So expansive, queasy eggshell nerves wound finite tight calloused thick thoughts collapsing sweet nothings colliding sweet anxiety never tasted so bitter.
Living on my own for the first time and I spent today cleaning and packing and high on Adderall for the better part of the day. I found myself trying so hard and struggling so hard to focus, to do one task at a time, to stay on track.
High on Adderall.
I most definitively do not have ADHD.
Drinking and drugs used to be an obsession. An idealization of myself. I made myself into a caricature of a drug doing eating disordered caucasian white girl with daddy issues-- like really? Me now would give me then a huge hug and then a slap in the face. Me now would give me then a kiss on the cheek and then a kick in the fucking ass. Me now would hold her while she sobbed and wipe her tears. Me now would promise her then that she would get through it, that she would survive, that she would get through all the narcissists, the pain, the arguing, the fighting, the chaos, the spinning, the nights spent too high to function or write anything more than fuck yous across the walls of her consciousness. The me now would promise her then she is not going to feel wonderful all the time, she is going to continue feeling lost and confused and angry, she is still going to hurt. Me now would promise her then that yes, all those feelings and crazy things and chaos would still arise, but that she would find in herself the strength to get through them without drugs and alcohol, without throwing up her food, without jumping into the bed of yet another practically stranger who made empty promises and left her heart even emptier; that she would do all of this and so much more.
Because me now is her then and she is me now and I am her in ten years and I am her when she was small and lost and confused and her when she was eleven and in despair and her when she is sixteen and she is me when I was one year old.
I looked at pictures from my family's past today. I cried for the father who did not see me grow up into this girl-going-on-woman I am now. I cried for my grandfather who passed away. I cried for the little girl who lost herself in cocaine and porcelain. Who got lost in trying so hard to lose herself and found herself in losing herself completely.
Today and for a long while now I have been busting my ass moving myself into my first apartment paid for by my parents and will begin the semester at a college I'd never thought I'd go to. Nothing looks like she then imagined for me now. Nothing will be like me now could imagine it will look like for me then.
And that is okay. Because I keep going. I keep fighting a battle against myself becoming better than who I was before. I keep fighting the battle in the name of my own cause, against the enemy of my own demons. I keep asking myself for guidance to deal with my own head, for the wisdom to know myself, the wisdom of my own truth which, if I keep fighting, quietly, in the small moments, steadfastly, each day, keep breathing, in the silence, if I just keep going, is my truth, her truth, our truth, a truth which, because I will keep fighting, may get quiet sometimes, so teensy tiny quiet to be only a whisper.
But it will not be lost, it will never be silent.
Because I choose her.
I choose me.
I choose us.
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