No, I didn't forget to write all these days, months and years. I just couldn't blog because I was busy doing. The healing is still work in progress, but progress has been made, nevertheless.
I'm emotionally regulated, stronger and calmer. Is life easier? No, it seems to be the hardest, ever, even without panic attacks, self-harming thoughts, mind-numbing fights and regular meltdowns. Maybe because all these habits gave me instant gratification or relief in some twisted way. It's a lot harder going straight, going 'sober', going down the 'healthy path'. See, because the 'healthy' path has no frills. It's just healthy. It keeps you in health. It keeps you alive. But it doesn't teach you how to live, how to be happy. And that's why we all turn to some vice or the other to feel joy.
But that's not all healthy paths do, though. They give you opportunities to live, and live fully. The ability to recognize and grab those opportunities -- that's the real work. That's healing. That's breaking the cycle of suffering and achieving some wisdom. And it's f***ing hard.
Some days I feel like a winner. I made it to this side of the earthly struggle. That means I no longer wish to end my life (why waste the effort when I'll eventually get it for free, and probably more painlessly?). I no longer wish to self-harm (except for bouts of binge-eating). I no longer actively seek or entertain toxic relationships. I no longer bend my boundaries. I no longer need to be validated to know I'm on the right path.
Other days, most days, I feel like a miserable loser. A phantom that exists in the atmosphere like a heaviness no one can explain but everyone feels in the pit of their stomachs. Like someone will get up and switch on the television or fan just to 'shift the energy' in the room. That unpleasant energy. That's me. That's the heaviness within that permeates the walls around me. The most relaxing time is when I sleep because I no longer think. But then, I dream - and sometimes those dreams are worse than reality (and they're vivid and memorable, too). Some dreams are fantastic adventures in an alternative universe where I am constantly encountering newness, thrill, strange beings and people I can relate to, and often, the feeling of victory. But I don't rely on my dreamspace for relief, it's a gamble at best and I'm emotionally broke.
I have managed to remain occupied with work on a consistent basis, without panicking about deadlines or unrealistic goals. I even managed a full-time job at an office, where I was disciplined, productive and innovative. I made friends. I even had the balls to whistleblow toxic behaviours at the workplace. Brave, indeed. But it was a shitshow and I had to leave to save the peace of mind I have worked so hard to maintain. That notwithstanding, I think my work life has been productive under the circumstances, and I've created a lot of content for a lot of companies around the world, despite a pandemic, depression, anxiety, fibromyalgia, family problems, relationship problems, loneliness, pessimism, dog-parenting and many house-changes. Not too shabby.
I also managed to emotionally regulate my relationships, assert boundaries and understand what respect really means. I'm in a healthy long-term relationship, which feels like the first of its kind. And I'm filled with peace and gratitude. No drama, no fireworks. Just twinkle lights on a cool breezy patio, with jazz in the background and the smell of freshly baked bread and wet leaves. Peaceful.
It feels good to write again. I'm glad I mustered up the energy to do it (after thinking about it for weeks). That's how it goes, self-motivation. Slow and steady, slow and steady.
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