling, and just plain being a part of the world. Now that I feel so much more positive about things, I’m not going to harp on myself because I get fast food a couple of days a week.

I don’t have any alcohol hidden in my room anymore, because I don’t need it, and I do need places to hide my mini Reese’s from my parents.

It’s past time that I started swimming, and continued to paddle instead of floundering.

We All Fall Down

A few weeks ago I picked up a book that looked interesting. It turned out to be one of the most influential books I’ve ever read.

We All Fall Down by Nic Sheff is a very stark look at his failed attempts at rehab, his descent into different types of drugs and alcohol, and finally, the therapist who put him on the right track and is helping to get him to a good, sober place.

I certainly can’t relate to a lot of what he’s talking about (never having tried any drugs myself), but there are a lot of passages that struck a chord. For example,  when one of his exes starts going off on him, she says, “People are interested in you ’cause they wanna see how far down you’re gonna fall.” That actually hurt me, even though I was just reading about it happening to someone else. I’ve certainly felt like that’s why some people have hung around me.

Towards the end, he talks about how he’s following his own steps, as in the steps that are right for him. Not trusting in a deity or a prescribed set of rules that had never worked in the past anyway.

“…I sure as hell haven’t become a better person overnight….The trick now is to make less bad mistakes, less often.” That is exactly how I feel. I didn’t make mistakes like he did, and it’s certainly a different path, but it was really inspiring to read.

His friend (and fellow reformed addict) put it best when he said, “We still have a long way to go. Knocking it down’s the easy part. I mean, it’s building it back up that’s the fucking bitch.”

So that is my focus. It’s time to build. At my own pace.

Next Steps

Wow.

After relapsing hardcore (more than once), suffering a truly crippling sinus infection, and a somewhat serious drug interaction (while weaning off of one and starting to take another), I’m feeling a little better.

I have completed the obligatory 90 days that make up “Power 90″, and I’ve lost a little weight. Lost a little self-esteem as well, but the show must go on.

I’m keeping to my workout regimen, and trying desperately to cling to a state of normalcy. Lately, watching a lot of BBT and Veronica Mars has kept me holding steady. And reading. Any activity that isn’t 100% detrimental to my health and my plans to get better.

My therapist says that I have a problem with self-sabotage. I’m inclined to believe them. I assumed everything came too easy to me throughout high school and college, so now whenever anything good happens, I do something to ruin it because deep down, I don’t believe I’m worthy of anything good. It’s a work in progress, starting to think you’re worth something again. Still working.

On Relapsing

I’m not going to apologize, because it wouldn’t seem sincere, and I don’t deserve the forgiveness.

I’m not going to explain anything, because it will only sound like a bunch of excuses.

I will say that I have been doing better, even though it wasn’t evidenced in recent events. I will say that I am going to try other things, different ways of attempting to get better, see different doctors, take different meds. All I can do is continue to try.

I’m not going to discuss this horrible backslide, because I’m embarrassed with and ashamed of myself and my behavior (or lack thereof). My complete failure makes me feel sick in my heart.

I won’t discuss how I am working to find a better solution – one that I will stick with, no matter the circumstance. Even though it may someday help others cope with similar relapses, at the moment, I need to keep things private, go to ground and focus on helping myself.

I need to stop dragging others down with me,  stop making excuses and get better.