Music.

During my meth addiction I feel like music was one of the things that kept me alive. It sounds a bit crazy but at certain times in my life, music was all I had left. I could always find myself relating to the music more than I felt like I could relate to the world.

I had always wanted to go to a music festival, but I didn’t want to be that person that had meth smoke billowing out of her tent. Besides that, I really didn’t ever feel comfortable putting my pipe down at all. That’s why going to nightclubs and staying for about 2 hours or so, right at the end of the night usually worked best for me. I could get a good dose of music, and then be on my way to self medicate.

Even after I quit meth, I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of going to a music festival. Just too much of everything, and I didn’t see myself being able to handle it. Then I started drinking and partying again and I would have loved to go to one, because that meant an entire weekend of doing what I did best. Fucking up my life.

When I quit drinking and drugging just over 2 years ago, I was invited to my sister in law’s bachelorette party, which was at a weekend long music festival. I said no, because I didn’t see myself being strong enough to spend a weekend, nevermind a day with people drinking and enjoying themselves so freely. The thought terrified me and I decided I would never get to experience a music festival in my lifetime.

Yesterday I thought that I was attending my first festival, which was Electric Love Festival. But today I am realizing it actually wasn’t my first. I had been to one before, back in 2008. Which was the first year of Pemberton Fest. But my memory was so bad that I pushed it away and I forgot I had even been to one before. 

So on Friday I decided that I needed to take a day off and go with my boyfriend to Electric Love. In preparation I not only got together a cooler full of fresh fruit and veggies but also tonnes of snack food. Because I know how I behave when I am feeling nervous. I eat, almost constantly. It’s my coping mechanism. I also prepared myself by trying to not have any assumptions about anything as I went to spend the day enjoying the sun, water, music and friends. I would let go of my past thoughts that the only thing people are doing at music festivals are getting fucked up. Because that was just what my head was telling me.

When we arrived, we were met by my brother at the gate. We were given our wristbands and went to park my car. I was instantly amazed by what I was seeing. It was an idea, that was formed by a group of people. It was something that started so small, for the love of music and getting together, and it had grown into something so comfortable and big. My brother is one of the key people that put together this event, and it was really cool to be there to finally experience it. I expected to only see people I knew, but it’s so much bigger than the small group of people now.

When you add music to something, it grows legs. It becomes something else all on its own and the other people that hear about it, carry it with them and share it with their friends.

I stayed sober and clean for what I will still remember as my first festival, even though I know now that it was my second. For that I’m pretty proud of myself.

Edit and revise.

If I had a dollar for everytime I opened this window to post a new blog entry, and ended up just cancelling the post – I would have quite a few dollars.

I have been busy with putting so much of myself into my epilogue for my book. In the beginning it was just an after-thought. That was in no way shape or form, my idea. I was fully against the idea of writing about what happened after I stopped writing the book. I didn’t want to even go there. So I hastily put some sentences together and I called it my epilogue. 

When my editor read it, she was not impressed. I was mad that she was not impressed. So I avoided putting any more work into it, at all costs. I’m really good at avoidance, in every aspect of my life. 

But I wanted to avoid it so much so I started this blog, and I put my all into it. So much that it actually started making me sick. I was writing about stuff and then hanging onto it. I started rotting inside. 

So then I stopped obsessing over things. I stopped writing about the things that were coming to the surface because I was not in the right head space to be addressing those issues. 

So now I’m ping ponging again right back to the reason I started this blog. To avoid working on my epilogue. 

I kept saying I needed to finish my book. But in order to finish my book, I need to continue working on the epilogue. I have been putting in alot of hard and honest work into it lately. I have learned that breaking it up into small bits has worked best for me. Even just working a sentence at a time is often the only way to conquer it. The one sentence at a time adds up to alot when you are working for a good 4 hours on it.

