I can smile and make jokes, I can wear the mask. But when I’m alone in the kitchen or in the shower, my eyes start to leak and I dig my fingernails into my palms.
But then there was the lump. There it was. Protruding out of the side of my throat. Not a normal occurance.
The guilt of who I am, what I have done and now what I continue to do is so shameful that I cannot face the pain. It is better to display no remorse. There is no point in holding an image together that is shattered and worthless.
Discover the truth about your own motivations. Then discover that even your truth is not constant and be able to accept this. Truth changes, which means that to be a seeker is not a destination, but a never ending path (and then you die).
Beautiful, beautiful life. Never so precious as when you realise how easily it can slip away.
I rarely travelled further then a 2 kilometre radius and more often than not, I brought the party back home (10 people partying in a 13 squared metres apartment, that’s no mean feat).
Why? Because I knew that the closer I was to my bed, the easier it would be to pass out safely.
In my life I have built a structure for my belief system which helps me understand the madness and chaos of this world. It’s not unique, but it is tailored to me as all of our must be. It is only one of my belief structures, but I would say the default one and hinges on if…then… statements (and not only because I’m a fan of excel).
I’ve created routines, bought activity books, depended a little too much sometimes on Peppa Pig. I’ve forced myself to go out, to face the demon.
I felt like dying. There was no hope of reprieve. This was what my life had become. Frantic worry about what I might or might not do to damage her. Not all the time. But any time I was alone with her.
I believed only in numbers and corporate governance and worshipped the great God MS Excel. If you could dream it, I could model it. Yoga was the lowest form of exercise, and exercise, well never took place at all, apart from if I was gaming on the Wii Fit.
But here it is from the horse’s mouth. Being an alcoholic is frequently exhilarating. Sometimes dangerous. And always an adventure. Sure, it is also a nightmare. You are spurned and adored in equal measure. People know that you can be counted on to create party, drama and a spectacle (albeit sometimes at the expense of yourself), whilst also providing the fodder for endless gossip. It can kill relationships and in the worst cases, damage innocent bystanders. Thus in no way do I advocate it. But my journey through alcoholism allowed me to uncover who I really was. And that has ironically saved my life.
Who would have guessed that the high achieving little girl who was–to all the outside world–a perfect privileged child, was so busy hating herself?