Maybe it was my quivering stomach that awoke me. My head heavy and my heart along with it. I stand up to get water, and I wonder if my legs will hold me. My eyes have dry tears stuck to them.
More then half of my Saturday was spent in drunk phone calls. Reaching out for help, while losing the idea of what I really need help with.
It’s that low point in drinking for 30 days straight. That depressant within it that finally kicked in. Was it building up to this point all along?
My body has sore throughout. Some places more then others. I am weak and my brain fuzzy and confused and I’m conflicted and uncertain and I don’t feel stable. I have to move slow, and slow is even too fast. I have to make a decision, and that is one decision too many.
I will figure this out. And I will need to be confident on what I figure out or else I will not be able to act on it. I feel like my heart just doesn’t want to let go but that is confusing my head up because my head I think, thinks it should.
I don’t recall experiencing such highs and such lows, one after the other, in all my life.
Soaring for days, for weeks even, and then plummeting in an instant. Finding self in the dark caves of insecurity with self abosrbed and self hating rocks in all the tunnels.
How the hell did I get here?
I’m stretching out my arms, with my fingertips trembling for any sort of sense.
But the thing is, it all does. It makes sense why I’m here, how I’m here and why I feel the way I do. Well, that part gets me a bit confused. I’m not really sure why I reach very low points. Other then the reason I’m going through a divorce and I’m terrified about what happens to my child in the future. Sort of a lack of control. Future does have you behind the controls to some extent and even though I still do-I can afterall, control my behaviour, my actions and try and steer my feelings accordenly- it feels that all of a sudden life has dropped the drive to go forward and I’m coasting towards a giant brick wall.
My desire to see friends wanes. I know they’ll make me happy but when I reach low, it’s hard to even want to be happy. Self Pity. Oh what a deadly thing.