Progression of an Illness Pt. 1
To the loved and Loved
I write this as I’m sitting in my quaint rehab bedroom, listening to music that will only feed into these thoughts and dark memories that I have to lay to rest once and for all in order to heal and move forward in my recovery. For the past two years I have gone through a process of grief and rebirth. Over and over. Sometimes cumulatively, sometimes regressively. Sometimes both at the same time.
After graduating college and fulfilling the only milestones I thought I may ever accomplish, demons and shadows crept into my life. How much of my life did I live to appease the expectations of those around me? How many of my accomplishments painted themselves as dreams in my brain, and upon execution simply left me empty and alone?
“It’s okay. Tomorrow’s the weekend, you know what that means.” Weeks pass. “It’ll be okay! I heard if you drink in the morning your hangover will go away. Months pass. “You’re still functioning! They’re drinking the same amount, everything will be okay.”
While battling my inner struggles my body decided to attack. I went through TSW and spent months with burning, itchy, painful skin that left me sleepless and suicidal. If I couldn’t fall asleep because of my skin, I could at least drink until I passed out. The alarms would wake me up for work in the morning.
This cycle left me isolated and alone. I hated to go out in public because of the condition of my skin. Strangers would comment on it, I hated looking in the mirror, and I would dig my nails into my broken body and scream “I HATE MYSELF” with tears streaming down my face. Alcohol was always there to make me feel better. I didn’t care about my body and I didn’t care about my thoughts when I drank. Neither did the liquor. Sure, I’d take a few trips to the E.R. because of seizures from alcohol withdrawal every now and then. “As long as I’m taking my medication and seeing a therapist I can still moderate my drinking right??”
A moment came when I realized again the life I was living was a lie. An “identity crisis” you could call it. I thought I could live my life on the terms of others expectations until I couldn’t recognize who I was. And I see at this moment that I can’t offer the same love back to the person I made a commitment of marriage with. They deserve better, but I’m afraid. It’s too painful to verbalize, too terrible to think about, even. I might be afraid and discontent but I’m comfortable enough. So I continue on and hope everything works out.
Until it doesn’t. I break the heart of my best friend. I get kicked out, divorce papers are delivered to me in the mail shortly after. I’m out’ed as a cheater on a public forum and for the first time in a long time I believe that if there is a hell, I deserve to go to it. (This belief still threatens my mind).
COVID hit. The entire world was alone and apart from one another. My job as an “essential worker” kept me busy enough, but that entire year wasn’t filled with much of anything besides working, drinking, and repeating. My skin was still isolating me from society, I missed a lot of work because of my flares... but I found the person I am confidently in love with, and we were doing just fine.
I dropped Bento off at a boarders before Jackson and I take a small vacation, and I remember feeling concerned because he was struggling to get up their stairs. After bringing him home, he becomes paralyzed in his back legs. I spend every last dollar I can bringing him to the Emergency Vet over and over so we can figure out what’s wrong. I’m told that the operation to see what’s really going on inside of him is $3,000. And even then, he only has a 50% chance of walking again. I’m completely alone when I’m told this news, to this day I struggle with finding the words to explain how I felt.
I see now what I couldn’t see then-- that losing Bento was my breaking point. Up until that point I at least cared about something. In the course of 6 months I lost myself and the two things I loved most in the world.
What do you do when you hate yourself and lose everything you care about?
“The liquor store closes at 9.”