Then there was that part of me that kept trying to rush the process. Because I wanted to have it ready to go before I started school. Well what if it’s not ready before then? I can’t just go publishing a half polished piece of work. But sometimes my brain just tells me that should be good enough. Even though I know in my heart that I will truly know when it’s done.

So there is no timeline on the book being published. If I get it done before I start school, then I will publish it then. If not, then it will have to wait for my attention until Christmas break. 

Until then, I will edit and revise, as many times as I see fit. Until I read it outloud and everything makes sense, and all the words are in the places they were meant to be.

Sugar.

Last Tuesday night, right at the beginning of my crash I had decided that it was my medicine that wasn’t working effectively anymore. That I needed to add new medication to my arsenal. So the very next day I made an appointment with my family doctor. My mind was made up.

That night and the next two days was actually the darkest my mind had been, since the last time I had drank. Which was well over 2 years ago.

I wouldn’t wish those kinds of thoughts or feeling upon my worst enemy. It’s a bad place to be. So bad, that I am really lucky and happy to have made it out in one piece. 

So now that I am back to feeling perfectly normal – I have to look back and pick apart everything that was going on. I understand I was feeling very emotional and I was stressed. It was a compounding affect. I had also been missing alot of meetings and working on my recovery. But physically, something was just so much worse inside of me.

I am learning about my body and the things that are good and bad for it. One chocolate bar is not going to kill me. It’s not going to make me go crazy. It won’t make me crash. But I do know that one chocolate bar might lead to 5 more. Which might lead to an entire weekend of eating garbage food. Eating so much added sugar that I feel like I can’t physically stop. I feel like a junkie and I just keep going.

That’s exactly what I did the entire weekend right before the crash. And the sugar did something to me. It was like it not only poisoned my body, but also my mind. It made what was already going to be a bad result, into a literal deadly combination.

This may sound a little bit crazy. But when you stop and think about it, sugar acts like a drug in the brain. 

And I had been acting like a dry drunk for an extended period of time. I realized and admitted this, and yet still I went face first into a weekend full of me bingeing on sugar. I was substituting with the safest option I thought possible. So I had a spiritual, emotional and then mental relapse. I fell apart and the last thing I wanted to do was drink or use.

But what I had just done to myself felt worse than the affects of drinking or using. I really need to be more patient with myself. I need to listen to that voice in my head more. The one that questions things. Because if I am questioning a behavior of my own, then face value I know that my behavior is questionable.

Whatever I put into my body, will affect it. It does not matter the substance. 

Which also brings me to my doctor’s appointment. When I finally got in to see him, I did not ask for more medication. I asked for a referral to see a psychiatrist. I not only need to be more proactive in my continued recovery from substances, but also in the maintenance of my mental health.

My first appointment is scheduled for February 2, 2018. Which is a really long time away – but it’s progress.

I have the choice.

I really wanted to stay in bed all day today. Something in my mind and body were trying to convince me I was sick. The first time I woke up, it was with a horrible headache that felt like the verge of a migraine. The second time I woke up was because I had a 5 minute long muscle spasm that was causing me to scream and cry. No matter how much I tried to relax and massage the spasm, it kept getting worse. The third time I woke up was because I was sweating so uncontrollably that the bed was soaked with sweat. But I wasn’t feeling hot. The room did not feel warm at all. I just felt soaked and disgusting.

A part of my brain was telling me that I was sick and I needed to stay in bed until the afternoon.

I had to pull myself out of bed. I know that I am in charge of doing that. I am the only person that can get me out of bed. I make the choice. I hold the day right there in the palm of my hand.

It’s crazy how awesome I felt the past few days. Like seriously kickass. I felt like life was just going so good, minus a few little self caused stresses that were solved quickly. Everything was just feeling right about life.

And then today I wake up, and it’s just like old behaviors. I guess I forget often that these behaviors are not old. They are current. Just because I got out of those behaviors for a few days doesn’t mean that I’ve changed the way I deal with things. 

I am working on it.

