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[healingwithwords]

Blood Drive Volunteer

I'm volunteering at a blood drive and they JUST told me that a majority of donors only speak Spanish.

This scares the crap out of me. My Spanish is pretty rusty.

i remember: "¿Dónde está el baño?" = Where is the bathroom?

"Gracias"= thank you. Like…thank you for donating blood.

"Por favor" = please. Like…PLEASE be patient with me, I don’t know Spanish.

"Lo siento" = I'm sorry. This one is so useless for a blood drive. But the phrase "I'm sorry" is so integral to my daily speech that OF COURSE it's one of the few things I know.

Like - I'm sorry I can't speak Spanish well enough.

And - I'm sorry that I woke up grumpy and was late to volunteer.

Or - I'm sorry that the world has to deal with my rapid mood swings and shitty poetry. The ones about self hatred and shame.

I'm sorry that I broke down and cried like a fool when you told me life was pointless. in my life, you are my point. Guiding me through the self hatred that pours out of me every day.

I'm sorry that I say I'm sorry more than 10x a day. It's probably more annoying than my mood swings and shitty poetry.

Wait - when did this turn into a poem of apologies anyway?

Lo siento, I’m sorry, I guess I can't help it.

Because my shame is like water bursting through a broken dam - it takes up space in areas where it’s not supposed to, shallowing everything in its path.

Hey - here's a good one…

My shame is like blood pulsing out of my veins and into a Red Cross blood bag; please, por favor, take the bag away from me now.

Give this burden to someone else.

But guess what? I show up late to the blood drive and apologize profusely (in English) and everyone speaks English back to me.

Maybe it's time I let go of this language altogether.

[healingwithwords]

[healingwithwords]

An Apology Letter to My Inner Child

I am sorry you were put in a box for so long. You didn’t belong there. You still don’t.

I’m sorry that my strongest memory of you is not one of fondness, but of my dad saying we shouldn’t be a writer, because they don’t have consistent work anyway.

And that we shouldn’t be a teacher, because they don’t make money anyway.

I’m sorry I believed him.

I’m sorry that when our parents fought, I ignored your cries for help and tried to help our parents instead.

I’m sorry they convinced me that your emotions were too much and your actions were too little. In reality, you were exploding with a love and energy so deep, it was meant to be shared with the world; to be loved.

But no one ever taught me how to love you.

I’m sorry that I embraced alcohol and drugs when you were screaming at me to give you a chance - to let you feel, express, help, heal. But I pushed you away because I couldn’t let you get in the way of my ideal self.

I am sorry I listened to everyone except for you about how to define my ideal self; my self worth and happiness.

I’m sorry I believed everyone when they told that success meant being the person my parents could brag about to their friends.

The person my husband’s parents would approve of.

The person who never would worry about money.

The person reaching ambitious goals and setting new ones day after day - that’s the ideal.

I’m sorry I blamed you for my unhappiness after I became that ideal self.

I’m sorry it took getting sober, an autoimmune disease, 5 promotions, burning out and quitting, having an existential crisis, spending hundreds of dollars, and traveling across multiple states to realize

that you are not the enemy.

You never have been.

You have all the answers. You - who I pushed down and suffocated for decades - are the one I needed to listen to all these years.

And I’m sorry that even after all we have been through, I still cling onto the old me who is scared to let the world down.

She is not you. But she is terrified of letting you come out of your box. She is terrified of losing all she created - the husband, the bragging rights, the money, the identity.

I’m sorry the world I created is not safe for you to be apart of yet. But I hope you try anyway.

[healingwithwords]

[healingwithwords]

Swimming with the Waves

she was confident, light hearted, and funny

She loved her family, her friends, her life.

she built sand castles on the beach, smiling as the sun warmed her face.

Every day, she took a dip in the ocean.

and every day, the turmoil of living floated around her, building into waves

But she was a strong swimmer and always found her way back to the shore

Until one day, the waves overtook her and she cried for help

She looked to her parents, but they were horrible swimmers

she looked to her friends, but their lifeboats couldn’t hold the weight of her pain

The world suddenly turned into something she couldn’t recognize

something she couldn’t trust to keep her safe

Frightened and alone, she started to build a life out at sea

Survival meant being the best swimmer

So she navigated life this way, fighting to stay against the waves

She was the best at being attractive and the best at being the life of the party

She got the best degree, the best job out of college, the best promotion, the best second promotion

She found the best husband and built the best house with him

She proved to herself and to the world that she could conquer any hurdles

Any waves

at any cost.

