I write a lot about my suffering. After a while of doing this, I began to question the point of it.
I realized that it’s cathartic for me and that I find it necessary to jot down my thoughts the same way I find it necessary to make my bed each morning. It is a small thing I can do to make my day feel good and right. Writing about my suffering feels like an important part of this journey I am on. At least, this is what I keep telling myself. I need to write about what has happened to me. What is happening. This is the only way I can make sense of things. I practice this in daily conversation as well. I will talk a million miles a minute with someone about a problem I am having. I just want to understand things better. My Gemini self craves constant knowledge! And so I write to better understand the feelings that confuse or hurt me. But is this all I have to write about - my suffering? Why does it feel so disingenuous to write about things that bring me joy?
Lately, I’ve been making an effort to acknowledge all that I have in my life to be grateful for. How fortunate I am, but also how deserving. And more often than not, this takes a grueling effort. I am learning to work through this challenge. Anytime my mind drifts toward criticism or judgment, I remind myself to be gentle and kind. I want to do this with my writing as well.
I want to practice focusing on all that is good in my life and fight the constant temptation to get lost in the negative.
Grief and Celebration
My life has been saturated with grief for the last four years. For a while, it was hard to see a silver lining. How could any good come out of everyone around me dying? My heart couldn’t catch a break. Terrible things happen in threes but for me, they didn’t stop at three. I experienced tragedy tenfold. I had to learn to live with the grief. I had to get used to it, somehow. Everyone around you will die and so will you. Does this sound happy and positive yet?
My older brother died in 2018. I know, this is sad to read. Bear with me. I need to explain how I got to where I am now. There was a lot of bad before there could be any good. And then the bad got worse. Less than two years after he died, I visited my father in a hospital room. This would be the very last time I would see him. We weren’t on good terms or really speaking prior to this, but it was still a huge shock when I received a phone call informing me that he was being put in hospice. He died shortly thereafter. At the exact moment that this was happening (when I was driving back from the hospital room) the longterm relationship I was in ended. Then, five months later (I will stop after this one), my half brother died.
I was caught up in a riptide of grief, unable to escape the current and drowning in all of my sorrow. Every time I tried to rest or breathe I was swept away again. I no longer had a firm grip on my reality. Suddenly, everyone around me could very easily die. They would die, there was no escaping that. How does anyone live in peace with this thought? I couldn’t. I shut everything down and off. I drank. A lot.
But this breakdown was my breakthrough. I came to the realization that there were only two directions I could head in from here: I could move forward in my life by changing my circumstances or I could fall deeper into brutal alcoholism, destroy my life, and die.
I chose the former!
I found a therapist and told her on our first meeting that I wanted to stop drinking. By my next session, I was a couple days sober and finally taking it seriously. It actually clicked, and now I had a weekly therapy session that held me somewhat accountable. Mostly, I held myself accountable.
I focused my first few months of therapy on my grief. Both of my brothers died from their addictions, and I was terrified of following in their footsteps. I was also angry, resentful, and heartsick. But talking about these feelings with a licensed professional helped me understand that these feelings were normal and that the pain would lessen its grip on my heart with time and action.
I began running nearly every day. I ran while I was drinking too, but inconsistently and with great struggle. With a few months of sobriety under my belt, I was running 15-20 miles a week and feeling my body and mind get stronger. I was getting stronger. I was realizing my strength.
I began to feel some joy in my life. I was making positive changes which led to positive outcomes. I started writing every day, something I was always incapable of because of the doubt and brain fog that come with alcohol and being hungover.
I wrote a chapbook, The Other Ache, and began Sober Gemini. I found ways to celebrate my life. Now, more days feel full of possibility, hope, and joy than they ever did while I was drinking. I can’t wait to see where my life heads next.