The Inevitable “What If?”

What am I doing?

Am I making the right decision? Have I ever?

I have been told over and over by people who know me for the real me that this… this is the first time in my lifetime that they have ever seen me question myself. I do NOT question myself. My emotions and feelings have always been night and day; I always know how I feel and how to react.

But not anymore. I started a transition over a year ago that while I knew it would impact my emotional reactions and hopefully let me end up for the better, ended up amplifying my attention to detail… no matter what the subject.

My health lately is my top concern and priority. At 31 years old, five feet and two inches tall, I should not weigh a mere 103 pounds. My clothes should not be loose and baggy, I should not bruise so easily due to my blood being so thin from mass alcohol consumption, I shouldn’t have to be worrying about the way my teeth feel right now.

I should not have let everything in my life – for my life – get so out of control.

But I run away from everything that impacts me on a level I cannot control. Weather it be amazing or awful; if I am not in total control I have no fucking idea or inclination of how to react.

One thing I do realize – no matter anyone elses opinion – I have always recognized the impact I have made on others when it comes to emotions. I see it and recognize it because I feel like no one ever did that for me; but it doesn’t mean that I’m a saint at fixing my flaws. I am the worst person to repair damage I have done.

Part of that is why I can’t stand myself sometimes.

01.26.2017

Yesterday I walked around my work, contemplating the fact that I only had three days left here before moving on to a new chapter. I was fine with it, with everything almost. Something in me had finally calmed and I was able to breathe – even eat. I was social. I laughed and talked to people. I actually even did a little bit of work, even though at this point I’m just here to observe. I was good.

Today, not so much. Today I have absolutely no desire to be here, or be social. I’m watching things change and I don’t like what I see. I’m anti-social and don’t care much to eat. I’m bitter, actually. And anxious. Almost angry even. The drive here consisted of acting like I really don’t care who else is on the road. I’m not even sure why.

The up and down feeling of this roller coaster of emotions I’ve been on is finally breaking me down. I’m exhausted. And now I’m mentally preparing for the next five days of fast-paced chaos that will lead me to the next part of my life. I’m definitely looking forward to the sleep I will have after all of this is finished. I’m looking forward to some damn clarity. To just fucking relax and work on myself – I’m still hoping that’s possible.

I’m tired of the cloud that I’m in, and letting myself sink. Does this mean tomorrow will be better?

Unanswered

seatedI know everything in life happens for a reason, but what bothers me is I don’t know those reasons most of the time. For once I find myself so upside down and inside out that I can’t even think straight. I wish there was a way I could communicate without words. I wish there was a way for me to explain myself to myself so I know who I am.

I let too many things scare me. I let my insecurities and fears blind me and I don’t see things about myself that others tell me. I only seem to see this person that I have never truly been happy with. Almost like a mirror that never tells you the truth. I run from things and avoid things because its the only way I know how I react. If I don’t feel, then I don’t have to think. If I don’t have to think, then I can be happy and relaxed. What kind of life is that? Who does that?

My alcoholism has affected so many things in my life, and none for the better. I was never able to express myself correctly or without aggression and over emphasized emotions, now I just compacted the issues and put up a wall. My health has been affected to the point of losing weight so rapidly I look physically sick and my clothes don’t fit right. I try to eat and nothing tastes good. I don’t think I’ve eaten a full meal in months. I overindulge on things that aren’t healthy for me. I also tell myself every day that this will be the day that everything changes, that I change things for the better, that I start to get healthy, mentally as well as physically. Each of those days I fail at keeping my promise to myself.

The past eighteen months have changed my life in so many ways. I was finally able to take the first step of getting mentally healthy by pulling myself off of something I had been stuck to for over half my life. Family relationships changed and my eyes opened to things I was blinding myself to in the past – or being blinded by others who should have never stepped in that place. A part of me grew for the better but a part of me has turned bitter and sour. A part of my heart has frozen over watching some of the changes. And now an even bigger change is going to take place, hopefully one that will allow me to finally pull myself out from under this cloud I’ve been carrying and finally work on myself – something I’ve been saying I’d do for years. I need to find out who I am.

 

Into The Dark

I’m back in this place again. Except this time, I am already past the black rosebushes outside, the enormous entrance, that red velvet couch and matted floor, to the base of the stairs. It’s almost pitch black outside and I’m staring up into what I already know is going to be a journey that I never fully finish… and never enjoy. 

As I lift the inevitable dress I’m wearing to take my first step upward, I can’t help but notice my bare feet. Always having been bare in this place before, this time something is wrong; my toes and joints look aged and twisted, and it horrified me more than this place. 

My bare foot touches what feels like years of dust, dirt, and forgotten times on top of dried and almost rotted wood. The step creaks a heavy moan as I place my full body weight on top. I find myself almost willing to not make it to the top. This is a strange feeling as usually when I am here, I’m filled with curiosity and fear. Now I only feel a willing openess to what I know is about to come in the next few moments of this repeating story. 

After each step up the long staircase in this rickety old story, each one threatening to snap under my bare skin, I’m standing once again in that long hallway of doors. Why do they always have to be closed? There’s never enough light for me to see – or nor can I ever remember – which way the hallways turns at the end, but I can tell you that never remembering is one of the worst feelings about halfway into this story. 

Again, I can feel the years and layers of dust, crumbles of broken things like picture frames and pieces of wood, mixed with the crunch of dead leaves blown in, but I could never tell you from where. The first door I reach has a small crystal doorknob – the kind you would find in a Victorian house. I try to open it already knowing it’s locked. The next has no doorknob at all, just a hold that I can never bring myself to touch or look through. 

I always decide to skip the next three as I’m drawn to some sort of sound that I can only recognize as crying. I take careful steps as not to splinter my feet on the already dried out wood and debris on the hallways floor. I go from lightly touching my fingertips along the walls for guidence, to feeling paint chips start to rip off and get stuck under my nails as I start to dig in. 

I’m now at the end of the hallway and something stops me. I remember that I don’t know which way to turn, and I know I’m going to turn the wrong way, because this is the only way. So I take a deep breath, this time I slowly turn to my right, and can’t help but still feel my heart stop and my nerves light on fire as I see a pale figure standing, barely visible but completely real. I calm myself reminding myself that it is only my reflection; I have been here enough times to know now. So I turn around and walk the opposite way. As always.

The hallway is darker now. I have one hand on the wall to stay steady and the other out in front of me, reaching for anything I can’t see… even if I’m scared to death. The sound is louder now, so I continue. But even with the sound of the crying growing as I got closer, the sound of my heartbeat and breathing inside my head is so loud I swear the world could hear it

Finally, I reach the final door. The hand I have stretched out touches a surface like any other in this place; glossy and smooth. Almost like fresh paint. This is not the usual door. I reach down for the usual rusted feeling door knob, and instead it’s smooth and sphirical, like glass. But the minute I try to turn the handle, that scream comes. The one that makes my blood curdle and my skin crawl. So loud it sounds like it’s right behind me or all around me.

That’s I usually the point I wake up.