Two months. I have been sober for two months.
It has only been two months since I’ve last had a drink.
It feels like it’s been two effing years, and I’m not even joking. Absolutely the longest two months of my life.
So first, because I suck at this: Yay! Well done me! Pat on the back and all that positive shit that I should do but really don’t want to because it feels really awkward and uncomfortable!
That’s right, I’ve learned something in the last two months: I don’t give myself enough credit. For anything. Never have and it’s still not pretty when I try.
Here’s something else I learned:
(other than I am clearly abusing colon’s in this blog post. have I always been a serial colon abuser?!)
My feelings and I are…”estranged”. There are moments when the size of my feelings means I can’t help but notice them, but on a day to day basis I am pretty much cut off from them.
Raymond, my new therapist, has made this abundantly clear to me. He’ll ask me how I feel about something and I will answer with everything but a feeling word. Then he’ll just stare me down and say “That’s fine. How do you feel about it?”
Ok, Raymond, I get it. Geez.
Truthfully, I love that he does this. It is a habit/defense mechanism I had no idea was so deeply entrenched in me. His observations validate the (surprise, surprise), rather vague suspicion that I wasn’t quite allowed to express my feelings ever and gives me another reason to be angry at my parents. It also explains why I would wait until I was well and truly pissed before unleashing a torrent of anger towards other people. Mainly (very sadly) Mrs. M.
I will work on the whole “taking responsibility for my thoughts/behaviours” thing later, but for now I’m thrilled to be back in 16-year-old angsty teenage rebellion mode. In fact, Raymond says that regressing like this is a good thing. he didn’t elaborate and i’m not sure how literally I should take his comments but it’s happening whether I want it to or not.
In the meantime though, I am making an effort to force the rest of my feelings to the surface. I’m not sure how to do it, to be honest. I’ve started with a (hopefully) daily schedule of writing and confronting my creative anxiety towards music making. Will the feelings surface this way? I don’t know.
I do know this much: when it comes to Mrs. M and I, I’m in denial. Big time. Sure, nothing is officially over yet. But I can tell there is a torrent of emotion bubbling away under a very calm, placid exterior. I have cried very little.
It’s also the time of the year when I would normally have quite a lot of feelings about things I haven’t written about yet. Things I guess I should write about. Birth, death, family etc.
I feel nothing.
There’s a saying in recovery: “The good news is that you get your feelings back. The bad news is that you get your feelings back”. Well I’m not sure what’s going on but my feelings are on holiday somewhere.
Hopefully by writing more often than I have (and not simply out of fear like I have), the feelings will return. I am quite desperate for that to happen even if part of my brain thinks it’s doing me a favour by keeping them stuffed into some dark corner. When did my brain get so stupid, and why can’t I override it?
I guess I know I’m in a position where I can handle the pain or whatever might be in store. I’m not working, I have a therapist for a little while longer, I am part of a supportive fellowship, I have a sponsor. The time to fall apart is now! Wallow in bed all day listening to Adele as my heart breaks in half? Fine. Scream into a pillow and then pound the living shit out of it because of my rage? Ok, I’ll do that.
I’m up for it. whatever it is. If. Only. I. Could. Just. FEEL. IT.
Well, I’ve done my part for today. I’ve written and…nothing. Not that this was an emotionally draining topic. Maybe I’ll tackle some big stuff tomorrow.