Those who smile the brightest…

Have you ever heard the phrase “The saddest people smile the brightest.”?

I can’t even begin to explain how true that is.

I ruined my health almost a decade ago. I used to write a lot, but lately I don’t because I’m not even sure I want to record it. And, where does it go anyway? That phrase would be written on my tombstone, if I weren’t too claustrophobic to be potentially buried in a box. Not my idea of eternity.

Anyways, I’m having one of those days again… where my heart beats too fast and my nerves are on fire. First episode in over a month. I’m too independent for this shit. I’m always the one in control. So when I feel like I’m not, it’s not a very good day. I find myself day-dreaming in between wondering how the fuck I lost myself. I end up stress-cleaning my house. Which is all fine and dandy, until you find yourself obsessing over tiny details, like the way your base boards are painted, or the shape of your pantry door. Crazy right? I know.

If we could only imagine ourselves a new life… wouldn’t that be grand?

I’ve been meaning to write – there have been so many words and phrases clogging up my head. I just lost the motivation, honestly. I’ve been trying to do things around the house, focusing on my hobbies, cleaning and moving things. But no matter what I feel like I’m stuck in this self made cloud. A constant circular event of being OK, then not, then OK again. I swear the only thing that gets me through these days are knowing I will and can be OK again.

I have someone that helps so much, I can’t even begin to explain. Do you know what it feels like to owe your life to someone? I do. And they deserve so much better than who I am, honest. I don’t know if I could ever be that kind of person; I’m too selfish and greedy. I know that about myself. And the worst part is; I know my faults, I know what is wrong with me, but don’t have the power to change it.

So, be warned; don’t let your negative feelings control you. Don’t give your darker side the power. Because once you do, gluttony takes over, and it’s a fight to the death to get your power back.

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The Whiskey Diaries: Entry V

Its now gotten to the point where I wonder what I need to control more; my emotions, or my drinking. Because it’s painfully clear to me now that they both directly affect one another.

I’m so sick of waking up with a feeling of such anxiety – that eventually causes an immense feeling of fear – that I have to drink or take drugs to feel better. That shouldn’t be the way anyone lives their life. And no one else should have to live with someone like me either. It’s just not fair.

As much as it hurts to type this and admit this, a huge source of my issues stem from my own mother. I’ve known it deep down for years, but I guess saying it out-loud and announcing it or sure still hurts. I turned 32 three days ago, and my biggest birthday present from her came in the form of a magnificent lie. After finally feeling good about myself and getting my drinking under control, I let myself sink back down into my so called “rabbit hole” and drank more than I usually do. And I blame her, even though I know I should only blame myself – I mean, it’s not like she held a gun to my head… not physically anyways.

At this point in time I’m not even entirely sure what to say, for her or myself. I am a product of my upbringing, and she is the exact reason I have always stated I do not want children of my own. I am terrified of that idea. I have nightmares about it at times.

I can say I would have never became an alcoholic if she didn’t have a bottle of vodka sitting on our kitchen counter when I was a teenager, always ready for when she had a bad day or a bad moment – I mean, what do you think that teaches a child? Her way of dealing with her anger was either taking it out on me physically or drinking herself to sleep. I can blame her, sure. But I am my own person, I am in control of myself (for the most part) so I can’t blame anyone but myself.

I feel it took me finally waking up one day and realizing this on my own – for she is the reason I don’t like other people trying to convince me of anything.

Not to say she hasn’t tried, I’m not trying to make her out as this evil, cold-hearted person. But I can’t help it that the bad stands out more than the good. I was never taught or shown a good way of dealing with bad emotions. I was never shown another way other than complete and full release of anger. I was never informed that there was another way to go about things than emotional and physical destruction. And I promise, to myself and the person I love more than anything, I will never allow myself to instill that into anyone, ever.

When you have had something told to you for over two decades of your life, only to see it a different way for yourself, it causes an explosion of thoughts and emotions. That explosion only causes irreparable damage. I refuse to allow that to be who I am any longer. This is my wake up call.

And just like any drug addiction, I need to quit her.

I want to be a better person, I really do. And I am lucky to have the opportunity to do so, the mentality to tell me so, and the drive to do so.

Can anything else happen?

I honestly feel like a total fuck-up some days.

Last night I went out to have some fun, ended up having too much to drink, picked a fight over something incredibly insignificant, tried to leave and drive home drunk while being fought the whole time (rightfully so), came home, bitched and ranted about still being mad, and slept in a different room of my home instead of my bedroom.

