The sickness.

Woke up just after 11:30. Something in my body just felt like I had a hundred thousand bricks laying on top of me. The hunger was not even strong enough to get me out of bed.

When I finally did get out of bed it was because I had more information being requested for my funding package for school. Somehow I found the motivation to go to that and now it’s an hour later and I am back in bed.

I know I should be outside enjoying the sun. I know that I should hop in the shower to wake myself up. I know that if I even just step outside for a moment it will change the way I feel.

But I don’t want to. I just want to sit here, back in bed. I want to sit here and process things. I want to process my life. With all it’s greatness and all the sadness.

As I was driving yesterday I realized that when I did my 12 steps in recovery, I didn’t quite complete them. I hold huge resentments against myself, and they come up every so often. The kind of resentments if I had just stayed at my parents house with my daughter, after my mom’s birthday dinner – just as they had asked – my brother would be alive another day. But no – I just had to go home. For what reason? Because there was drugs there.

And even the resentment when my brother voiced that he was sick and didn’t want to go back to the psych ward. He showed me his wrists and I didn’t even remember anything about what he was talking about. I told him to suck it up. I didn’t take him seriously. I told him he had his neice to live for, after he said he had nothing to live for.

The resentment about not wanting to get clean off meth sooner. I missed so much of my entire families lives in this time. I missed so much.

I am just so mad at myself for being absent for so much. And now I feel like I’m being absent again, but for all the different reasons. There is a sickness that lived inside of me, and it’s no longer drug addiction. It’s just a sickness and it’s driving me back to bed.

I feel like I am failing as a person lately. Even with my boyfriend I am so reactive over everything. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to spend half the days regretting what I have just done. 

I feel sick and I feel well all at the same time. The part of me that feels well just thinks that this should be good enough. The part of me that is sick thinks that it could be worse.

What if I am more sick in the head than I realize? What if I am really an awful person to be around. I’m so loud. So overreactive. Explosive. Unruly. What if all these things I thought were just a part of my loud personality are actually things that drive people mad?

I’m overthinking. Just as I thought I was coming down from the mania, I guess it turns out I am not.

So I will sit here in my bed, in the dark. And I will think a little bit more, about all the things that I shouldn’t be thinking about. Because I don’t have a handle on reality right now.

I need a few moments.

Life happens.

As I drove to the nooner recovery meeting this morning, I felt an all familiar but distant feeling. The feeling that I get when driving over the overpass into downtown langley. It’s hope and relief combined into one. It happens nearly everytime I am driving to a meeting.

When I arrived I sat outside and chatted with a few people from the fellowship. One of them asked me about my book and so we were talking about that. See that’s the thing about the fellowship. These people know me. They know what’s going on in my life no matter how long i have been absent for. They are my fellows.

At 11:41 my phone rang and it was my sponsor calling. I thought it was kind of strange because I had just been messaging her half an hour prior and everything seemed ok.

She told me where she was and that she needed me to come pick her up and bring her to the hospital. I asked if she was ok and what was going on but it was like she was speaking in tongue. I ran to my car. Like actually ran. I even ran past my car because I had no idea where I parked.

As soon as I pulled into the gas station I saw a few police vehicles waiting there for bust people on cell phones or with no seat belts. When I walked up to my sponsors vehicle I told her I just needed to get some gas and then we would be on our way. The conversation led to that what happened was she was not in her right mind and she had her cell phone in her lap. She wasn’t looking at the phone but just lost in the gaze looking down at her lap. The police officer lady busted her and she had apologized and explained to her that she was mentally ill. She then told the police officer she wanted to go to the hospital so she said to phone a friend.

I am that friend. I was there in 7 minutes and I was ready to take her to the hospital after we took a few laps around town. We made a stop at the meeting and were 20 minutes late. We were hesitant about even going, because what we are both going through is considered an outside issue from the recovery meetings. Mental health is considered an outside issue. This hurts sometimes because I know alot of the people, especially the women also suffer from things other than just alcohol. Sometimes it’s drugs, sex, gambling,eating issues,family, mental health problems, but they are all outside issues.

So when I start to feel mania coming on I retreat. Because I can’t share about my mania at meetings. Because they will tell me to pray about it. I need to talk about it. Then let it go. But first and foremost I need to talk to other people who experience the same things as myself.

