It’s a difficult place, the one I’m in right now.
Counselling allows you to unlock the door of the cage you’ve stashed all your hard times in.
Like an overstuffed cupboard, the moment you start pulling pieces out, the rest of them tumble all over you, smacking you in the face and piling up at your feet. No matter how hard you try, you can never put them back where they came from so you’re left holding things you didn’t want to touch in the first place.
They’re all sticky with feelings that come off on your hands and soak into your skin and worst of all, they come off on the people you touch, your special ones, the last people in the world you want to hurt.
Since beginning counselling, I’ve taken the dusty bottle off the shelf and emptied it dozens of times. For awhile there, it makes my ever-present depression float away. It seems the only place I understand myself is when half a bottle is sloshing around in my belly but that always comes at a price, one I’m all too familiar with.
We all know that what goes up must come down and the highs don’t have the longevity of the lows.
Mentally, I’m in a worse place than I’ve been in years and that’s without bringing alcohol into the equation. It lies to you, sidling up with its seductive, bad boy smile, promising painless moments of happiness, only to leave you half-naked on the bathroom floor crying into your vomit.
Now I remember where most of my bruises came from.
The danger I’m in is that even in my sober moments, I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to use all my energy putting on that smiling face to keep my sharp edges away from people who’ve done nothing to deserve them. These days, I want to light a match and watch all the bridges burn, one by one. And once again, I know that it’s just so I will be left alone with my clinking bottles and nobody to answer to.
The only difference between now and six years ago is that I know the cost of making the cold bathroom tiles my bedroom.
My fear is that it may well be a price I’m willing to pay.
Time to let the dust collect on the bottle again. We’re back to day one.