Until she couldn’t.

Until one day, her body got tired of swimming, of fighting to be #1

Her muscles fatigued, her stress levels peaked, this didn’t feel like the finish line

She turned around, but she couldn’t see the shore anymore

Silly girl

She spent years fighting against the waves to no avail

All this time, she just had to swim with them

[healingwithwords]

Dual Diagnosis

She’s an outsider, a shell of the person she once wears.

Beyond the hard case she uses to shield her struggles is a loner, a stranger, wanting desperately to be apart of the world again, but unsure of how to do so.

stripped away of her autonomy, her authority, she watches the people enjoy the little pleasures she once took for granted.

They drink a boozy cocktail reeking of cheap tequila and chug overpriced beers that bubble at the surface. The menu offers no escape for her gaze; her eyes are glued to the chicken piccata that she’ll never eat again, the pesto pasta that would shred her small intestine.

Meanwhile they eat and drink and don’t think about a thing; meanwhile she slips further away into her shell, away from the strangers who don’t have to practice any variety of self control.

Some call is discipline but she calls it depressing. The world keeps on turning and she’s still hidden. If she shows her face again, what if they recognize her for the person she already sees in the mirror - an outcast? A failure? Incompetent? Someone who can’t function normally, who inconveniences everyone? Who doesn’t know how and doesn’t want to vouch for herself?

She could learn to find her voice, to love herself, but she tried that once and got struck down by another disease. Trying again sounds like a mountain she has no energy to climb; weeks of overwhelm and nothing seems worth it- she glances at the world and watches it move forward without a care, while she stays hidden under her shell.

[healingwithwords]

[healingwithwords]

“Never wish them pain. That’s not who you are. If they caused you pain they must have pain inside. Wish them healing.”

— Najwa Zebian

[healingwithwords]

I used to drink in the bathroom.

My whiskey was under the sink, wrapped in a towel- hidden behind the make-up my boyfriend never touched.

I used to drink in the car.

I bought 2-3 airplane shots on the way home from anywhere. That was my version of self control; buying tiny amounts and chugging them in the garage before going inside.

I used to drink red wine vinegar from the pantry.

I was so desperate to escape the cravings and the screaming in my head that wanted OUT. So vinegar would work.

I never knew how to stop. I thought I was an expert at hiding my addiction. Hiding years of depression and suicidal ideations made me a pro at hiding my demons; my weaknesses.

It was easy. I mean come on—I was successful, I had a masters degree. I was on medication, I went to the gym. I bathed, wore pretty make up. I paid rent on time. I drank alcohol.

I was whole, I was not an addict.

Until I was.

Miss perfect became a perfect mess. The curtain fell and there I was - shaking and broken, a shell of a human, stinking of liquor and desperation.

Every time I tried to quit, I was met with disappointment and shame.

Until someone said to me: “Promise me 1 year.”

I remember those words like they were spoken yesterday.

“If your life hasn’t changed for the better after 1 year, then go back to drinking. But give it 1 year.”

So I promised 1 year. 1 year of sobriety. 1 year to see if my life could turn around for the better.

And I carried that promise with me like a badge of honor.

When everyone was doing shots at the club, I shot them down and went home early...because 1 damn year is what I promised.

When everyone was drinking whiskey to mellow their anger at the politics of the world, I mellowed mine by taking a warm bath and listening to a sober podcast.

When my stubbornness against God isolated me from the love I desperately needed, I went to an AA meeting and forced myself to be enveloped by love anyway.

I kept living life on life’s terms, even if most days I did it horribly.

They always say that drinking is not the problem-it’s a symptom of the problem. Well my problem is a serotonin deficiency sandwiched between self will and self hate. But now, I can’t choose the ‘open bar’ option; I have to sit down and eat my disgusting sandwich. 

And I have to do it even when my morning coffee tastes like rum and when empty glasses in the cabinet reminded me of Jameson burning my throat. Even when my mouth is salivating and my brain is screaming for an escape, I flash my badge of honor and say “1 damn year, Leanna.”

Day after day, I’ve been dealing with my demons; the ones I was subduing with drugs and alcohol. I’m facing them head on and - to my surprise - it’s been revolutionary.

With every week that passed, the cravings lessened. And when they came back, I knew from experience that they’d leave again if I just could stay sober long enough. 

When i fought with others, I focused on the solution, not the problem.

I found my job was becoming much easier; I was intuitively learning how to handle situations that used to baffle me--I was seeing myself as a powerful force to be reckoned with, and I got promoted twice because of it.

