My faith has to override my fear

My faith has to override my fear.

I see A tomorrow. And yes, I lied. And yes, I’m sad. And yes, this touches in to an incredibly painful place. But I need to do something different. This pattern isn’t one I want anymore. I saw it start, and instead of stepping away from A and being afraid, I need to step towards her. I need to let my faith in our relationship and in this process override my fear.

So while I believe there are incredibly valuable things written in that first letter and while I intend to share it with her, my goal is to walk into counseling tomorrow and read her (!!!!) this.

A,

I lied to you last week. I got caught up in a cycle of my limiting beliefs (belief that reduced contact would lead to reduced care, belief that I would lose care by not being needy, belief that I have to earn any scrap of attention, belief that I don’t matter unless I’m in crisis, fear of the unknown and of abandonment) and I told you I was pregnant when I didn’t know if I was. It turns out, as I discovered when I actually took the pregnancy tests, that I am not pregnant.

I am so sorry. I was crushed and I am really afraid of this conversation. But I’m proud of myself for realizing it and instead of following my pattern and creating an airtight narrative to a storyline that doesn’t exist, I am choosing to combat old habits and tell you the truth. It wasn’t easy, I spent at least a day in the beginning stages of concocting a whole story, and four more feeling awful. I even wrote you a five page letter that contains really important thoughts from that brief period of time. A letter I think is worth looking at. But despite all that, I’m here. I’m terrified, but I’m choosing to have faith in this process and in our relationship. I’m choosing to face this head on. I am choosing to have my faith outweigh my fear.

I normally would let this lie run its course. I would use it to avoid the truth, to avoid facing that those limiting beliefs, the reasons I lie, that they come from an incredibly lonely and isolated childhood. I have touched into that this week, and I cry instantly. Even thinking about it takes me there. It’s incredibly painful – and weeks of dealing with fake emotions from a lie I tell would be preferable. But it wouldn’t be helpful. It would get out of control, I would obsess, and I would run away from it all. I am choosing not to do that this time. And I’m trying to find the strength and hope in that. 

I’m not proud of lying to you. And I did think I was pregnant. I do have concerns about my ability to be a Mom. I spent the 5 days after our session absolutely hating myself, looking at my reflection in the mirror and telling myself I was disgusting. It was a massive spiral full of painful emotions that need addressing.

I too often believe I have to be perfect, and that admitting a mistake is the end of the world. But I’m not perfect. And I believe you when you say I don’t have to be perfect here. I am going to make mistakes. My instinct is to pull away from you for a variety of reasons. And instead I’m actively choosing to step closer and I hope that I’m right in believing that by understanding this lie, catching it, and cutting it off before it spirals out of control I am starting to create a new, healthier pattern. One that doesn’t involve abandonment or isolation but instead (I hope) care, compassion, and an active discussion around what triggers this old pattern of mine. 

I am afraid of the emotions underneath the lie. I’m afraid of changing my routine. I’m afraid of losing you. But I am more afraid of continuing a cycle that has crippled my life for so long. 

I am sorry that I lied. But I am not sorry that I am stopping it in its tracks and turning around to face what scares me instead of running.

I mustered the courage to come here today to tell you the truth and say that I am willing to work through this if you’re willing to join me.

PD

Thoughts?

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Liar Liar Pants On Fire

I lied to A last week. The end of our session. I saw it coming a mile away and did everything I knew how to stop it (except of course open my mouth and say something to her about the instinct). 

I’ve been struggling with figuring out if I was pregnant or not (as my guest didn’t last long and I have many symptoms) and without actually taking a pregnancy test (because I’m terrified) I told her I was pregnant.

I’m trying not to punish myself here but I absolutely am disgusted with myself. This is what happens when I lie – I draw in and isolate. I know why I do it, but it doesn’t excuse it. Am I bound to be one fucked up loser for the rest of my life who can’t handle any positive relationships!? 

Instead of doing what I normally do (perpetuate the lie and allow it to derail the relationship), I wrote this letter to her that she will get Wednesday. I’m not going to be able to look at her when she reads it and I’m certainly not going to be able to look at her after when she asks me what I see and it will be compassionate or kind or some shit when I simply deserve to be isolated and alone.

Dear A

I lied.

Not about thinking I was pregnant, or panicking at the idea of it. Or the narrative that I would be a crappy Mom (if anything this is proof of that). That is all true. But I am not pregnant. There were no pregnancy tests. I never took them last week. 

I lied to you about knowing I was pregnant. 

