I’m off my medication. Read with
It began this morning. What a
struggle! Didn’t know what to do. Do we follow through with our
plans with Husband and go to Water Park? Or do we kick back at home
with Husband and watch movies, play with our dogs, and listen to
music? I stayed home where it was mentally safe. The pro-recovery
action would have been to go to Water Park, absorb some Vitamin D,
and relax. But the other side of me didn’t know if we would have the
strength to go through with it.
Since then, we’ve become a bawling
mess, chugging beers, and eating candy Klonopin. In hindsight, Water
Park was a better choice, but I don’t know we were capable of it
today, which is why it is hard to beat myself up for not going to
Water Park. Only a few internals were capable of going, which meant
the rest of the crew would struggle and be unhappy.
A subsequent war ensued between us that
I recognized as one occurring often,, and it left me feeling sorry
and sympathetic.
What I discovered this morning is that
the “recovery” side is warring with the “I don’t know what the
fuck to do now” side, but it really isn’t a war at all. Everyone
is trying to do what’s best, but that looks like different things.
We are all trying to cope. Sometimes
one side knows what to do, and sometimes the other side still isn’t
able to find the pulse in the day; however, it seems more of a
conjoined effort to get through the day in the best way possible as
each member knows best. Who could argue with that?
We have made some good choices lately,
Therapist be damned. We went to dinner with a colleague Friday
night. Spent Saturday at Theme-Park when we just wanted to stay home
where it was “safe”. Sunday, the anxiety was so personified and
formidable, we went on a 28 mile bike ride to exhaust ourselves so
we would be too tired for anxiety and panic attacks (still had the
attacks, but, hey, the thought counts.)
In other words, we’ve tried to do the
right thing in respects getting by.
But there are days like today when the
“recovery thing” is impossible. We are tethered to pain killers,
Klonopin, and alcohol. We didn’t start the day that way. We had
every honorable intention. But then we see a whole day in front of
us and there are too many hours in the day to endure, to stave off
the impending insanity, and we just can’t face it. We can’t legitimately fill the hours and we don’t have the energy to pretend
But I finally
recognize the beauty in the mechanism of coping: at least we aren’t
all trying to kill each other anymore and demand our needs be met
over others. We are a system that is trying to muddle through as
best as we can.
True, our good
intentions can have damaging consequences, and we will deal with that
in probably another ten years. But for now, there is a relief and a
sense of peace NEVER known that we are all on the same page just
trying to make it through each crazy day.
I’ve learned in teaching high school
that when my students misbehave and act out it is because they are
trying to communicate to me something they can’t or won’t verbally
say. I believe that is what we are doing: acting out to communicate our inability to adapt. 
Days like today, when we
can’t seem to make it to the life we are meant to live, I am being
taught that my members need something. I don’t always know what it
is, but I am trying to honor it, trying to push them where
appropriate, and finding the need to ease off when it is too
And I know later I will hate myself and
probably wrestle with panic attacks, weep uncontrollably, and be one
drive short of the mental hospital, but for now, we will hold our
breath, not blink our eyes, and try to preserve the tenuous calmness
of not hating each other so damned much.