Today, I left the house emotional and angry, drove way too fast to where I was going, self indulged in some hair dye and nail supplies, then, while leaving the parking lot and only driving five miles per hour, ran my car into the side of another car. While my car only suffered scratches to my bumper and front emblem, the other guy’s car suffered a ruined front fender and a ruined front hub for the tire, making the car un-drivable. My first ever car accident, and one of the worst days of my life so far. I admitted full fault and gave the person all of my info. Luckily, I just happened to get a really calm, collected, and understanding person. I really did expect him to get out of his car, yell at me, tell me I’m an idiot, ask me why the fuck I didn’t watch where I was going, but instead he was incredibly cool about it.

To be honest, I was still emotional when I was leaving the parking lot, had tears in my eyes (which is never a good way to drive), and once we were finished calling our insurance companies and figuring everything out, I noticed that the corner of where I was originally turning to leave had a hedge that was about 4 feet tall. What the fuck?

My nights lately have been filled with dreams that are so vivid, about my daily life, people I know, and places I’ve been, that I don’t even feel like I’m sleeping anymore. Each night I dream about this same house, this same situation, and it’s been happening for so long now that I know I’m dreaming. I wake up every day feeling sleep deprived and more exhausted than the day before. I spend most of the day thinking about it, wondering why I keep having the dreams.

I start a job in two days. I’m hoping once my mind is busy being occupied with other things for the day, some of this will subside and I can feel somewhat normal again. Because I can’t take much more of this; the anxiety, the near panic attached, the horrible dreams, the exhaustion, feeling like I’ve lost myself… I just want to feel normal again.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry IV

Last week I managed to reduce my alcohol intake significantly and each day I woke up feeling a little better. Last week I also took a trip to California to see friends and family before starting Image.pngwork here in Nevada. Upon coming home, it was the weekend and just being generally happy to be back home and back where I am starting to feel comfortable, I decided to let myself drink more, and harder alcohol (I have been weening myself slowly with lower and lower alcohol content in what I drink) telling myself it was just for the weekend and I deserved it. Then came Monday, when I had to drop my Fiance off at the airport for a work trip and prepare to – yet again – spend time alone and isolated.

So what did I do? I drank, of course. Now it’s Wednesday and I’m back to feeling that anxiety in the morning, not being able to take a deep breath without my chest feeling funny, and my hands shaking slightly. Needless to say, I’ve only had a few bites of food today and I feel like shit.

Today is a no Whiskey day. I used to be happy holding a bottle of Jameson in my hand at the store, happy to be able to get home and have a few drinks, relax, do the usual around the house. Now every time I reach for a bottle on the shelf and carry it to the check-out, I feel slightly disgusted with myself, almost ashamed, the whole time saying in my head “Fuck, here we go again…” I’m still struggling to get my weight over 105 pounds. I turn 32 in two months and refuse to let this take over another year of my life.

I originally started drinking to forget things, anything that hurt me emotionally as I have a higher physical pain tolerance than most. Now the drinking makes me overthink, makes me lazy and careless, and at times incredibly mean. Who wants to live like that? I know that I don’t, not anymore. It’s opened the doors to too many things, none of which have been good or healthy.

Honestly, I’ll be pretty disappointed in myself if I venture out later and pick up a bottle, but sometimes even the disappointment isn’t enough to stop me. Fingers crossed, I sit here writing and looking at my projects and crafts I work on, realizing I have barely touched them in weeks. Hopefully, if all goes well, I start work in three weeks and will get back to some sort or normalcy and independence. I have to admit, twelve-hour work days are not going to give me enough time to drink, and I’m looking forward to that.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry III

The initial morning anxiety seems to be happening less and less lately, I’ve had more frequent mornings of waking up and feeling motivated to do something for the day.

The house is finally almost completely unpacked, and now the issue is finding out what to do with all of the extra space that we now have in the new house. I finally got back into doing some of my hobbies that I enjoy, which is also helping to feel more normal than I have been the last few months. The photography gets me out of the house and makes me explore the area, so instead of feeling stuck in the house all day I can actually see some interesting sites and get some air. The pyrography gets me to be creative and put some skills to work, it also keeps me calm and from drinking too much since I can’t really be “drunk” to do those projects.