When the word “God” sent my mind into a moral frenzy, my sponsor told me what self-sabotage was. I learned to recognize when I was slipping into it (which was VERY often, by the way), and how to act counter-intuitively in those moments. I learned to let my will fade away…or at least be willing to try. Willing to try to stop holding the wheel of life so tightly, to let some “forces that be” hop into the driver’s seat and take control, and trust that I had the tools to recover if the car crashed.

I wrote out my resentments and angers and realized the beauty of my emotions; that I could feel so much love and empathy for those around me. I internalized that realization and—as a result—I started seeing myself as worthy of love. I found a new sense of peace, of freedom, of happiness.

And most importantly--by getting sober--I found the girl who was hiding behind that curtain of liquor, trauma, pain, and insecurity. I found her and offered her a chance to step out of the fear and into the light. I found myself.

The old saying goes that even when you think you’re doing fine in your sobriety, your addiction is in the corner doing push ups.

At 11 months sober, my addiction reminded me of the promise I made to myself and to my sponsor nearly a year ago...

”Just. 1. Year.” 

Against all proof of how beautiful my life has become, my addiction still tried to convince me that there is an easier, softer way to navigate life on my own terms. That it was okay to give up at the 1 year mark.

But unlike the ‘me’ from 11 months ago, I have armor now. If my addiction is in the corner doing push ups, then I’ve been front-and-center of the room doing burpees...with ankle weights.  

I remind myself that my tears are my heart and soul fighting for the beauty I’ve experienced from sobriety.

Today I am 1 year sober, and today I do not need a promise to keep me sober. My badge of honor is the life I’ve created and the person I’ve grown into.

Even if today feels impossible or if some day “the forces that be” drive my life into a ditch, I hope I can use this new foundation to carry me through many more years to come.

[healingwithwords]

If you planted hope today in a heart that felt alone, if you caused a laugh that chased some tears away, if someone’s burden was made lighter because of your kindness, then your day was well spent.

Healing Hugs (via thoughtkick)

[healingwithwords]

“Stop hating yourself for everything you aren’t. Start loving yourself for everything you are.”

— Unknown

[healingwithwords]

If I could, I would apologize to the sky and my room ceiling for all of the nights I’ve awkwardly stared at them remembering things I should have forgotten.

Maxwell Diawuoh (via quotemadness)

[healingwithwords]

Religious Reframe

God, I offer myself to Thee—to build with me and to do with me as Thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do Thy will. Take away my difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy Way of life. May I do Thy will always!

Higher power.. I surrender my ego and commit to a life of sobriety and growth. I release the bondage of self so that I may fully accept life on life’s terms. I release self obsession and self involvement and embrace mindfulness and service toward others. With every breath I take, I vow to be awake; and every step I take, I vow to take with a grateful heart, so that I may better see with eyes of love. May I live this commitment always.

[healingwithwords]

Tell me about your demons

Are their scents as sweet as mine?

Do they force their way into every corner,

Every crevice of your mind?

Those bell peppers taste like vodka

This coffee smells like a beer

They say sobriety gets easier

They say “just give it a year”

But a year feels like a decade

When you’re used to a quick escape

All it takes is a moment of weakness

To forget what’s all at stake

I’ve practiced saying it a million times

“I’m driving, I cannot drink”

But I smell the liquor on your breath

And now I can barely think

My brain lights up like fireworks

Holy sh*t, these cravings are insane

It takes all my willpower to leave the room

So my resolve won’t burst into flames

I step away from my triggers

And force myself to stay afloat

I don’t allow myself a pity party

I don’t let my addiction gloat

Because one day my demons won’t taunt me

One day they won’t inhabit my skin

While I’ve never been one for patience,

this is a battle I’m patient enough to win

[healingwithwords]

[healingwithwords]

At the club, she doesn’t grip a cocktail anymore

she grips her phone

she doesn’t feel a rush of adrenaline and dopamine flooding her body

she feels rigid and tense

Her body glued to one spot, some begin to wonder why she’s here.

So does she.

As they dance and sway to a familiar beat, she just sways In her resolve. Her brain reminds her of the confidence she used to feel with a drink in her hand.

Miss Life of the Party-she conquered any dance floor, any conversation, any physical exhaustion.

But Miss Wallflower can only conquer her memories, her triggers, herself.

Letting loose is easy.

But holding it together, that’s one of the hardest thing shes ever done.

[healingwithwords]

“Despite how open, peaceful, and loving you attempt to be, people can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.”

— Matt Kahn