I really am. So I got up and made my way to a meeting. I spent the afternoon with a friend from school and her daughter and we hung out at my brother’s cemetery. I am realizing this is a really grounding thing to do, because if I ever feel like things are getting too bad, too much, or too anything. All I need to do is look at my brother’s gravestone.

He didnt even get a chance, because he let his sickness win. He will never know all the things I have known. The things I will see and feel. Learn. Love. Conquer. Express. Experience. 

So for me ever to create drama rooted in my own thoughts. To make something out of nothing and let it grow into a huge thing that tries to take me down, and keep me in bed – is absolutely selfish of me.

Because some people don’t even have a chance or choice whether they make it out of bed, and through the day.

I do.

I have the choice in the morning where my day is headed.

The truth.

My whole life I have been on the defense. At any given moment, I have been ready to go to war. When I feel any sort of threat to to my love, home, heart, work or progress I attack before I can be attacked. I become this huge black mass of feathers ready to consume the entire world with my super scary act. But it’s all an act. It’s really just rooted in my deep fears that I have grown up with. That with years of self abuse I have futhur embedded them in the core of my soul.

I really did think just a few short months ago, that I was doing better. I was so happy all the time. I was so excited for my future, and I was finally feeling like I was healing from my past. I felt annoying for the most part because I was so in shock by all the cool things happening – that I was stuck on repeat.

Like your favourite song of the day, week, month or even year. You play it over and over again. In the car. On your headphones. Even in your mind when you are sitting listening to the sounds of absolutely nothing but the thump of your own heart somehow tapping the inside of your ear drum. The song never gets old, to the person who has chosen it as a favorite. For all the other people that have been blessed to listen to it over and over as well, it becomes their least favorite. That’s what my excitement sometimes feels like.

I felt like I was changing for a bit there. I could feel myself growing and becoming an adult by all the decisions I was making for my life. 

But the last week proved to me that I am still a stunted teenager. That my mind really has alot of growing to do. That my mental health issues are way worse than I thought they were. I need to put in more work, every single day. I need to maintain this feeling that I am feeling right now. I feel well. I feel happy. Accomplished. Brave. Strong. I am willing to do anything to keep it that way.
But when I crash, things are really bad. I didn’t want to drink last week. That was the last thing I wanted to do. But I don’t want to upset or worry anyone, but this needs to be said. Because this is the reality of mental illness. 

I actually wanted to die. I felt this horrible darkness just taking me over. It wanted me gone. It wanted me to cease to exist. 

This is absurd!!! How could someone who has come so far, who has lived and fought against all odds – feel this way? It didn’t make sense to me. But I didn’t want to live anymore. I was just tired. So exhausted. And my crashes are not like a normal persons crash. Mine are explosive and extremely hazardous to be in the crosshairs of.

So this feeling went on for a few days. I couldn’t shake it. So instead of suffer, I decided to share it. With my fellows. And I found myself begging for help. I found myself just broken and empty.

But not enough to drink.

Later in the day an old friend contacted me and she wanted to stop by my brother’s grave. The brother that was lost to suicide. This was a strange turn of events because I haven’t even been in contact with this friend for months, and she had no idea what was going on with me. She told me she had a gift from my lost brother, to give to his new neice that he never got to live to meet. Which was also weird because my brother was just thinking about him the day prior.

So here my brother is speaking from the grave. And I know he understands. But I also know that I am the master of my own feelings. I am the only one that can make the decision to stay sick or get better. I decide how I am going to face the day ahead. 

And I’m really trying now. I want to flourish. I want to not just live – but live well.

In order to be brave – I need to start acting brave again.

Mystery box.

I started writing again because I felt like there was so much inside of me that needed to be let out. It was like this force was just pounding on the inside of my skull. I needed to share. I needed to speak. I needed to say these things outloud so that they no longer had power over me.

But the unexpected happened. I started writing about the things that were troubling me. In the beginning it was healing. I was reaching deep inside of myself. I was sharing the honest and raw details of everything that was coming to the surface. It made me feel powerful. Because suddenly I felt like I was in control of the darkness inside of me. I was in control because I was in charge of how the darkness would be let out.

