LEFTOUTSIDE

At this point in my life I’ve come to understand it is not the substances I am addicted to. The liquor, drugs, or sex, it is escape. You go through enough bags of cocaine, get ‘fuck you’ drunk enough times when you’ve spent over a thousand dollars in a single night out drinking, participate in multiple accounts of love bombing in a brief period of time. That you realize, it is not the substances but ‘you’ that is the source of your addiction. Be it a deep sadness that is rooted in a deep timeline of abuse or self-inflicted self-deprecation, the escape of confrontation of yourself is addictive. It becomes part of your nature, to fly instead of fight. 

You remember don’t you? Those harsh weeks where the voices in your head pick you apart when you look in the mirror. Dissect everything that is beautiful about you and transform yourself into the most disgusting existence. You find yourself staring into the mirror, into those intense eyes that call you a liar, your eyes.

I have been addicted to my sadness for years now. I can’t give it up. It’s spilled into many other facets of my life from sex, drug consumption, liquor-induced blackouts to endless gaslighting that ‘I am not enough’. That I at every turn will be betrayed, abandoned, a general vile being that everyone will eventually see through and disdain.

It’s a fucking disease. At least it feels like that sometimes. Though through some of my darkest thoughts, the pressure on my mind has pushed me to some of the most beautiful thoughts. That right there, is the addiction. 

I was blessed throughout my childhood. My parents were both eternally present. Presented every opportunity to pursue any passion I had. All I had to do was speak up..but couldn’t. 

I refuse to trauma dump on strangers that are reading this. 

Despite any feelings I never felt safe to present to my support system I never had the courage to do such, therefore I kept everything bottled in. With that being said the opportunity that I had is something millions of other children lacked. 

I dated this one girl who had a more difficult childhood. I was over at her house sharing dinner with her family and one of her twin sister’s boyfriends. Everyone in that household was speaking about the difficulties they had when they were younger, the young man that was the other boyfriend especially was strong enough to be vocal about the struggles of his youth. I felt left out, weak, less because I was blessed to not have to experience certain hardships. I felt I lacked character. 

Since then I have continued to place myself in difficult situations. To earn my chips and experience so that I may be able to speak from a place of wisdom. How unfortunate was it for me to not understand my only true hardship was not feeling as I was enough as myself. 

Bringing us full circle to the idea that the suffering we escape is not through drugs, alcohol, or sex. It is within ourselves in which we want to escape. I understand the moments when I feel as I call it my ‘jester of anxiety’ looming over me. Dancing and laughing hiding the true darkness that swells inside of him. Edging me to ignore the reality of how I feel and smile and walk away. Throw potatoes at him as I say, fuck the tomatoes. I am mentally ill. 

Thoughts as such should be observed and understood in a manner that creates space to elevate past them. None of us are truly ever stuck , none of us will forever be mentally ill. The brain is a powerful being and endless in its ability to adapt and create new neural pathways. The only reason any of us are stuck is because we love being fucked. We attach ourselves to any excuse to not confront the inner children within us that wails for attention. I’m drunk as I write this, aren’t I?