Though it feels like a double edged sword at times. Does my mania grow from not attending enough meetings? Does my mania grow or my depression grow from not being able to freely talk about such things in the very place I feel most comfortable to talk about them. I know that outside the meeting when I meet with the fellows before the meeting, that is a free for all. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Sometimes I just need to say things outloud to really understand them.

So we made it for the last portion of the meeting. I battled with myself and my sponsor about whether to take her to the hospital. After a lengthy discussion it was decided that I would take her home and feed her lunch. We would relax for a bit and then she would go home to recharge.

She is standing in front of me right now and she is 120% better. The new combination of medication her doctor has prescribed her is having horribly adverse effects on her well being right now. It also just so happens her doctor is away for 3 weeks. I really hope I can continue to help her through this.

In the way that she has helped me through many of my very difficult and life changing moments.

And yes there is this huge anonymity thing about the recovery program we are in, but she is ok with me writing about what happened today. Because it happened in our lives, outside of the anonymity of the recovery room.

And these outside issues we have, need to be acknowledged and released. Otherwise they will kill us.

I need a meeting.

I can’t let the sickness take me over.

I got up, picked out 3 hot weather suitable dresses. Had a quick shower. Took my meds. Now I sit listening to grace wanderwaal and Lorde. My makeup is half done. My hair is also half done. I’m taking a moment for myself.

I’m going to go to a recovery meeting. When I thought the last time I went was 2 weeks ago, I looked at my calender. I think it was actually more than 3 weeks ago. The sickness wants to take ahold of me again.

It wants me to drink. It wants me to use. Even though I don’t want to do either. How else did it have a grip on me for so long, even though I knew it was killing me? Quite literally killing me.

I have too much to live for. Right in this very moment I have so much going for me. I have such a bright future. I cannot be another statistic.

I have been afraid to go to a meeting because my mind is too messy. I am too fucked up for a recovery meeting in my mind. My mind doesn’t want to drink. I am just too fucked up.

I need a meeting. I need it because it’s like medicine. It’s like therapy. It’s a piece of the solution.

Why am I so scared to go back? I didn’t go out and drink or use. Why is this so hard? I had an easier time going to a meeting after going back out and drinking.

Why is this so hard. My brain keeps trying to talk me out of it.

I need a meeting.

Spinning.

Yesterday I decided I could handle a half decaf iced Americano. In the afternoon. And I drank the whole thing. Without any regards to how it would make me feel when I was trying to sleep at night. 

I didn’t even think about that’s because I drank just enough to wake me up, but not enough to cause any sort of adverse reaction. Oh ha. That’s wrong. Because clearly I was manic as fuck. I remember being on a spiral that kept going up and down. Something that happened completely out of my control, made me go bat shit crazy. I fired off an insane amount of blogs in a row. But no, the caffeine did not affect me.

I took my medicine around 9:45, and I lay down in bed to watch a show on Netflix. Usually I can’t even get through one episode of anything before my medication kicks in and I have to turn the show off. Last night was different though. I have not experienced that awful feeling of being stuck wide awake staring at the ceiling for a long time.

Waiting for my medication to allow me to sleep. Waiting for my brain to get shut off. Knowing that the second I pick up my phone or my iPad to watch Netflix, I basically restart the sleep countdown clock. The sleep countdown clock when mania has been induced and caffeine has been consumed can sometimes be 5 minutes, or 5 hours.

This mania and caffeine combination is very unpredictable. 

So I lay in bed, and I wait. Which is fine because I don’t have to be up early. But I know as I am laying there that the feelings I am feeling about being wide awake and it being out of my control – is just like being on drugs. Being on drugs and not being able to go to sleep. And this brings back awful feelings. Awful physical and mental waves of just pure shittiness.

And that lack of sleep comes in patches through the night. Everytime I get up to go pee I have to decide whether turning on the bathroom light to wake myself up completely is actually a good option. So I keep my eyes closed as to not wake myself up fully. I need a nightlight for the bathroom.

This was my solution.

I think that I would have been safer, to have done such a thing in the winter time. When the sun wasn’t shining. Because much like caffeine, the sunshine also can trigger an episode. This isn’t just me pulling facts out of my ass. It actually does.
So yesterday I mixed up a cocktail of sunshine and caffeine. I chugged it back and the result was mania, emotional distress and a side of insomnia. All which are not just reactions, but if I let them be – they become chains that lead to a long line of reactions and resulting problems.

