Loneliness

Loneliness is the limbo land between ‘Don’t call me anymore.’ and ‘Nice to meet you.’

Loneliness is washing the same 1 plate and cup and knife and fork over and over again.

It is never using Your mug, in case you come back.

It’s a 4am glass of water at the kitchen sink in his t-shirt, wondering if he ever stands there, half naked and vulnerable, woken from a nightmare and thinking of me.

It’s hyper vigilant, on the nightwatch, waiting for the dawn to break so that you can finally let go of yesterday and sleep your way through a new day, because it still counts as long as you can mark it on the calendar, another day closer to becoming the person that you aren’t right now.

Loneliness is wanting to call but having nothing new to say so you type it out and file it away, like the love letters he was never ready to receive.

Loneliness is not speaking to a single soul all day and so you talk outloud before answering the phone so it doesnt come out as a croak, too soft or too loud, because in your silent vigile to spinsterdom, you’ve forgotten just how to use your own voice.

loneliness is lighting a candle to your former self, wondering if she’s still out there somewhere patiently waiting.

its the box of love letters, and cards and relationships lost at sea, which scream from the corner of the room, that you were once loved.

Loneliness is the sharp stab in your heart, in the moments between you drying the kitchen knife and pushing it into the knife block, the shadow behind that voice that whispers, please don’t! Put the knife down!

Loneliness is me without you, abruptly and roughly torn apart.

Loneliness is me lost inside, aware of how loud my breathing is, noticing how it echoes around me like an empty ballroom once filled with chatter and excitement and romance.

Loneliness is me staring into a mirror and seeing there is something missing behind my eyes, which tear up with tides of broken shards of my glass heart, each one whispering ‘I miss you’ as they roll down my cheeks and onto my chest, my body trying to cleanse myself of you, while I try to force them back to fill in the empty spaces where you and I used to be.

Relapse- The Blog I didn’t want to write

I’m just back from holiday, I’m experiencing my first hangover in 6.5 years and I have cuts on my arms from self harming this weekend, something which I haven’t done for about 4 years.

I’m feeling everything from disbelief to shock to remorse, and a little bit gleeful for the naughtiness of it all, because self sabotaging is so familiar and warm sometimes.

I’m wondering whether to consider it a ‘relapse’, or just another bump in the road, because I still think that it was the right thing for me to do.

I don’t feel like I have to explain myself to anyone as such but I think it’s important to be honest, and as so many will have seen me getting in a nick I wanted to be clear about why and look at how I can stop it from happening again, and accept or even embrace my choices without letting them make me feel worse about myself.

The simple answer as to why it happened was that I hit crisis point and just ran out of ways to cope and I resorted to old methods.

Had I been at home I might have been able to pull together enough resources to not to resort to that, I may have called upon the mental health crisis team, or gone to my mums or spent time with friends in a quiet environment. As it was I was at a festival abroad, and so full of sadness and anger and woe that my options seemed to be: burst into tears on and off all day (publically or in private), hiding in my apartment, or knock myself out with sleeping tablets and lose the last day of my holiday. I knew that the only way I could get through it and enjoy it was to find a way to relax myself and go with the spirit of the event and join in with the festivities, instead of feeling like an outsider or isolating myself and slipping into a deeper depression.

So it happened. I had my first booze related relapse.

And it was fun, and I didn’t do anything too wild or destructive that I can’t live with it. Of course I suffered for it the next day (hangovers and long journeys are not a great combination), but I am glad that it happened away from home, as it’s not something that I can repeat any time soon and I don’t want to feel as though I can just pick up drink and put it down just for fun any time soon. Because I still can’t.

I’m in the middle of moving house and I’m tired, stressed and heartbroken and I’d love to numb and relax myself with a drink, I’ve already considered going to the off license or sneaking off to the pub, as my addict brain is very much alive, and I know that it would feel like a huge step back if I went down that path. So I am glad that this happened away from home.

I’m accepting this as just another twist in the road. Aside from being fun and relaxing this holiday was supposed to boost my confidence and help me prove to myself that I can do so much more than I used to be able to, but it’s taught me so much more.

I’m going to earn my sober sesh crown back and my self respect, and stay more vigilant. I finally have access to the psychology department again at the end of this month and I’m gonna do my best to get and stay well. I took a detour for a while there but I need to focus on myself again and put myself first.

I have scars for souvenirs and plenty of good memories to be grateful for. But the last couple of weeks have been a rollercoaster and I have a lot of healing to do.