The day before I prepared to leave from California, I told my therapist that I was fucking scared. I told her I was scared to come back here. I was scared I was going to fuck up. I told her my biggest fear was that I would relapse. I told her I couldn't relapse because of Zackary. He wasn't worth all of that time I'd gathered. She told me that I could do it. She said she believed in me. She said a relapse would never mean she didn't believe I could do it.
I didn't relapse because of Zackary. No, it was after getting punched in the face while protecting a child, after losing my best friend, and after finding out my "dad" had died and that my mother had found him in their closet. Then going to a funeral for a person I never got the chance to talk to about the impact he had on my life. I lost my path to forgiveness. Not for him, but for myself. Then after realizing that still, to this day, nobody truly cares about what he did to me. I have to forgive my family. It's heavy. It's fucking hard. And yes, Zackary, but he didn't cause me to relapse. He just gave me a reason to cry once I did.
Today was a really fucking hard day. I should have made it 3 years. Today I wanted to drink. That's how fucking devastating alcoholism+trauma is. It's why I don't know if I'll ever be okay. Too much has happened. Too many people have entered my body without permission. I've been torn from for too long. I wish I could say something helpful to whomever could one day come across this.
I just don't know if there is anything to say.
-D
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