I feel absolutely worthless and hopeless at the moment.
I want to quit recovery and I can’t.
For the love of Nancy (heh), can somebody please tell me why I am in tears over any little thing tonight? I expected this *last* fall, when I was fresh out of treatment, all doe-eyed and panicked that any little misstep could be the end of my recovery and thus, the end of my graduate school experience.
But I am solidly in recovery for a year now. I have a full year of graduate classes under my belt, with a 4.0 to boot. I have professors insisting that I apply to doctoral programs.
And yet, on the eve of classes, I am crying over finances and clothes and friends and racism.
I don’t know how I’m going to keep it all together tomorrow.
(And no, I don’t get my period for another three weeks.)
Will all my evening meds be enough to knock me out in the face of 10 oz of diet soda and stress bordering on panic?
Or will I stay up another three hours being unproductive, then finally fall asleep for three hours and then get up to be utterly unproductive for the first day of class?
One day, I’ll get to do this again.
Just another reason to recover.
I went for regular wheat thins. Well, okay - the lower salt kind. But that’s legitimate, given that I don’t particularly like added salt on things.
Basically - eff it. I like fat. So sue me.
My friend who is coming to visit suggested cheese and crackers for a snack idea. Unfortunately, crackers still sort of scare me.
So I really want to get the reduced fat wheat thins.
But I’m supposed to be this freaking recovery guru. And I don’t want my friend (also in recovery, but struggling with being overweight due to some physical mobility issues) to think I think she’s fat or something.
I’ve been wanting to begin a daily writing practice, as suggested by Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down The Bones. I did it for like, two days.
It doesn’t even need to be a long thing, just ten minutes of stream of consciousness writing - but I always find a reason to not do it. (Exhibit A - writing this post.) The hardest part of this particular writing practice is that I have to stay fully present and just write as I think, without editing or censoring or pausing to gather my words. I write, but I edit heavily.
I imagined this morning a time in the future when sitting down to write during a few free moments is habit. I then thought of how ridiculous that is, for such an awkward thing - a thing I will have to force myself to do - to become ingrained and habitual.
But it IS possible. That’s what recovery has been. Three meals, three snacks. Like clockwork. In the beginning, it was excruciating and miserable and I wanted to quit more times than not. But I kept going.
Have there been bumps in the road, days where things get shaky and I have to again force food into my mouth? Sure.
But overall, recovery has just become a habit - something I do without thinking about it.
When I left treatment a year ago, I would have never thought this possible.
But it is.
And it is wonderful.