The darkness came back last night. With a vengeance. The cage that held it back unlocked by two margaritas and a Corona. Sitting at the edge of my couch. My body tense. My hands squeezing my temples as I screamed. I could feel the darkness tearing away at my brain. Tears flowing down my face. Begging for the pain to stop. Begging to not feel this way. I would have welcomed death at that moment. Not because of the pain, but because I feared I would do this to myself again. And again. That all of my hard work would be so quickly discarded and I would allow alcohol and the darkness to rule my life. That no matter how much work I do, all it takes is the smallest misstep to take it all down. I wanted so badly to call someone for help, but didn’t want to be a burden on anyone.
Truth be told, I did not feel worthy of help.
I tried to remember all that I have practiced and developed over the past two years. My saving graces that pulled me from the darkness and shaped my mind into what it is today. A brain that is closer to my child’s mind than ever before. Clear, open, confident and present. I wanted to show myself compassion and love. Now more than ever I needed it. I went to the mirror and told the face looking back at me that I loved him. I did not recognize the face. I did not know the person staring back at me. His eyes were a different color than mine, his skin a different tone. I was scared of him.
I wanted to tear off the skin I was wearing, to crawl out from the shell that was encapsulating me.
This is not want I wanted for the night. I had merely wanted to enjoy my new found freedom. I wanted to stop at a neighborhood bar, one that I had walked by before when I could not go in. My ankle bracelet making me a spectator of the fun going on inside. I wanted to partake in an activity I had done thousands of nights before. One that in the past had brought me joy. Last night there was no joy. There was the opposite. There was a vacuum, sucking all that was good away and pulling the darkness in to take its place.
Alcohol had always given me confidence, allowed me to find my voice. Last night the alcohol muted my voice, it chipped away at my confidence. Writing this now do I see a positive out of all of this. I do not need anything to make me feel confident.
I am confident. I found my voice. And I don’t ever want to lose it.
My mind is my greatest asset. But it balances on a precipice. Dangling at the cliffs edge. So much work and time to keep it safe, so little to push it over the edge. I feel an impetus to complete my book and any other work I have before it falls off the cliff and into the dark abyss below. I fear the cliffs edge, but don’t know how to walk away from it.
I have been working on another post for almost two weeks now. The words have been eluding me. I wrote this instead. It is not uplifting, it is not a part of my one percent for today. I’ve barely edited this, I don’t know if it will make sense to anybody reading it.
It is raw and it is what I experienced.
It is my truth and it is my fear.