Tonight I broke down while trying to sort through the absolute mountain of a mess that my life somehow, and somewhere, had become. I felt helpless as I sobbed into space and yet I haven’t cried in a while and so it had something of a cathartic effect…and I was cognizant of the fact that a month ago I would have been too numbed at this hour in the evening to feel anything enough to cry. So crying means I’m alive? The fear is intense here because I do not know how to begin sorting through this mess and yet I feel I have been doing nothing but trying to recollect and reorganize myself for four weeks and there is barely a dent made in the work to do. It is like running your first marathon and already having leg cramps and blisters in the second mile.

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It was a Santana song that moved me, notably the lyrics: “You were a victim of my cries/A product of my rage/you were a beautiful distraction.” Thinking of all the people I love so dearly, it tore my heart open thinking of how I have been so lonely and distant all these years. I want to be there for them (the ones I haven’t lost) more and yet I am in such a state that I cannot even offer my whole self to those precious souls that have made life beautiful, despite everything. I felt like a bad and selfish sister, daughter and friend as I listened to the music, and it crushed me. It has been four weeks and I feel confident at times because the cravings have mostly stopped and I have been nourishing myself, trying to be kinder and wiser and gentler…and yet I have haunting moments when I fear that I will never get out of the corner I have so stupidly painted myself into.

I feel lucky for all the “beautiful distractions” from the downward spiraling into darkness that my adult life has been marked by. If it had not been for the love I have for and receive from these people I doubt I would even be here today. So many times I would have thrown in the towel if not for this love, this needing to be here for them and with them along this journey of life. This love I do not question and these beautiful distractions were and are what keeps me in the game at all.

I have always felt ashamed that I have not been able to thrive on their love alone and had to self-medicate to survive. (I mean, that is what I believed and that is what I did.) As if my unhappiness were an expression of a lack of appreciation. It wasn’t. I did see the blazing sunsets and the brilliant spirits surrounding me. I just couldn’t stop feeling so torn up inside. I just couldn’t stay sober and felt too broken at too young of an age.

Throughout this past month I have noticed many things, including: 1) That my inner critique is seething and merciless, 2) An almost complete inability to communicate with anybody meaningfully (I can hold frivolous, anecdotal or intellectual/art-related conversations) with the exception of the people on this blog (thank-you all so much), and 3) That words like Responsibility can be as awful and cruel as the mirrors I dodge regularly.

There are thoughts that creep up on me out of nowhere and scare me. Tonight for instance I wondered why the results I was expecting from not drinking my nights into oblivion weren’t greater than they are: what if it’s not the alcohol, I wondered, what if I am just a lazy, misanthropic***, irresponsible B____! ?

So there is still so much fear and mountains of debt and obligations to deal with here and I am not even strong enough to have a real conversation with a real friend. Earlier I responded to a mail from a close woman friend overseas who wanted to know if everything was alright and said she was starting to get concerned (my silence). I responded as best I could, telling her how much her friendship means to me and that I thought of her often but that things were a little hard for me and I didn’t know how to talk about it (we’ve been trying to set up a phone date for two months!) honestly and with transparency. And it is the truth: I DON’T know how to talk anymore…

I don’t know why I feel so weak, so unable to get a handle on anything. I can’t get back the time lost so I want to start taking action, but feel like I’m running down the street with one leg.

I’d be interested to know if others have felt an inability to answer the question “are you alright?” asked by a trusted friend during early recovery.

***Although I have amazing friends and can get along easily with people upon contact, I do struggle with misanthropy. How much of this is a product of my own imbalance is left to be seen. I have noticed that I have a very hard time with authority and institutions and do not always play well with others. It is hard to know how much my doing (or not doing) is because although I would be happy to hold myself accountable for bad relationships at work, etc, I do also see a lot of hypocrisy, back-stabbing and ignorance amongst the general public. I suppose if I was healthier I would be able to work better with people I don’t like or respect (because of their behavior and attitudes), but I still think I wouldn’t like them. At least I’d have a job though…