The drinking is still there, a bottle of Jameson currently sits at home in my pantry. I had a few upsetting phone calls with the rehab agencies; either wanted to send me 800 miles or 1000 miles further away that what I already feel from “home.” When I explained half of my current issue was already feeling isolated and being as far away from all my familiar surroundings, I was told I was being unreasonable… Fuck it, maybe to them I was. But I’m not going to do anything I’m not initially comfortable with. But something changed in me that day, something flipped that angry “Fuck You” switch and that has always been my biggest motivator. It’s been since that day that I have been forcing myself to drink less and do more. LIZ

I’ve always had an issue with not feeling in control of my own life or destiny – I promised myself the minute I was on my own and away from the laws of a parent that I would take control. Which I did, and at times all it did was allow me to be self indulgent and push things too far. At other times, it’s allowed me to push through situations without even a whimper, finding myself slightly surprised when people ask me “how did you get through that?” Sometimes, you just have to “Destroy What Destroys You” and move on. And right now I just refuse to let anything destroy me. I know this feeling won’t forever, the BPD I have will not allow it, so, I’m just going to revel in this while I can.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry I

I’d hoped to start these entries off on a high note, documenting the progress of overcoming an incredible alcohol addiction. But instead, this first entry will document the sickening withdrawals and intense anxiety.

Today, just like two days ago, I woke up already feeling the shakes coming on. This usually happens early in the morning, around seven or eight a.m. and the minute I feel it I start to panic a little; “You mean, I have to feel like this the whole day, knowing it will only get worse later?” The only real comfort I feel is when I take a long shower, but that includes spending half of it bent over, heaving, trying to take sips of the bottle of water I usually bring in with me. I tend to use up all of the hot water, making for a very cold exit, which I already know – but do it anyway – will make me feel like shit all over again.

I spend hours pacing back and forth in my house – in between the stomach cramps and puking – trying to concentrate on my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate from the anxiety and genuine fear. My poor dog just sits on the couch watching me, looking like she wants to cry, and sometimes does.

Looking up the actual symptoms of sever alcohol withdrawal does NOT help the situation. It only scares me more. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what happened to my nice skin, my womanly shape, my teeth… What happened to my hair and my social life? What have I done to people I care about that I often can’t even remember why they are mad at me – usually because I was so drunk the night before that once I fell asleep my brain hit a reset switch.

My head is pounding, I keep clenching my jaw from the anxiety, I know I should eat but just can’t even put food in my mouth right now, I’m so thirsty but can’t drink too much water at a time. I also discovered orange juice – thinking to put something healthy in my body – is a no-go on these days, and tastes wretched coming back up.

There’s a part of me that just wants to scream, run outside and as far as I can – but the thought of leaving the house on these days is scary. What if I have an episode in public? When I’m not pacing the house, I’m stuck on the couch, curled up in a ball, looking at the closed blinds of the room I’m in, with the sun shining behind them, knowing I’ve wasted so much of my life having days like this.

The sad part is, it’s not like I just got some sort of virus one day that afflicted me to get like this – I know I did it to myself. That’s my sad truth. I did this.

72 Hours In…

It’s been three days. 14844-blue-water-drops-on-a-dark-leaf-2560x1600-digital-art-wallpaper

I’m in a new state, a new home, a new territory, and new surroundings. A new adventure is about to begin – or already has – and I have NO fucking idea how this will end up. My goal; to be a better person, healthy, genuinely better… because who I am now is killing me.

I’m not as scared as I thought I would be. I’m not struggling as bad as I thought I would. But, I have a side of me that takes over, kind of like an autopilot mode. There’s a side of me that takes over and keeps everything under the surface. It will explode one day, I know this.

The nightmares lately are almost too much. I wake up sweating and crying. I wake up panicking and wanting to claw my way out of where ever I am. I wake up terrified and pissed off. I wake up and don’t ever want to go back to sleep, no matter how tired or delirious I am. For instance, today I have been unpacking boxes and trying to set up my new home since 3 am.

The people and the environment here is a culture shock. I have no idea what the fuck I am going to do, how I will be, what I will like, and not like.

I look at the backyard that is now mine, the living room, the kitchen, the environment that I now currently reside in, and I think about how I need to get healthy, how I am lucky to even be here – yet alive. I have put myself through so much physically, I could be a medical science experiment. How do I even function? How do I wake up every day and still am able to live like a regular human being? Of all the times I have tried to kill myself on purpose, I am shocked it never happened by accident.

Self indulgence, greed, pride… these are the things that drive – and inevitably – lead me to my demise. I own my faults. I don’t deny my wrong doings. I am who I am. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And it doesn’t mean I don’t fully understand myself.

Not even I understand the dustiest corners of my mixed up soul…