There’s nothing like becoming closely acquainted with the kitchen floor. Normally those cold tiles against my cheek and the motion of the room would be a result of being drunk or high, or on a really good night, both.
Last night, as my friends were celebrating the approach of the Christmas break by getting wasted, I lay on my kitchen floor wondering how I got to this point. Trying to make sense of the mess that my life has become.
After an intense therapy session yesterday, it took me hours to reconnect with myself, with the present. I wanted to participate in the festivities with my co-workers. I desperately want to belong in that environment, like I used to. But I was so wiped out from therapy I passed out in the kitchen. That’s how I ended up face down on the tiles.
I couldn’t open my eyes because the room was spinning around me. I had to just lie there and wait. And in that waiting time I wondered whether I had reached the bottom. I don’t know what the hell that is, but it crosses my mind every now and again.
I think I’ve realised now that there is no such thing. It’s all relative. I know this because I’ve given up on the idea that after reaching the very worst point, everything starts to get better. That’s just not how it works.
What is really confusing is that the really tough days happen more now that I am ‘in recovery’. During my breakdown, every day felt black. And the more these black days happened, they became the status quo. They weren’t black anymore, they were normal. I was flatlining.
Now those days feel so much worse. Because there is some light. There are moments or hours that feel brighter. That means those dark times are so much harder to tolerate. They reinforce everything I am working against, they knock me down. Worst of all, they remind me I’m not in control.
This stage of recovery is a daily battle. Against self-harm, rage, grief, addiction, panic and suicide. I have to fight every day to just be functional.
There’s no instant gratification in this process. And there’s no returning to life as it was before. That’s probably one of the hardest things to handle, that being out of place. Missing out. Not belonging or having a role. Watching my friends celebrate together and feeling like I’m always going to be a satellite. Wondering whether I can ever reconnect with that old life and feeling so scared that I might have to leave it all behind.
Photo credit: Nadine Heidrich, Creative Commons.
blackspotsite 
Beautifully written
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you š
LikeLike
Once again. You described me. The light and the darkness. The sun peeking out of the clouds, only to be washed away by a thunderstorm.
It’s been hard, worse, better, to worse again.
I love my kitchen. Floor, not sure what it means. But I lay on it more often than my living room or bedroom floor. I also hide in closets when I’m upset too. Lol. Sure that came from childhood but I don’t remember why.
You are part of my light in my darkness. Knowing I’m never alone. Knowing how similar we are, it’s like you are a long lost sister from another time and place.
Hugs
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was about to write, ‘you have no idea what that means to me’, but then I thought, actually you do. I love reading your words, being impacted by what you write and how my writing affects you. I felt alone with my internal world for 18 years. It does feel so great to connect with someone who understands.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You do mean the world to me. I haven’t found another blog I follow as much as yours, or one I can relate to as much as yours. I often feel as though I’m reading my own thoughts, things I haven’t even dared to let myself think. You’ve helped me to grow, to believe in myself and in this journey, through all the bad and the good. ā¤
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so glad to hear that. Somehow it makes everything more bearable if I feel like some good can come of it. On my good days, I have the ambition of retraining as a therapist and working with people like us. It enables me to make sense of my experience, if I create a purpose for it. You know I think of you often, and I worry about you when I don’t read anything from you for a few days. We are connected x
LikeLike
I also was in school to be a counselor. I wanted to be a nurse, but I ended up in jail with a felony for trafficking in heroin, which is where I sobered up, got saved and felt called to become a counselor. I never once considered it until then.
I believe I was given this life because I’m strong enough to live it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell . I vow to live happily ever after and to do that, i have to fight through this hell cause unfortunately, now after all these years, the only way out of this hell, is going through it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Also, on the closets thing, I do that too. In hospital I used to wedge myself between my bed and the wall when I felt really awful. I think it comes from our animal instinct to protect ourselves. Being in an enclosed space just feels safe.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah, I do tend to hide in closed spaces. Bathrooms, in between my fridge and a shelf we have by it, I used to have a “fort” that I made under my computer desk that I would run away to, lol, that was only last year. I should try that again.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I guess it’s something about our wounded inner child. She wants to hide from all this where nobody can reach her. But that physical safety doesn’t shut down the thoughts, memories and flashbacks. That’s what I struggle with now I’m not drinking. There is nothing I can do other than try to distract myself. That’s why I’m always posting here.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Drinking got me through the first week of my breakdown. It was the only I could do to stop the thoughts and fears.
I think me hiding helps me feel safe(r) in my hurt and suffering. It helps me process (if possible) what exactly I’m feeling. One of my struggles is not knowing what I feel, or why I’m upset. I need to get safe space I guess. I’m glad you always post here, there is always a new post when I need one.
LikeLike