Yesterday I wrote in another post (amonsgt other angry, self-piteous bile):
What is with our make-up that makes these past traumas cause us to despise ourselves with such force? Why is there something in me demanding my destruction? What does it mean to be all right? No guilt? No shame? No self-hatred? I think the hardest thing for me to accept, to face, is that like it or not this is who I am, who I have been most of my life. We're here once and at this date, at 37, this is the story of my life. Not what I thought it was, not what I worked towards being, but what I am. End of story.
What I want back I can never have. My childhood, my teens, twenties, thirties. Gone. What do I get at best? Relief from the pain after god knows how long suffering through the recovery. If I'm lucky. If my wife doesn't leave me. If I don't accidentally fuck my kid up by just being the freak that I am. If I can continue to afford the therapy - which is debatable. Relief from the pain. Yee-ha.
As the old TV commercial used to say: Thanks for the gumball Mickey.
Today I can see the holes in this obviously destructive thinking. which is I why I guess I'm glad I put it down in the first place. It's easy to get too attached to the past, what's gone, and to see it all negatively. The truth is I've had some great times along the way, made some great advances along with the failures and missteps. The main truth is I feel like as I start recovery the good things I've become and done are taking a firmer hold, coming more to the surface. The bad is falling back, fighting like hell but definitely falling back. And that feels real. A fact. Not psychobabble or get-out-of-bed baloney. So many of the posts here are so genuinely inspiring and positive. It makes me feel ashamed of my shame. But it also helps make me keep going, and examining my bad times closely. Not hiding from them, or indulging them with alcohol and "busy-ness".
So thanks for being out there, just being out there period. Wish I would have had you around three weeks ago. Deep breath and moving on.
In every cry of every man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear.