:: The following is a diary entry made by a teenaged me. (So keep that in mind.) The instructions I have left myself, knowing & not knowing about my muddied mind & how it would never hold the memories, here are simple. A sort of fake it till you make it. //Habits form & muscle memory makes (me) smile. “I’m good, & you?” .. Anyway,, I come back to this entry on occasion. It’s my call to action, when the valley’s low. I think there’s promise in it. Maybe you can see it too? // //
early college sometime,,
it’s weird how senses work.
i just made myself this pomegranate black tea i used to have a lot last summer, and the smell/taste brought back all these feelings.
last summer i was still deeply depressed (like, still following pro-selfharm blogs), was sleeping poorly (some things never change) and still had my emergency stash of pills tucked away in my closet in case i plucked up the courage to kill myself. last summer i also had finally made the realization that i was either going to end up dead or have to be pro-active in my recovery. hence, the tea. i started drinking tea bc it seemed like a sweet, peaceful thing to do. i started writing more, reading more, learning about the beat generation and getting generally interested in things.
i remember how fucking difficult it was to stop doing the things that were bad for me, but i loved so much and was addicted to. i remember how badly i wanted to hurt myself, but i would force myself to drink tea and read instead. i wanted to sleep all day, but i forced myself to stay awake even when it hurt. i hated myself for not allowing myself to self-destruct but i knew a habit stays a habit until broken. i lied to myself that i was okay everyday. i lied to myself about not needing to hurt myself, to hate myself. i lied to myself about being over the past. i lied to myself about forgiving people, forgiving myself. i lied to myself about lying to myself. i lied and lied and lied that summer.
in fact, i would say it’s only been a month or two of those lies being the truth. i begrudgingly changed my whole lifestyle, picked up new interests i didn’t really understand, & resentfully forced myself into new habits for about a year before they became comfortable parts of me. it has not been easy.
it’s still not easy.
life continues to be hard (harder than when my mom was drinking, i think) but i know now that life is allowed to be hard and that i’m still allowed to enjoy it. for example, i still suffer from sleep paralysis and night terrors daily, but i refuse to continually pity myself for it as i have in the past. i hate that it happens, but i just keep adjusting things in my life in the hopes i’ll defeat them. my worst nightmare occurring does not mean i have to give up on life –it just makes the choice harder to make, never impossible.
last summer i drank cup after cup of this tea praying i’d find solace at the bottom of the mug… but i’m here now knowing the real solace is in the experience of the taste and fleeting quiet of the moment.