the last unicorn

a do-over of the previous entry.

the next available date for rehab is the 4th. it still feels weird and surreal. i've been fucked up since what, when i was 12? cutting. pills. more pills. alcohol. anorexia. bulimia. EDNOS. more pills & alcohol. drugs and opiates and stupidity, oh my.

i'm excited (?) to go. i've never had professional help, medication or healthy outlets. not sure what they hope to accomplish in 21 days. lol. but i would like to leave better, at least.

despite my self-abuse (and seriously - by all accounts my liver should be dead by now. even my doctor was astonished), i'm normal. blood, heart, liver, thyroid, whatever else they tested for. my ketones were off by one point because i had to fast for the bloodwork. otherwise i'm fucking normal. which to a normal person would be good! and it's still good, but that fucked up voice in my head is offended. like surviving on oxygen and amphetamines and not being ill was an insult. (instead, in my head, i should be bed-ridden and dying.) starving brains are funny if not masochistic.




i came home from my out-of-town job and, long-story-short, faced an intervention (insert some sort of dramatic pause for anyone who's seen the show). longer story even shorter, i should be dead (and condemned). drugs, alcohol, more drugs, and left alone, i decided a long walk would be a great idea. it was fine for a while, until the intoxication seeped in. i ended up in the middle of a field and blacked out in the snow during canada january. i was walking my dog, too, when it happened. at -34, it was bitterly cold, and i just.. blacked out (for a solid two hours, i am told later). i could have killed me dog, and that's the only thing i find human about me right now; i wouldn't have minded if i died. but fuck.

someone ended up spotting me in the field because of said dog--my dog--pacing around me, through snowbanks, trying to get a reaction. people who were watching thought i was a garbage bag thanks to my black coat. they assumed the dog was a stray. said two hours later, it was odd. i was people. the dog was freezing, and pacing, and trying to elicit a reaction. this is the dog who was the reason i advanced from my ED and found a purpose and a passion for health. and my stupidity could have killed her.

the folks who noticed us and eventually realized what was happening came out, and tried to gather us, but i was delusional and far too intoxicated and disoriented, and i remember them telling me to stay, but i was lost and i had to find where i needed to go. i got up and wandered. i don't know how far, because they found me again. they asked question after question and my head was just fog. i KNEW i was in their truck. the dog was okay. they asked my name, and i muttered. the address, and i told them, and we went right there. i remember going inside and shaking with exhaustion and thanking them for getting me home, because despite how fucked up i was, i knew i was lost and that's why i tried to trudge through the field.

but that was the proverbial straw. and i want to die, because putting something else at risk was such a new low. and not, like, risk of [insert issue], but it could have ended a life. and consequences such a new thing, because going, what, a decade now?, with coping problems seems to coincide with severely delayed reactions to severe situations.

my furry companion is ok and i'm getting the first professional help ever soon. so.. i'm unexcited, in that "fuck everyone, i don't need you" way that i'm used to, but not relying on some sort of addiction seems ok. if i'm not okay, i want to kill myself. i want to give normal living a try.
the last unicorn

(no subject)

i'm being forced by family into an inpatient hospitalization centre. i'm not bothered by the idea. maybe it hasn't sunk in yet.
the last unicorn

(no subject)

My life is weird. I'm over my ED, but still fucked up. I love how I switch from one addiction to the other. My brain is like, "Hey, it's over! Here's a new problem to transition to."

Hello, inexorable abnormality. It's good to know you'll never leave.
the last unicorn

(no subject)

i love and hate everything, it's so fickle

the boy, he is awesome, at the same time, i hate living with him;

just got back from vegas (a birthday present from mi madre), and.. it's been four days: the sink is overflowing with (OLD, turning-colour) dishes, there is a bag of mold in-plain-view on the counter (it was bread, in the near past), a garbage overflowing with Chinese take-out boxes, and it reeks, the carpet is dog hair-black, untouched

i was gone four days, what the fuck happened
the last unicorn

relief is the monster under your bed that you learn to accept is there, and he loves your company.

things do get better. it's all i can say. things just get better.

i've found something that completely alters my thinking patterns--my hope--and while the overlord voice of relapse booms out its reprimands for my indulgence in what will, one day, be normalcy, the once-browbeaten voice of reason is no longer a mute.

you won't see it, know it, feel it happen, but it comes as a proverbial riptide and you only vanquish in its relief.

i can't explain it. but i can say please wait for it, it feels so deliriously euphoric when it happens. (and i haven't even fully experienced it myself yet as i am still too far-gone in bad habits but i am beginning to feel the tremors gently open and swallow all of what haunt(s/ed) me)

this was originally a comment to someone but it felt too contrived to remain as a comment so i hope whoever this is for understands that this is for them, and on the other hand i wish anyone everyone in recovery or considering would please heed this in some way.