This is currently the story of my life. Everything can be going…as fine as it can be, I guess, but then the same thing happens nearly every night during the rough phases.
My husband wants to go to sleep. I usually agree, because I’m exhausted. But then I start procrastinating, avoiding it at all costs. Then the inevitable thought process begins. “Well, I can’t sleep, so I should make another drink. That will help.”
And then that turns into like…at least 2 hours of sitting in the bathroom while my husband is sleeping. He asks if I’ll come right out, and I usually just shrug and walk away.
The cycle has become so familiar, I could write you a script for how these nights will go.
Step 1: Completely shut down. Get upset for no reason. Blame the nearest person around for your sudden change in mood. That’s usually the husband. It’s clearly his fault. (Sometimes it really is, though.)
Step 2: pick a fight, make yourself so unlovable so that when shit inevitably hits the fan, there’s no one to blame but yourself.
Step 3: Alcohol. With pain and fear fueling the fire. (Because that’s always safe.)
Step 4: Grab your journal, your drink, and whatever else is needed to fully dive into the depth of your feelings.
Step 5: Scare yourself with your dark thoughts, consider the possibility of death, try not to make bad choices.
Step 6: Probably make bad choices anyway. At least this week, the bad choices were made.
Step 7: Just ooooone more drink. This one will fix all of my problems. I’m sure this time.
Step 8: Write more (very true and accurate) dark and pain filled things.
Step 9: …….unknown. My memory seems to diminish by this step. If we’re here, we’ve probably reached the 2 hour mark. It’s probably 1am, and I’m probably depleted.
The words come out of the pen so easily it’s like my brain is convinced that if the words exist, the pain won’t anymore. But it still does. At least I know what it is I’m feeling now.
Maybe if I write more…maybe if I drink more, or maybe if I break down and just let myself cry for 3 years straight….or maybe if physical pain exists alongside the emotional pain…
But none of that actually changes anything, does it.
I like to think I’m at least a relatively intelligent person… So I’m not quite sure why this happens This frequently. I know what’s about to happen, and it happens anyway. I already know that I’ll just feel worse, not better.
It feels like I’m escaping the pain…or at least that’s what I’m trying to do. Everything hurts, and the pain gets overwhelming, and I just need it to stop.
I need everything to stop.
I don’t know what the point of this is. I’m just frustrated.
The nights give me the space to feel, when my days are so busy and loud that I don’t have the chance to even think, let alone feel. It’s like as soon as my mind gets enough space to actually exist on its own terms…I don’t know.
There’s just a lot. My life is a lot, and it’s a lot of pain. Past, present and future.
I don’t know how to escape it. Causing myself pain hardly seems like the logical choice in avoiding pain…yet it’s the choice that gets made. It’s not like there’s a lack of attempting healthier options…
I just need people….I need to feel safe again. And I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know why I feel “unsafe”, or what feeling “safe” actually means or feels like. It’s just the word that seems like it fits.
I know I need people, and I know I need love. Shit.
I hate that I know where tonight is going before it even gets here. I’m already heading down the dark feelings pathway.
I hate how it feels. And I hate that I’m terrified of it.
I guess if I’m being honest, the fear comes from the fact that I really don’t want to do this anymore. And the nighttime version of myself give me permission to act on whatever feelings that I want to.
But I’m sure tonight will be much better….
Except for the fact that everything hurts, and I really have no desire to fight anymore.
Not alone, anyway.