{:: WAKING UP ::}

Waking up is interesting. There have been so. many. times. in my life where I thought I was awake. So. many. times. where I re-remembered this. exact. same. thing.

As I get more and more sober, new memories from my past finally have a chance to come up for air.

Not only that, but it is now safe for these memories, stored in my cells, my DNA, my tissues, to come up.

Most don't have any words associated with them. I was cut off for so long. Dampened by the weight of the world. Dampened by the heavy life experiences I had moved through. Dampened by my own beliefs that I was inherently bad and undeserving. 

I lived a double life and talked myself into believing it, the double life, was all true and that it’s what I wanted. I thought I liked it. I thought it was cool.

I believed that my life was bound to be this way; that living this way, lying to everyone and to myself, was the only way. I did not see another way out.

Then, one day, it became too hard to handle; I couldn’t lie anymore. I think I even forgot that I was lying.

I had one final choice to make. I was 100% cut off from everyone. I could see no help or support. 

The decision was to either finally end it all for good or to do something else. This 'something else' is vague because I literally had no clue what that something else was. I had been thinking too much about drowning myself in the bathtub, or in the Pacific. 


The pain I felt was beyond words and there was no way I could actually live another day.

I was filled to the brim like a bucket constantly overflowing with water from a hose someone forgot to turn off.

It had been over a decade of dodging and flirting with this reality of ending it all.

Somehow, it all came down to one day where I knew I couldn't dodge this intense feeling of overwhelm anymore. I was so strong for so long and never asked for help. I had been doing a very good job. It felt like I was 100% self-sufficient. 

That evening, I had met my match. At 26, it felt like I had felt enough emotions to last an entire country full of people generations of feelings and stories to tell. 

How is it possible that me, some white girl from the East Coast, had the capacity. to. feel. so. much? 

I began to pray — for the first time in my life.

I have no idea what praying actually means, but that is the word most people would use. It just happened. I stood in front of my green kitchen armoire where the counter was chest height and I placed my elbows on it. My hands folded above my head and my head and face heavy with pain and tears. Ugly red and never taking a full breath in or out.

I was sick of laying in the middle of the floor curled up for hours in frozen uncertainty.

I was sick of being paralyzed by bombarding thoughts of self-hatred, my mind telling me to kill myself.

I was sick of thinking everyone was out to hurt me.

I was so. confused. I wanted to rip my brain out because it felt so backward and out of place.

This wasn’t my brain.

These weren’t my thoughts.

I had to stop them. The decision was to either kill myself or do something first. If that 'something first,' didn’t work, I could always kill myself. 

From this moment, late February 2015, things began to change and I learned that *I* could change.

It has been almost 2.5 years since I decided to try another way.

More will be revealed.