Back to the Grind
I am trying hard to go back to what I was initially writing and drawing for this week’s posts. I can’t. I am still thinking about L. A person that I have not spoken to in almost thirty years. And though I spent a lot of time hanging out with her back in the day, I don’t have a lot of memories of our time together. My memories of that time in my life are hazy at best.
Not that I doubt that my sadness around her passing isn’t real (and yes, I did question the genuineness of my sorrow). But why? Why was I in such an absolute emotional funk yesterday? And a bit today as I can’t focus on what I have been working on.
Today is better than yesterday when I spent most of the day crying off and on as I wrote Rest Peacefully, My Friend. And because I am who I am, I spent a lot of time thinking about the deep sadness I felt.
It is sad that she passed away. But, any death is a sadness.
I keep going back to her lifetime challenge with addiction could have easily been me. Likewise, the announcement of her death (she is two years older than me) could have been about me.
Then I wonder, would my fam have written that I died “peacefully in my sleep” if I died from complications due to alcoholism? I would hope not. In fact, please don’t ever do that. Be honest about my demise, please.
Then I think my fam might never have known. I only let people see what I wanted them to see. Most of the time, what I show on the outside is not what is going on beneath the surface. As I told my therapist the other day, no one wants to deal with that giant pile of dinosaur shit.
I am exhausted. It’s exhausting.
No one understands how close I came to killing myself with alcohol. No one. Sometimes, I did not realize how close I was to going down that path. And then I read that L passed away. And I think, “holy shit, I came so close.” And no one knew.
I can’t blame others for not knowing. I don’t want to FEEL this way. I completely understand not wanting to HEAR about it. Why would I share if I don’t want to feel like this? That’s requires acknowledging that I am in immense pain. And for years, okay, my whole life, I didn’t admit that.
Then I think, why me? And not the “why me” as in “why me to be born into the hell that I was born into.” I do ask that question too, but not this time. This “why me?” is the “why am I still here?” What was the difference between us that I am still here and L is not? How am I winning (if I am winning? I think I am winning?) this battle against the darkness, against the demons, against addiction? WHY ME?
I don’t know. I don’t.
I only know that there was always something that stopped me. Whatever that THING was, it stopped me from doing the heavier drugs. It drew a line. I drew a line. It was a narrow line, but at least I drew one? And when I came close to crossing that line, when I was balancing on edge, instead of falling down the ravine, I threw all my weight and fell the other way.