As open, raw and honest as this blog is, and I hope it will be, there exists another level of brutal writing. Unfiltered truth, bare naked as a newborn child. It is in my journaling. Excerpts may appear from it, but there are things about me that are too dark to make public. As it is with all of us, I'm sure. But as I recover - as I rebuild, literally, scars are being ripped open.
The pain has been worse in the past few days than it was when I finally gave in and got help. Physically, emotionally, psychically and spiritually. I had been on a run of good feelings for a week or so. I had felt accomplished - things were starting to go well for a change. I felt.... happy. A nearly unrecognizable feeling.
Wednesday afternoon came with the announcement that Queen were finally releasing properly remastered, 2 CD sets of the original albums, with the bonus tracks (BBC recordings, demos, instrumental mixes) that they deserved. I was overjoyed. Elated. Orgasmic, to be honest. Best news I'd heard in a long time, and more than that, something to look forward to. I was so happy I had to tell everyone... I told my friend and fellow Queenophile Andy, who was similarly excited. I told anyone who would half listen and not care. Then I picked up the phone and... tried to call Mom, as I would have always done. I lost it. Completely. I broke down to a sobbing, wimpering mess. I cried until I puked. I had to call my brother to come and help me grieve. I used all the coping skills I could muster to ground myself in the moment, and I regained my composure enough to do traffic and go be with my family and spend the night with a friend.
Thursday, I went in to IOP (on an off day) to talk about the day before. I did, and it felt okay. I brought the glass sculpture that holds a little of Mom's ashes with me, as I did the night before when my friend and I went to Prarie Meadows. During one of the classes, I began journaling. And it all started to pour out - my heart, my pain, my fears... raw and unfiltered. Once I had emptied out my heart, I went into a full-fledged anxiety attack. I had trouble breathing and I could not move. My legs were rubber and I weighed 400 pounds. I couldn't even speak. Two of the nurses helped me into another room where I could calm down, but my mood was fucked for the rest of the day. I had to call in sick, then went home and slept. Another friend stayed with me for a while at the apartment, which was painful as I decided that would be a good time to define our relationship by essentially ending it. I was already hurting - I had nothing to lose.
Friday brought another day of IOP, and an assertive visit with my chiropractor. I came back to work in a bad mood, edgy and angry. I arrived to the staff celebrating with free food and drawing for prizes, a drawing in which I was not enrolled, as I was not present to win. Frankly, I was a bitter, pissed off bastard, so I wrote a mass email to the staff in which I was rude and self-centered.
To wrap this up - I feel like I've backslid from almost all of the progress I've made. I know that isn't the case, but I can't help but feel lost again, and shameful for it. I know things will improve, as I'm already feeling better. But still... a bad week.
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