I wanted to go to a recovery meeting today but I feel too manic to get up out of bed yet. My thoughts are spinning. My mind is going crazy. Recovery meetings are not there for the mental health problems of the people in the fellowship. It is strictly for the problems with alcohol, in the case of the fellowship I go to. What I am going through right now has nothing to do with them. So where do I fit in right now?

I wish there was a concurrent disorders recovery group.

Until I figure something out I need to sit here and wait to calm down. I am even afraid to take my morning medication right now because it may make my mania worse.

My head is spinning.

Worth.

How will I ever be able to help people, if I am so broken?

Why does the hope that live inside me come and go so frequently? This rapid cycling feels like tremors. They are coming on faster than I can type. I can type pretty fast.

The thoughts are racing. My pulse is slow. My eyes are tired from crying.

All I could think about earlier was that I wanted to numb out. How on earth does someone in recovery numb out? It’s been weeks since I have been to a meeting. I used to go almost everyday. Life is happening so fast. I need a meeting. I need to get reconnected to my friends in the fellowship. I need to step outside of myself. I need to help others right now. But how do I help someone when I am so broken?

How does my worth change when I feel like someone I love suddenly hates me? Why does my worth change based on the opinion of others. This makes no sense. My worth should be how I feel inside. How I have grown. I am flourishing. But my worth feels not worthy enough.

Please universe take this nonsense out of my brain. My heart tells me I’m worthy, but my eyes are playing tricks on me. There is chunks of information missing in my timeline and it’s really screwing with my mindset.

Running.

I ate a little bit of chicken and it was not as delicious as I remember it. I talked to my sponsor on the phone and I cried and I just feel like I am going backwards.

I don’t want to go backwards. There is some things that I think about how it would be great if things turned out differently in my life – but then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be the same person I am right now. I did not suffer for so long, for nothing. I was born to help people. Help people is what I will do.

And I know I am good. The core of me is good and true. I know I am becoming the person I have always dreamed of being. But when things happen outside of my control, that make me question myself – I start to break.

I am cracking at my seams. 

How do I heal from this trauma when I feel like it’s killing me every so often. Just when I think I’m going forward – just when I can be proud of moving forward. Things jump back ten thousand feet.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

How many times have I said I am sorry. I feel like I’m breaking. My limbs are so tired. It feels like I have been running for over 30 years. It’s because I was. I was running for so long and now – only now that I am clean and sober, is my past catching up to me.

No notice.

My mind is racing. My brain is telling me that I am a bad person. I am not good. I am bad. I will always be bad. This is a facade.

Because I finally had a window in to someone very important to me. Someone who was in my life in the distant past. And the internet is a very amazing place to find these windows. And my search skills are very impeccable. And that window kept getting bigger and bigger. And now the windows is closing. Rapidly. 

I feel like I have had the freedom to walk past the window – day after day. I have been ok to look inside and see the pictures on the walls. To read the writings on the wall. To just look, but not allowed to knock on the door.

And now the walls have been erased. The window has been closed. I feel like the door maybe even be boarded up.

But there is no notice on the door. So I have no idea what just happened.

But it feels much like a storm is coming. My heart feels like its shrinking. And my self doubt is coming on full force. I cannot control this. This is what happens when the what ifs and all the why’s fill my head.

I’d honestly rather be dead.

Why was there no notice on the door?

Me and caffeine.

When I was on drugs I didn’t drink coffee. Because it made me feel like I was on drugs. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. So when I quit doing meth I thought I would need to have some sort of stimulant substitution to keep me above water. 

First I drank red bull because I thought that would be the closest thing to meth. Soon I learned that energy drinks were very expensive. Especially for someone with no income. Coffee became my best friend because when I went to recovery meetings – it was free.

The question I would always ask when going to a new meeting was, will there be coffee?

Something was wrong with my brain and I decided to quit taking my meds and coffee was soon replaced with alcohol. This went on for about a year and a half, maybe a bit more. 

When I put myself in the psych ward I started taking the proper medications for my mental health issues. When I got out I went back to drinking coffee, but I soon realized that coffee was doing more damage than good. There wasn’t ever an ‘aha’ moment where I decided I couldn’t have very much caffiene, it was sort of a slow realization. This was difficult for me because I was drinking coffee everyday for a good while there. I really liked the whole idea of drinking coffee in the morning to wake up.

