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Tag: recovery

SECURITY BLANKETS

I still live in fear the shit will hit the fan again. I’m finding it hard to let go of the fear someone will die, or my kids will get into trouble, or someone will become really ill, or I’ll lose my job, or I’ll be in a high-conflict situation, or we’ll have a financial disaster, or my marriage will fail, or any one of the other major stresses I’ve been struck with will knock me down again. And again. Despite the fact that so far in 2017, I have had nothing but positive news, I’m still fearful.

WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?

I am trying to figure out why I indulge in actions that disgust me, but I do anyway. Sure – most of them are inherent behaviours. But I’m not as silly as I look – I do have the capacity to learn and change. My mental health stuff has become appallingly resistant to change. There is nothing we do that is without benefit to us. Nothing. Even all those things we do “for other people”, it turns out, there is also something in it for us.

HEART OPEN PLEASE ENTER

There’s a little glimmer of warmth, burrowing into my chest. And a chink of light, peeking into my spirit. If I listen carefully I can almost hear a heart-warming song. It has taken me awhile to recognise it – the song of hope. Unfamiliar. Really scary. Really positive. Hope.

THINGS I’M GETTING RIGHT

It’s so easy to focus on everything that goes wrong, everything that still needs to be fixed, and how big the fricking recovery mountain is!
It’s so easy to regret the decades where I didn’t seek recovery or acknowledge the severity of my problems. And to bemoan my many failed attempts at change, the misunderstandings of my own behaviours and those of others. To look back in frustration at not having the wisdom or strength to question my thoughts and feelings and actions.

FAILURE ISN’T A FEELING & FEELINGS AREN’T FACTS

Food tastes like failure.
I don’t savour beautiful textures and flavours. I never mindfully and sensuously nibble delicacies, inhaling aromas and luxuriating in the tantalising sensations on my tastebuds. When I eat, I scoff food down like a starving woman fighting a horde of ravenous dogs, scratching around for the last morsel on a carcass. Washed down with guilt and loathing and fear, and an overwhelming sense of failure – I’ve done it again. I’ve eaten food I didn’t want, in a manner I didn’t like. I’ve failed myself. Food tastes like failure. Day in and day out – I eat failure or I don’t eat at all.
And that failure is an emotion so powerful it’s almost tangible – I could reach out and touch it. Food tastes like failure and failure is a feeling.
But that’s a lie.

STRATEGIES

Despondency.
It’s an unpleasant feeling.
I’m currently wallowing around in misery, feeling sorry for myself but struggling to find the willingness to be willing to make the required changes to my behaviours. I’ve acquired all the necessary knowledge, tools and support networks. Still I wallow. Still I perpetuate the lifetime habits that I both loathe and cling to like a drowning woman.

REASONS

My psychologist talked about recovery, and I said (amongst other things), what’s in it for me? Which sounds appallingly self-interested – because it is! But it is the crux of my recovery issue. Everything I do in my life, is for other people – even my recovery. And without having intrinsic reasons to travel this rocky road, it is nigh on impossible to keep trudging along.

INTO THE LIGHT

I may be living in a minefield and the recovery process feels thick, viscous and horrifyingly distressing, but that unknown fog is more terrifying. I know where the pitfalls in my minefield are – it feels better to live with the devil you know…