I strongly suggest you listen to the above video while reading this piece. It will just make every-damn-thing better.
Sometimes life strikes so hard it leaves me with a bruise bleeding from the inside.
Empaths will understand that line, addicts will own it.
There are times I want to take my heart from my chest. Lock it away, even stomp on it, and then tell it to smarten the hell up. My mind, it is another story, the same hellish story, but it carries with it, an addiction.
I believe in love.
Cue Cher. I don’t know why, but every time I write or say those words, I hear that woman’s deep syrupy voice. Then I Imagine her standing in front of me wearing a sailor suit (don’t ask), pounding her chest, and asking me/ belting out, “Do you believe in life after love?”
I do Cher, I do.
I’m sorry — the words I digress should follow my name on Wikipedia. See I did it again, I honestly do have a point to this god-damn post. I promise.
Here I go. (Oh shit, there is some Salt n Pepa happening now, somebody stop me).
I am that girl. The one who believes in love. I am your rose-coloured glasses, glass half full, elbow love into your arms so hard I leave a bruise, pour positivity down your throat till you gag, kinda girl.
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. It is not always an easy task. Shining rainbows up everyone else’s ass is hard. Why? Because I’m not always happy, who is? (No seriously tell me. I need the secret to life. The always happy life).
Actually, fuck that. I am human, and an addict. I need to feel the pain when the pain comes. Yet, I work my ass off, to become the best, most positive version of myself. Despite the pain, probably even because of it.
Look, ( I know you aren’t supposed to start a sentence like that, but this is my blog, and I can start a sentence however I want), I like to gamble. A little too much some would say. So much so, it became a problem, my addiction.
Happiness is my choice, positivity, is the power to change who I am. Believing in myself is the hardest work, I have ever done.
Here is why.
I like to numb my emotions and tell them to beat it from time to time. The times I want to do that the most, is when life throws me a curve ball. When the real hard shit hits the fan, and I find myself having trouble getting out of bed. Crying in my sleep, pretending a shower is an option, not a necessity. (You know, the real deep dark shit).
But for an addict, someone who has spent a lifetime trying to hide pain, it becomes messy. Scary — turn on the laptop; you can win some money and make the entire world disappear — sort of mind-blowing stuff.
Shit is getting serious.
When trauma enters an addict’s life, the first thing a user wants to do is hide.
Suffocate the pain.
Drown every emotion in the numb of their addiction.
My craving is to feel the power of a win. The satisfaction of a pure euphoric head spinning high. The sound of those bells. Just one more push at the slot machine is like one more hit of your drug of choice.
So when life throws a twist, so rough, and pain rushes through to my core, my gut reaction is to bury my head in the sand. Paralyze the pain. Roll the dice. Push the euphoric button.
Oh, the sparkle of dollars and a life of pain left behind.
Look how shiny life is without pain — now watch me float into the hell of addiction.
When I gamble, I am like Alice. I have fallen into a land of wonder.
But what the hell is this rabbit hole? Who are these crazy animals telling me I’m late, and why does everyone want me to stay? Or is it I, that I need to be here? Better yet, is it my addiction calling me back?
Gambling is my Queen of hearts.
“Off with her head,” is my family, watching me spiral into the abyss.
Sounds fun, right?
It is for a while. The psychedelic colors of addiction are always the best part. Until the addiction takes over and decides — hey, remember that lovely little life Darla had, let’s fucking break it, tear her up so bad inside she can’t see up from down. Let’s keep her in this rabbit hole.
Some people call that rock bottom; I call it the beginning.
The start of a life filled with the power of persuasion. A conviction of my OWN mind.
In recovery, I had to learn to feel the shitty days. Like really taste them.
Eat at my soul, break me down, vomit through tears kind of days.
That is what I do in recovery, every damn day.
I feel pain.
I ask myself, why I am here, and tell myself I am good enough. I throw powerful prose in the face of addiction and catch comfort in return.
I taste every acidic word that leaves my tongue or is placed on my ears. I spew positivity like Mother Theresa is having my baby. And I will not apologize, not anymore.
The dark days are hard. But my rose-coloured glasses, my need to feel happiness, those are what is important, especially to my addicted brain. And sometimes those days are more complicated than what you see.
Trust me when I say, I need to feel the love I spew.
I have lived numb, I chose it, for far too long.
Today, and for the rest of my days that I am beating down the addiction that knocks at my door. I decide to be the girl who believes in love.
Writing every day is hard, I am doing it for the #NaNoBloPoMo, and the #Cheerpeppers.
Clearly, I may have written this one, under the influence of wine.