I’ve been feeling guilty and anxious all day. For many reasons…. one of them being what I wrote last night. So instead of fighting the urge to go back and delete, or edit to make the picture more flattering, I am choosing curiosity. What was it about what I wrote last night, on this blog, that riled me up?
A few things. One, that it felt more confessional than I have intended this blog to be. I keep a handwritten journal and have for years; this is not my journal. I am not sure exactly what distinction I am trying to draw, but the idea that I click “publish” after a post and it goes out into the world and people can read it and oh it’s out there and oh there’s no taking it back.
So, on the one hand, I do not want this blog to be a bunch of typed journal entries. Yes, this is an anonymous blog, but maybe one day I’ll choose to share things. Maybe. And if I share this, ever, with anyone who I am close with in my real life… do I want them reading things like that last entry? We are all works in progress, yes; we are all imperfect, yes; and most people who know me in real life do know I can have self-abusive tendencies. Some people who know me in real life know I used to have an eating disorder; very few people in my life know how it crept back in over the last several months; I don’t think many people would be surprised, however, if I shared that, especially those who know what all happened this spring/summer. Some people who know me in real life know I sometimes drink too much; very, very few people know that I’ve had periods of time where my drinking habits have scared me.
These days, these are not things I choose to share. They are not the “real me” … but they are pieces, pieces that I often feel shame around.
Do I keep secrets? Yes. Do my not-always-healthy habits need to be broadcasted to everyone? Absolutely not. And, most of the time, especially over the last 3-4 years, I’ve had such positive growth and I am choosing to focus on the good, focus on the good, focus on the good. I am not the same person I was when I was 15, thank goodness. Or 18, 19, 20 … Always moving forward. Yet, I still struggle sometimes. Sometimes I choose to self-medicate. Some days I have the urgency to just take the edge off, in some capacity, and sometimes, out of nowhere, it’s the old habits that seem the most helpful.
It’s progress, though, because it’s not and nowhere near an all-the-time thing. And I don’t know– though I hope– that one day I’ll be this totally healthy self-loving never-being-unhealthy person. It’s just not a black and white thing. I go out with friends and drink socially. Sometimes, depending on my internal world, I drink too much. Sometimes, I choose not to drink. Sometimes I have one drink and call it a night. It’s not black and white. It’s not at an addiction level. Can I be an addict? Definitely. I know that’s a vulnerability I have. I’ve been addicted to patterns of behavior before. It’s a hell of a rut to sink into.
Maybe I’m being defensive here. I’m not trying to defend my vices. I don’t really want to write about them, since one of the main goals of this blog is to focus on emotions and experiences and understanding and processing. And the other main goal of this blog is to be real, be my real genuine authentic self. Which is why I chose to write last night.
How can I feel so whole, spiritual, and joyful while also having moments, or days, or weeks, of feeling so very on the edge and dangerous? I don’t want to censor those parts of me, either, though; they need a voice; they have things to say.
Maybe this post doesn’t belong here. Maybe the previous post doesn’t belong here either. There aren’t rules, though I do want things to be cohesive. My Perfectionist is having a strong opinion here.
There is no resolution. It all just is what it is. And sometimes it doesn’t make sense.