I was writing so that the darkness would loose its power over me. Then something shifted in my mind. I continued to write, but instead of the thoughts loosing their power over me, they started to grab at me. They became the forefront of my thoughts. They were suddenly taking charge. Those very feelings that I stuffed down inside of me, that I protected myself from for so long – were now in control.

I felt overwhelmed. I was devastated. I just didn’t understand why suddenly I had to feel all these emotions that I never felt when I was fucked up.

It’s because I called them to the surface. I brought them out. Without any regards to what would happen if I did so. I thought I was safe, because without drugs and alcohol in my life I should be able to handle any situation. This of course is untrue. My life is unmanageable as it is. Drugs and alcohol were my solution, even with all the negative things that happened as a result. Just the same I have turned writing into my recent solution. Which also carries negative things as a result. I need to tread carefully on the ghosts of my past.

This whole writing thing is like a curse and a blessing, all in the same neat little package. A mystery box. And I’ve got a lifetime subscription to it.

Reframing my world.

Today I am reframing my world. When I wake up generally my first thought would be do I have anything to do today? Followed by do I have more time to sleep? How much more sleep can I fit in? Can my hair go one more day before washing? Do I really need to eat breakfast?  If I have plans for the morning, then an alarm will go off for that. If it’s a hair straightening day then an alarm will go off for that too. Everything I do is scheduled into my calender, and into my phone alarms.

Except for today. Nothing is scheduled for my day, up until 4:00. So when I wake up today I reframed my mind. Everything that my brain was trying to tell me, I did the opposite of. I wanted to stay in bed. So I got up. I wanted to be lazy and just make my protein shake, even though I knew a fresh juice would be better. So I juiced my breakfast. I spent a bit of time in front of the mirror checking to see if my hair was too greasy to make it one more day. I really fought myself on this one. I hate the hassle of blow-drying and straightening. But then I ran a bath. I looked and felt the hair on my legs twice. Before coming to the conclusion I didn’t need to shave. When I actually do. I don’t want to do it today. But now that the bath is run, I might as well kill two birds with one stone.
I even thought about waiting to take my meds until later. So that I didn’t have to start my day until later. My brain is crazy. My best ideas got me drinking and using and that cycle is just constantly on repeat in my head. I think that I should listen to what my brain is telling me, because I should know what’s best for it. But it’s bull. I am constantly trying to cut corners to make things easier. And softer. 

I hate hassle. But when I finally go through the hassle that I am constantly trying to avoid, I find myself each and every single time – much happier as a result.

This are just the basic building blocks to my day, but they absolutely matter. Because the attitude I come into the day with is the exact same attitude I will leave the day with.

This too shall pass.

I want to write about what’s going on with me right now, but I can’t put it into words the things my brain has been telling me, without scaring anyone who is reading it. Or upsetting everyone. The thoughts and the moods are so rapidly changing that its making me feel like I’ve taken on the role of a crazy person in a movie. That when they stop filming, I go back out of character for a moment.

So I am working on some stuff that’s going on inside of me. It was brought to my attention today after a meeting that I am basically a dry drunk right now. It’s absolutely true. I have been doing nothing towards my recovery. I have been letting my crazy brain do the driving for a good long while now.

I reached out today to my group of fellows, and in turn I was given hope once again. I know where I belong. I know what I need to do.

So in order for me to survive this, I need to start the process all over again. That doesn’t mean I need to go out and drink – it means that my recovery needs a reboot.

I’ve been crashing so bad that I am exhausted from crying. My body is heavy and awful thoughts have found their way into my mind.

All I know is that this too shall pass.

Done writing.

It’s 1:30 I am still in bed.

I crashed hard last night when I got home. I didn’t want to talk about my day because I was so tired. I had been going for over 12 hours straight. He told me that’s what he does everyday. But I am not him. I am not built the same. My brain is not the same. My body is not the same.

