It’s nights like these….where the day was a little bit too long.
The triggers were a little bit too triggering. And the thoughts are a little bit too heavy.
You’re doing your best…but you know you’re failing.
Honesty has been a bit of a struggle for me here lately. Possibly because I’m fighting so hard, and failing anyway…possibly because I’m ashamed of my failures despite my honest efforts….or possibly because even though I know I desperately need to, I don’t know how to reach out about this shit.
But yeah, I’m on the struggle bus.
I feel alone as fuck.
I feel like I have to be the strong one. Anything less just won’t suffice. People will leave. Or not care, or stop showing up,
More than that, I feel like it’s my role to be the supporter. To take care of others. To be the strong one….be the constant and the strong and the reliable.
To show up no matter what.
It’s my privilege to do so. Honestly and truly. It is. It’s my biggest gift to offer others. And I don’t take it lightly.
But…I don’t know how to flip the script.
Reach out when I need to…ask for help when I need to….admit my struggles when I need to.
Addiction thrives in the darkness and the isolation.
And ohhhh boy, is mine doing just that.
It’s taking on a life on its own, despite my fight. Despite my struggle and pushback…it’s growing anyway.
I can tell when I’m on the wrong path, when it’s growing bigger and faster and stronger than I can even realistically hope to control it.
I’ve been in a dark place with my addiction more times than I’d care to admit. But I struggle in the silence. Because I don’t know how to reach out.
Tonight, I sat here with an open text thread just trying to think of the right words to say. Something a little witty or funny or sarcastic…ya know, so it wouldn’t seem too serious. Too needy.
But I couldn’t find the right balance of humor and seriousness. So I gave up, and came here.
I’m fighting for my fucking life right now.
And to see me on the outside? You’d never think so.
I appear healthy. Happy. Killing it at this life shit. Like I can, will, and have done it all.
But my honest truth is that I’m drowning. And I fucking need to talk about it.
I’m not okay. The demons are winning. They are taking over. And I’m losing my voice…I’m losing my say.
I put on the face very well. I function when I need to. My days are dedicated to my family. My kids. I show up. I stay showed up. This isn’t a question of that.
My days are filled with putting on a face I don’t have the strength to put on. But I put it on anyway. And I always will. That isn’t the question.
But EVERY day turns to night. And this is where I struggle.
In the quiet, in the moments after the triggers. And the hurt. And the noise and the chaos and the everything.
I wanted to reach out, but I didn’t know how.
I’m struggling. I’m losing.
I haven’t lost the fight this strongly in a while.
But I’m losing.
Alcohol has its fucking hands gripping my throat.
And I want to stop fighting. It doesn’t seem worth the fight.
I don’t want to struggle. I don’t want to fight.
But I don’t want to give up just yet, either.
So I tried to reach out.
But I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to burden you.
