Forward, Not Back

I'm sitting here trying to write a blog about how miserable I am, because right now I'm really flippin' miserable, but can't put the words together. Each time I try and pull up how I feel from deep inside, so I can ponder what to say to give my desolation body and life, I hurt. So I stop pulling. Because once I start to feel that hurt everything seems pointless. Writing anything. Doing anything. Being anything. But by denying myself the pain of feeling, I'm blocking any access to the joy of living. It's now at the point where I'm so alienated and estranged and isolated from everything and everyone I can't even access my words.

I've been here before and can't believe I am again. I do this to myself. My anger over my relapse becomes bigger than anything else and I allow it to overtake me. Eventually it paralyzes me. I guess ultimately I will become so miserable that I'll be forced to do something about it, but in the meantime years are passing me by. Which makes me oh so angry...

It's silly, me sitting over here trying to figure out how to become who I used to be again. The last three years have changed me, eternally, just as the three before that and the three before that and the three before that. Why am I just now realizing that what I've been doing is basically trying to become who I was in elementary school, after I graduated from high school? It's asinine. Who would want to do that?

There is one direction in life, I know this. I also know I can't navigate the road ahead if my eyes are stuck on the rear-view. I cannot feel joy until I process through the pain. I won't find my direction again until I can easily access my words. And without a doubt I will never find the freedom to move forward until I release my hold on the past.

Thanks for joining,

Leah