I was told that I had been so negative the last few months that it was affecting my boyfriend. He couldn’t read my blog because it was negative.

Thing is… I was more positive in the last few months because I was able to write down the negative stuff and put it out there. Because the moment I write it down it starts changing and becoming something different.

I sat on the living room floor bawling my eyes out. Because I don’t want to be that person. That negative person that someone puts up with and loves because they don’t want them to break if they leave them. Looking back and trying to see whether the last few months I’ve only been negative makes me shake my head. If that’s true then I am living in a complete fabrication of reality.

It’s like when I’m super happy, I feel like too much. When I’m super depressed, I feel like too much. I am really starting to question everything about myself here.

I almost drove myself to the hospital last night but I had already taken my night time medication and it makes me very drowsy. I cried myself to sleep because I was crashing so hard. 

Now I am crying again. Because my boyfriend just called for the second time today to ask how I was doing. And he only could say oh wow when I told him I was still in bed.

Yes. Wow. It’s shocking I know. But this is what I am working with here. This is how fucked up I am. Now is it clear as to why I drank and used for so long? This is me without drugs. I am so broken. But somehow this whole time I thought I was healing?

Just when I thought this writing was helping, apparently it’s making me face too much negativity. All of this negative shit in my head started right after I started writing again.

So I’m done for now.

I’m done writing.

Always eat my feelings.

I had a very fulfilling day. It turned out to be everything I could have asked for. Even though the silence at times made me feel like I was in a place where I caused the silence. Sometimes the silence makes me think too much.

Now I am sitting here on the ferry on my way home. I am feeling emotions and when I feel emotion it is in my nature to consume. I already ate a huge lunch and before I got on the ferry I had an urge for coffee. I decided upon hot chocolate, instead of coffee – with the expert advice of my daughter. I thought about having a snack too but I told myself no. Until it got time to get to the counter and pay for my hot chocolate. Then I saw something that looked delicious and it was within reach. So I bought that little treat too.

I wolfed down the treat and almost finished the hot chocolate before even getting on the first ferry. I felt sick. I felt full.

Then before the ferry even docked I had decided I deserved a white spot hamburger, and that’s what I would eat on the second ferry. I could visualize myself sitting with the burger on the table in front of me. I could taste it. I could feel what I could only call nourishment. I decided I wouldn’t get fries or a pop.

Until I boarded the second ferry and raced to the lineup for dinner. I waited patiently and suddenly my brain was telling me that I needed to get the combo. Why did it think this? Because I pictured myself sitting down to eat and finishing my burger, and suddenly wanting a pop. Or french fries. But I don’t even really think I want french fries. I might want sweet potato fries though. So if I miss this opportunity to get the combo for a discounted price, I may screw myself in the end.

So I got the combo. With yam fries. But I asked for a bag for the fries so I could bring them home.

Once I say down to eat my burger I was full before I was halfway through. But I kept going. When I was done I placed my fries and chipotle sauce in the bag and went to the front of the ferry to relax. Within minutes I found myself tearing the sides of the paper bag so that I could munch on the fries. Then I opened the sauce and started dipping. I was full – but I kept going.

Until I had to move to a new location to charge my vape. So here I am sitting in the business area at a desk. The moment I sat down I plugged in my vape and then proceeded to finish my fries and the rest of my pop.

I feel so sick right now. I know I did it to myself, but I just couldn’t stop. Something in my brain told me that if I consumed I would only feel the pain of my stomach stretching. I would only feel sick. 

I wouldn’t have to process all the good feelings and the unexplainable feelings I am feeling.

This makes no sense for me to be feeling this way. I didn’t have a bad day – it was the exact opposite. My brain is crosswired wrong and I need to work on that.

I feel fuzzy, full, sick and exhausted. If this ferry ride was just a little bit longer I would curl up on the floor and wait out this horrible feeling of overeating.

This feeling of eating my feelings.