Thing is, when I have one cup of coffee – there is no line between not enough and too much. If it’s in front of me I will drink it. With no worry in my mind what will happen. 
I am extremely caffeine sensitive. I will be sipping my coffee and something in my brain says that I need more. That it’s not enough. So I will sip more. Then this continues on until I have had more than enough and my brain finally kicks in and says Woah, that was way too much.

And when its way too much I am immediately in a state of discomfort. The kind of discomfort that you cannot sleep off, because I am caffeinated. My pulse is racing, my mind is so sharp that it starts to feel fuzzy. My mania kicks into overdrive and everything that is already big and huge and enlarged in my mind, becomes 10x what it is. I feel unwell. I feel uneasy. 

Not to mention the sleep thing. I take my medicine at night and it helps me sleep, but if I am caffeinated it’s a patchy sleep. I do not feel rested. I feel like I dropped acid and went to sleep. This is not my idea of fun.

It’s a stimulant. My body doesn’t want, need, like or crave it anymore.

Though sometimes I am feeling destructive. Sometimes I want to rebel. Sometimes my brain forgets what the last time was like, or even what the worst time was like. Because every single time is a different reaction or even non-reaction. But why would I want to even chance it?

Also it’s hard to trust people when you ask for a half decaf of anything. Human errors occurs and that’s almost as dangerous as asking for a virgin ceasar and not having someone pre-taste it for me. Which is what happens every single time. With caffeine you cannot taste the difference between caffeinated, half caf, or decaf.

It’s a very dangerous world out there.

Steak.

Woke up at 8 this morning. I was ready to start my day. Set out to get everything packed for a day trip to white pine beach in Port Moody. Only to realize after my boyfriend talking about me having to work this afternoon – that it didn’t make sense.

I felt exhausted anyways. I went back to sleep and woke up at 11:30. I’m trying to figure out what is making me so exhausted. Number one – it’s the heat. Number two – I am on day four of not eating any meat. I have eating tuna, and prawns but no land animal meat. Which is very difficult because I eat chicken generally at least once a day.

I have never actually felt very good after eating a meal that has meat in it. Like my body digests it differently. It is also really easy for me to overeat when I have a slab of meat on my plate. I will always eat all the food that sits in front of me. 

If I have a bucket full of veggies I can munch on it all day and not feel bad about what I am putting in my body. I have learned there is such a thing as too much fruit. But is there such a thing as too much veggies?

If someone put a medium rare steak in front of me right now though, I would eat it. 

First world problems.

I have been feeling weird feelings about my hair since I got it done the other day. I thought that I just needed to get used to not wearing it straight. I kept trying to talk myself into how good it looked. 

Then when I got home today I took my hair out of the ponytail and realized how much of a trainwreck it was. The lady that cut it did not give me a regular haircut. She gave me what was called a ‘deva cut’ where she basically just went in and cut the ends of certain curls. Which would have been fine, had she given me an actual haircut first.

But she did not.

So today I took a good hard look at my hair. I realized it had chunks missing from various spots. I thought the solution to the shitty non haircut would be to straighten my hair, only to realize that if I straighten my hair the trainwreck will look even worse.

I tried not to freak out, but the first thought in my mind was that I needed to find the scissors. Acting out in old behaviors. 

Why do I keep getting shitty after shitty haircut. It looks good in the chair and when I get home a few days later it’s a different story. I wouldn’t have gone to this curl specialist but I had gone to her before. She did an amazing job fixing a butchered haircut the last time I had one. But when I showed up this time, it was not the same lady. It was her daughter and her mom had retired and sold her the salon.

I won’t say the name of the salon because I am not seeking revenge. I am just not happy and I can’t wait until Tuesday for her to be open again to maybe be able to fix my hair.

So thank god for Facebook I put the word out about my very last minute hair issue and now here I sit waiting. In the perfectly cool house of a lovely lady I have known since high school. She answered my cry for help within moments.

So now I feel alot better about the way things are going today.

I was so angry earlier. I was praying that this wasn’t the crazy thing that caused me to drink. I have fought too hard for this. I have worked too much for this life.

These are my first world problems.