I am sorry you felt the need to binge tv shows nightly and eat fast food to soothe yourself.
You stopped seeing friends except on the weekend when you would get wasted.
I am sorry you slept with numerous men who did not care about you.
(Remember the one who slept with you, took your cigarettes and then left and never talked to you again? Shout out to Kyle from Longmeadow, Mass. You reignited my trauma, yet I feel sorry for you. I saw those sadness in your eyes. I hope you are ok.)
I am sorry you let your mother, who loved you and who you loved very much, to control your emotions like a light switch….so badly that self harm and disordered eating became a part of your life.
I am NOT sorry for these experiences. They taught me lessons.
I am sorry for the hurt they caused my sensitive soul though.
I have been trying to get off of the fake love of my life, cannabis concentrate, for the last few years.
I have worked with substance abuse teams, therapists and group sessions.
I am now in an intensive DBT program at this place I’ve received all of my care. In order to be in the program, it is required you see one out of three of their doctors.
I’ve been seeing Dr. I* for over a year. Overall our relationship was cordial. She has a heavy accent and sometimes I can’t follow along with what she is saying, and I end up letting it brush by because, well, I have social anxiety.
Today, I came into the session planning to inquire why she dropped by antidepressant dose in half overnight, and maybe that is why I am struggling weaning off of 1gram of cannabis concentrate.
My partner was sitting next to me when after I approached the subject and let her know my feelings politely, Dr.I basically said “we have tried everything and at this point we are back at square one.”
Square one? I’ve been busting my ass getting clean. I gave up nicotine and alcohol! Why does she just seem to always tell me, “you just need to stop.”
It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.
Sitting here, in my car passenger seat, waiting for my signature espresso drink, I’m full of self-hatred.
I’ve let just about all of Facebook and social media know that I struggle with mental health issues, along with friends, family, etc. Although they know I struggle, I assume they also see me as a functioning adult who inspires others to be more open about their mental health and stability.
Most days, I understand that helping and inspiring others who struggle with what I do is a gift. It’s enlightening to see people blossom!
Today though, I need to be one of those I help. I need assistance; I need someone like me to listen or to take the place of a caregiver I never had and am still grieving over. I need someone to soothe me. (Even though I know only I can do and am responsible for that.)
I’ve had a lot of validation in my short life that confirms I am too much.