Friday again

This week has felt like it has been a blur. I didn't do much beyond keep the house clean and not sleep a whole lot. But that's how trauma works for me. Most of the time, I'm ok and I can sleep and eat normally. Other times, I'm up until 5am, back up around 9:30am, and mostly fueled by coffee and a terrible bout of self loathing.

The self loathing is ridiculous, too. I have felt guilty FOREVER because of my mental illness, and the limits it sets on me. I am a woman with infinite ideas and infinite possibilities. I see that, acknowledge it, and try to live according to it. But some days, my brain is dead set on making me hate myself for shit that really doesn't matter.

I feel like over the past couple years, I've finally come out of hiding, and I'm finally my own person. I'm not so saddled with my family's story and the guilt that comes along with it. I married someone who has his own style, and appreciates my flair for wildly patterned outfits and accessories. I've found my voice again, and I'm using it as loudly as humanly possible. I'm not consumed by the thoughts of "i'm over 40 and feel so far behind", or the anger from being so alone and not able to trust the adults who were supposed to be loving me, protecting me, and guiding me through life. I like where I'm at now, and I like where I'm headed next.

I spent so much time alone in my younger years. I was always around people, but I was always more of a servant than I was a person. I spent years in neglectful situations, with a varying cast of people who were terrible for me, because that was what I thought I deserved. I didn't deserve big, stupid love. I didn't know what it felt like to be supported. I only knew what it was like to feel other people's feelings. I knew how to blend in and let my pain continue to grow and consume me alive. I drank a lot, and only now see the stretches of my life where I was dabbling in being an alcoholic. I did a lot of drugs, and had a lot of risky sex that I was usually partially blacked out during. My biggest addiction is to food, and I used it for years to not feel the pain associated with the crushing loneliness of being me.

Now, I'm in a loving household, with a partner who has always encouraged me to be better, and to chase whatever dumb dream I've been putting off because my brain tells me that I'm going to either fail, or someone is going to do it better than me, so why even bother? I did a lot of therapy. A LOT. The skills I learned come back into play nearly every single day, and I couldn't be more proud of myself. I see now that a lot of my choices weren't based fully in bad decisions; a lot of my life has been absolutely navigated by my crippling anxiety, especially in social situations. I see the things that I want to improve on, and I'm working on them. I don't drink anymore, and the drugs are all prescribed and not abused. I'm not surrounded by huge groups of people these days, but the people I do see and interact with are people who I love, and who have never made me feel judged or not supported.

Feeling good after years of not feeling good is a lot to process. Some days, it's all I can do to make myself meals and get anything else done, even though mentally, I feel fine. The physical reactions I have to anxiety are really pronounced, and I'm still figuring out how to be kind to myself when they're happening.  I'm out of the sleeping constantly phase, though. It's been a few years since I've napped like that. I think it still feels foreign to take care of myself, especially in the whole "this is what I need in order to live the life that I want to live" way. I still have horrible days. But today, I feel good.

Tired, but good.


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