19 -

19 -

Black or white. Wrong or right. Good or bad. It’s all a spectrum, but I have a really hard time seeing it that way.

Today, I’m trying to hold both of these things & give them equal weight:

1. I am an addict. I am an alcoholic. I have hurt the people I love. I have made choices that put myself, my loved ones, and society in danger. Intentionally as well as unintentionally. I’ve acted in ways, with no regard for others. I’ve made people worry and caused them anxiety. I still have more to see about the ripple effects of my actions.

I give myself a little grace because I started using and drinking at a young age (13 to be precise) But I continued this pattern through the age of 29. Probably still wouldn’t have admitted it was slowly killing me if it didn’t all blow up in my face and I had no other choice but to face reality. That’s just the truth.

Even at 13, I knew I was making a bad decision (hi DARE) but I didn’t care because I thought I was better than it (lol I was kind of a “I know better than everyone else” little b at 13).

In a way, I thought I was invincible. I’ve been so consumed by my own pain that I didn’t take the time to truly acknowledge others’. I ignored them. It’s not all me me me me me. I say this to take accountability.

2. I grew up in a turbulent household. My father was an alcoholic and those are my earliest memories. I was terrified of him & embarrassed of him. He got sober and then became a drug addict. He took me on drug runs. Our backyard was covered in crack pipes. He forgot about me, he belittled me, he degraded me. He physically abused my mother and myself. He told me I wasn’t worthy and my family kind of enabled that narrative. He’s clean now and has been for years but he is so wrapped up in his own delusional world - we have no contact. I found out recently that he suffered horrible abuse and neglect as a child. The cycle continues.

It was just my parents and I, not much extended family. One grandma - well, she swallowed a lifetime of abuse and pain. She wasn’t entirely sane, as a result. The other one? Everything was my fault in her eyes, I was just like my dad. Why am I making our lives so hard? At 3, at 7, at 16, at 21, now. Ok grandma, I get it. I wasn’t an easy child. Everyone else was pretty much on the fringe, never really saw them or knew them.

My mom wasn’t around because she was busy supporting the whole household and trying to keep it all together. I still don’t know how she did it. She’s also very stoic — actually, it’s a cultural thing. We come from a background where stoicism is revered. We. Do. Not. Talk. About. Things. We overcome and we swallow it or we whisper behind closed doors and pretend everything is fine. Patriarchy rules. You can’t change your situation, bad things happen and we endure silently.

I see things from her perspective now, she was in an impossible situation. She’s only human. These days, we are a lot more honest and compassionate with each other. She is my anchor and I would give her the sun, if I could.

But I held a lot of anger and resentment towards her for most of my childhood. Because I felt no one had my back. I had to grow up and parent myself starting at a very young age. I had to figure out the world on my own. When things with my dad finally ended and she was ready to parent me, I was like “fuck you”. I was 14 years old and thought I knew everything.

So, I attribute a lot of the issues I struggle/d with to my upbringing. To not having the resources, the support, or a caregiver who could actually provide care. What about me? I never got a sorry. I got ridiculed and gaslit for being a walking trauma response as a child. No one explained that this wasn’t okay. Actually, no one really said much of anything besides getting upset when I wasn’t docile and quiet. My self-esteem is the depth of a teaspoon (but growing stronger, each day). So what about me? Where is my fucking apology? They were adults who were supposed to know better and do better.

It’s the not dealing with these issues and hiding everything until I felt like I was going to explode — that led me to make the choices I made, turning to alcohol & drugs. Like I sprinted towards them. I knew there would be consequences sure, but I didn’t see myself being where I am today. I didn’t see myself causing hurt, anguish, pain to people around me who love me. I didn’t see myself wishing for death and becoming suicidal. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone really gave a shit about me so I was free to deal however I wanted.

I see those things now. I’m uncovering more and more each day. I start to remember so many times I’ve used and forgotten about — it makes me feel sick to my stomach. It’s hard. I’m coming to terms with these choices and their consequences. No one is obliged to forgive me & I respect their boundaries. Apologies don’t erase pain. I feel embarrassed to admit these truths, because they seem ridiculous to me now. But I have to. I want to be better.

It’s hard to not think that the decisions made were entirely wrong or entirely right. That the people involved (myself included) are all good or all bad. How can I acknowledge that my childhood was difficult and shaped me as I am today, but that my choices are entirely my own? At what point, what age, is it acceptable to say I knew better but continued to choose self-destruction? How do I forgive myself?

Maybe the issue is that I’m focused on that instead of understanding how decisions & people are far more complex than an either/or. I’m struggling to reconcile these things as truth, altogether — to understand the gray.

I still have a long way to go.

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

What you want, wants you too. Trust.

reminder:

21 -

I have to believe in myself. I can’t keep holding on to my anger and resentment, because it’s poisoning me. Acceptance is what moves me forward. I can’t keep berating myself for the past. I’m allowed to fuck up. I can’t change the past. Feel, process, release.

I may never receive an apology. I may never receive forgiveness.

I’m realizing that my life isn’t defined by the mistakes I’ve made. To be human, is to make mistakes.

Be accountable for them and acknowledge their consequences. Don’t let them control the narrative.

But it’s how I rebound, how I rise from the ashes — that what counts. What I learn. How I stay humble & evolve. That is what determines my character. My self-worth. Through the fire, I discover who I really am.

I trust in my greater She to guide me.

I’m hopeful for the future.

Each day, a little better and brighter.

nothing matters and we will all return to dust