Rough nights. Rougher days. Three addictions. Quitting three addictions. All at once. This requires more strength than Hercules and Thor and Hulk combined. And currently, I’m the cross between Peter Griffin and Garfield and Chief Wiggum.
On the other hand, I’d like to believe treading this treacherous path has its benefits. Well, for one, of course I’ll feel better, physically, mentally, emotionally. I’ll also be on the road to complete recovery, rather than still being dependent on an addictive substance if I try to battle them one at a time. There’s no backup, whatsoever! No proxies filling in for each other. Perhaps, that’s the secret formula to succeed at this change.
[freemium]I have these hallucinations. They’re frightening. There’s often bugs crawling all over my skin. Nightmares of being inflicted with small pox or herpes and I jump out of bed, spooked, with goose bumps, itching and scratching all over. And I’m scared. Really scared all the time. Of silly things that don’t quite seem silly when I am. Until I realize that they are in fact, silly. Like driving! For God’s sake, I should’ve been scared all those times I drove drunk. Not now. Clearly, sobriety’s tampered with my clarity.
It’s hard to concentrate at work. I’m not doing so well there. But my boss has been kind and so are my colleagues. They’re taking on nearly all of my workload. Just so that I can focus on getting better. I wish I were less irritable. Would only help to convey how grateful I am they have my back.
Sometimes, the head trips are delightful though: I’m sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping on a “Virgin” Pina Colada, in a strapping beach body, healthier, happier, and I’m only sitting after a swell surf session. And then, dare I say it, there’s ones with donuts and cheeseburgers and fries and colas every once in a while. Only every once in a while.
I’m walking more these days. More than the lousy kitchen to living room to bedroom to bathroom bits. Eating healthier, lesser, smarter, may be. I miss stuffing my face with stuff all the time. I’m always so hungry. But then when I eat, I barely do. Most days I’m an enraged bull, severely nauseated, vomiting whatever I try to throw down, sickly, sluggish and exhausted, snapping at the world for existing. My friends come over more than they ever did, since I decided to do what I did. I’m often sore and snarky. They hate me, I’m sure. But strangely, they don’t yell back. Which makes me anxious. For a reaction! For anything, really! The withdrawals are excruciating. They feel like these ruthless forces, squeezing in on me, pinning me down, and choking me to cave in.
I can’t backtrack now. I’ve got to find a foothold.
Took a depression test online. I’m one hundred percent depressed. I could get help. I should get help.
There’s got to be a light at the end of this tunnel. Even if I don’t see it just yet. I mean, this torture, it can’t all be for nothing. If only I could focus all my energy, never mind that there’s measly itsy bitsy joules of it right now, not on fighting the old, but building the new…it’ll be quite the rebirth.
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