Hard Days

The last two days have been hard. I have hated myself, screamed it at myself in the mirror followed by a barrage of insults. This always ends with crying, because it hurts. It hurts when I am so mean to myself and I just can’t seem to stop.

It is in these moments, and these moments only, my thoughts circle around to alcohol. That if I had alcohol available, that would take the pain away. The burn of it going down my throat would shock me out of it. I would relax as the sensation of alcohol coursing through my veins warms me and calms me.

I am confident that I wouldn’t pick myself up and drive myself to the liquor store to purchase alcohol for the first time in almost three years. But that is where the level of pain and discomfort of being with myself has been the last two days. I think the best thing for me to do is talk about it, or write about it.

I have struggled with body image, self-image, for as long as I can remember. I have had good days, even periods of time where I have felt confident and actually liked myself. Yet, the bad days still outnumber the good days. The last two days, it has been difficult to look at myself in the mirror and not hate what is looking back at me.

I stood in my bathroom, staring at myself crying in the mirror. I became enraged at the affirmations written on the mirror all around me.

I am beautiful. I am strong. I am capable. I love myself.

It made me angry because in that moment I was very far from being able to believe there was any truth to any of those statements. Instead of trying to just say the affirmations written all around, I started spewing hate at myself; looking myself right in the eye –

I hate you. You’re so fat and disgusting. No one likes you. You’re ugly. You’re worthless.
I hate you.

I was shaking with anger. I was collapsing in pain. I fell apart, tears were falling from my face as I cried, nearly hyperventilating. I wanted to hit myself. I wanted to hurt myself. I couldn’t, though. I couldn’t let myself follow through with those impulses.

In the moment I felt out of control, I was afraid of myself and what I might do. Why do I hate myself so much? Why am I like this? Why can’t I be normal?

I’ve been sleeping more and more lately. I was doing so well with getting up in the morning for a couple of weeks. Now I am sleeping through all of my alarms again because I don’t want to face the day. I would rather stay in bed under the covers.

But my body hurts, I have been laying down too long. I know I need to get up. I know I need to move my body. I get out of bed and I feel like I am so old. My body feels so tight and cramped up. It takes a few minutes to get stretched back out and be able to stand up straight. When did this happen? How have I let myself get back here again?

I ignore the warning signs. I don’t take care of myself enough. I let the messes pile up around me, slowly making me more and more anxious and on edge because of the clutter. I feel completely overwhelmed. I don’t even know where to begin.

I refused to let my mom come over and do it for me again. I need to learn to do it myself. I have been at it for over two hours, getting distracted so many times, and I still have much to do. My mom would have been done by now. I don’t understand how she does it. Why is it so easy for her and so difficult for me?

Why was I born this way? Why did I have to go through all the experiences that led me to this point? What is the purpose of all the suffering?

How do I overcome this? I am tired of feeling like I am struggling all the time. I am tired of feeling negative all the time. I am tired of having more bad days than good.

The fight to get out of the bad days is hard. It requires determination. It requires me to force myself to get up and do things. The fight forces me to do the things I need to feel better.

I haven’t allowed myself to stay in this low depressive state. I refuse to get to the point of crawling into bed in the middle of the day. I refuse to sink any lower because I know the depths of my lows are pretty deep. Right now, I am just on the edge of the shallow end. One incident, or thought, could easily push me over into the deep end.

It is important that I get up and get myself out to a steady foundation again before that happens. Today I forced myself to follow through and go to therapy. It was my first appointment with my new therapist; I couldn’t cancel.

I came home determined. Today was a new day, I wasn’t going to continue to carry this weight around with me. I gave myself a challenge to see how much I could get done before my mom called me back about two hours later.

I felt proud of myself for getting a lot of the clutter picked up and put away. I feel proud of myself for getting most of the dishes done. I feel proud of myself for getting half of the floors clean so far. I may not have completed everything that needs to be done today, but I did a lot. I did it by myself without anyone’s help. For me, that is a big deal.

I am proud of myself because even though I am still feeling despondent; I picked myself up. I made a choice to not stay on the edge; I chose to save myself from falling further. I decided enough was enough. It was hard, but I did it.

I feel a little ridiculous being so proud of myself for a seemingly small thing, just cleaning my house; but when battling depression, ADHD, etc, this is a huge accomplishment. I won’t let anyone tell me otherwise.

Hard days are going to keep happening. My therapist told me this program is going to be hard. I’m not going to feel better right away, but I am going to get there. I am ready to start having my good days outnumber my bad. But the only way I am going to get there is if I do the work myself.

Which means I need to start caring for my house and my home on my own. I don’t know exactly how I will manage, but I will figure it out. I always do.