My Internal Terrorist

Something interesting & frustrating/upsetting came up in my therapy session.  If you didn't already know, I still go to therapy, usually once a week, because there's still some very stubborn garbage stuck in my head.  I apologize that this post probably won't be uplifting or inspirational because I feel like just ragging on all that crap & ranting a bit.  One of the reasons I had MRIs done recently is my lagging word selection skills.  I frequently say different words than I intended, & almost without fail I will write or type the homonym of the appropriate word.  This honestly really freaks me out.  It feels like something is wrong with my brain, & I can't fix or control it.  I've also started obsessing about random dangerous scenarios more lately, mostly when I'm trying to fall asleep, & it's seriously screwy!  Not to mention it just straight up sucks.

I've realized that this scares, okay terrifies me for so much bigger reasons than my previous fears of multiple sclerosis or narcolepsy or something else broken in my brain.  I know, hard to get bigger than a malfunctioning brain.  But the thing is, I've never felt that I had any semblance of control over my life.  For the most part, other than being an addict, the first couple decades of my life I was in control of myself.  With some notable exceptions I held my emotions in fiercely, shutting down entirely when I felt threatened.  If you knew me then, really well, you probably even have specific memories of it.  It happened a lot.  I wouldn't talk, probably wouldn't even look you in the eye.  Other than silly little things like preventing real relationships, it worked pretty great for me.

I can't do that anymore.  For awhile it was a conscious choice to be more present in my life.  Now I find I have almost entirely lost that skill.  Yeah I know, as a clinician I shouldn't consider it a skill but there's totally such a thing as negative coping skills.  I remember I had a therapist once who said she could actually tangibly see my walls going up.  That's how harsh & instantaneous it was.  Push too hard, whoops, I'm out.  A friend at the time called it my shell.  For the most part I'm really happy about those walls coming down.  Granted, I was safer with them up but I clearly was never happy.

The thing is though, as a child with even less control over my surroundings than your average child, I think (based on my reaction to getting sober) I genuinely believed that as an adult my life would be in my control.  I thought somehow things would be better, easier.  One of the hardest things my friends & I have noted about getting sober is that life is still life.  People still hurt you.  Work is still work.  Finances are still tight.  Life doesn't change.  Only you change.  & that often feels sooooooo far from being enough.  It sucks.

My therapist had a thought about my little brain lapses that I'm not sure is accurate, but I think has merit regardless.  He suggested that maybe my brain is finally learning to give me a break.  Maybe, with safe people, it realizes that if it doesn't obsessively select the right word, it'll still be okay.  My siblings will laugh because I ask one of them to toss me the episode instead of the remote, & life will go on just fine.

You see, here's the problem: some very large sinister part of me doesn't believe that.  Somewhere in my mind I have convinced myself that if I can't even control a silly little thing like saying the right word, I'll never manage to hold onto this life that I have so desperately fought to create.  I feel like I'm on high alert constantly.  I've always felt that way but somehow now it feels worse.  I don't know why, but it feels like I always believed if I came this far I would somehow be at peace.  I never thought I could get here, so I made "here" the epitome of all of my dreams.  Sobriety & temple worthiness would somehow mean I had complete faith in the love of my Heavenly Father & my Savior.  It would mean that I could be secure in the knowledge that if anything happened to those I loved, it would all be alright.  Nothing could tear them away, & if I lost them for a time I would still continue on in faith.

It is a horrible, devastating, terrifying feeling, not trusting yourself.  Sometimes I step out of myself & think " you jerk.  What more could I possibly do to prove myself to you???  I'm only human.  Please, just once, give me a break!"  Somehow it's never enough.  I don't mean that in the sense that I'm not good enough.  Logically I'm at peace & know that I'm not that person anymore.  I know that I've changed.  So that's my homework for now: recognizing that sometimes it's okay to just be content, & let little silly inconsequential mistakes happen.  Every once in awhile, just let myself be.

And to finish off, in the spirit of letting myself be, I'll share what is, for me, an epic win.  I have user dreams fairly often.  If you don't know what user dreams are, I kind of compare them to the old brain's death rattles.  Unfortunately they last much longer than I think is even remotely fair.  Basically they're the subconscious' cheat to get a fix even though consciously those avenues have been cut off.  They're usually intensely vivid, & at least for me waking up is almost always a massive panic attack until I can calm myself & remember it wasn't real.  Sucks.  So. Much.

I think any addict kind of has their biggest temptation, regardless if it's a food addict's love of cake or an alcoholic loving vodka.  My latest user dream a few weeks ago featured what is, without question, my greatest temptation.  Even now I don't trust myself & do everything humanly possible to ensure that it's not even a question of encountering the possibility.  But during that dream, I did what I have never done before: I.  Said.  No.  The thing my screwy addict brain craves more than anything, & I turned away.  My subconscious actively remembered the sacred covenants I made in a temple of God, & I chose to keep them.  I AM changing.  It's happening.  Wish it wasn't so freaking hard.