I knew that with less income I would have to see you less, and it felt like I couldn’t control anything about it. It felt like I was losing a relationship – that this was going to change. So I did what I always do when I sense that happening. I lied, in a pathetic attempt to keep you around.

I lied, and i didn’t catch it in time. Well, I almost did, I saw it coming. It wasn’t enough, I almost made it the whole session through without lying to you about it – but at the end when I sensed time slipping away and feeling like there were so many unknowns and I hadn’t given you a reason to keep seeing me… I slipped. This is what I had written to a friend the night before:

“I find myself wanting to lie to A and tell her I’m pregnant when I’m not. And God, that is so shameful to admit. I know I am afraid of losing her care and the relationship and I don’t believe it will come if I don’t do something to earn it or need it. I know I think I have to lie for it, or make up stories. She literally told me yesterday that her care doesn’t change depending on what’s going on with me, but why can’t I believe that?! I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to lie to her. I’ll tell her I’m thinking about it instead” 

So much for that plan. I lied anyways. 

I think its harder when my life is calm. I know you have told me that’s when the most work happens, the best work happens, but to me it feels like that’s when I fall apart. 

So. Instead of making a believable plan and acting out this lie to its completion, educating myself on viable pregnancies and spending hours researching miscarriages and doctors appointments and making the lie airtight… wasting time talking about and thinking about things that don’t exist – instead of that, I’m here, and simply telling you the truth. 

I am, in fact, not pregnant. And that is probably better for everyone. It is definitely better for the baby that never was. I am not fit to be a mother. 

I hate myself. I hate that I’ve done this. I hate that its about this. I hate that I’m incapable of letting people close without freaking out. I hate how much this whole last week has tapped into this intense loneliness, and this fear. I hate how broken I am. I looked in the mirror this morning and actually said “I despise you” to my reflection. 

I felt the relationship changing/slipping away from me, because I wouldn’t be seeing you as often, and I lied. I lied because maybe if I was pregnant you would care more or think more about me (which now seems stupid, but nobody abandons a pregnant woman, right?) more than if I wasn’t. That maybe I’d be interesting and need more support. I know why I lie. But it doesn’t change the fact that I did it. Or the fact that my lie affects you. And it affects our relationship. Why do I always screw with good things? Why do I always insist on fucking things up – how long am I going to do this until I realize I’m simply defective?

I truly believe, 100%, that if I am less of a presence in your life that you will care for me less. And this, this is the root of everything. My belief that if I am not top of mind for people who show me any scrap of care – however I manage to get that care – that I will not be loved or cared for at all. It’s why I lie when I sense relationships changing, swinging around pathetically desperate attempts of ‘you can’t walk away from me, I need you.’ It’s why I did what I always try not to do and lied without hesitation, without even noticing until its too late and I hear the words and go “what did I just say!” It’s partially reflexive – some part of me hoping it would have been enough to keep your attention, because I have no concept of relational permanence. 

I never had anybody care for me this consistently, in this way I so desperately needed as a child. And I’m terrified it’s going to be torn away from me. And that stepping back, out of financial necessity, is going to speed that process up. I’m trying to cling to anything because I’m so afraid of losing what I have been missing my whole life – even though its only a smidgen of what is possible because I still insist on holding everyone at arms length. Even you. I’ve come very far in this room, but there is still such a distance. The defences created from hundreds of times of not being heard are overriding any ability I have to let someone in completely. 

I am broken. 

I am incapable at this. I fail at this.

I have spent my life so alone because I never learned it was okay to be close. That that was allowed. That it didn’t have to be earned. That I didn’t have to be in crisis to have someone pay attention to me. 

And oh, my, God… does thinking about that hurt. This whole situation is touching into a rawness that I haven’t felt before. I am so, acutely, aware of the pain. This pain that digs right into the root of how unloved and abandoned and neglected I felt for so many years. I didn’t have friends until I met <husband>, did you know that? I look at my life now and that seems ridiculous, but its true. I was so lonely. I think about it, and I cry. I worry that if I don’t need rescuing I won’t be loved. I worry that as soon as I’m out of sight I become out of mind and that people don’t care anymore. That love is finite – a precious resource – and if I’m not taking it someone else will. I guess that is what happens when you have to fight for attention as a child and you constantly lose. You feel like you’re yelling into this empty abyss even though there are people right in front of you who are saying “talk to me, I’m here.” 

I was going to leave this relationship of my own accord. Once I decided I couldn’t follow through with this lie, I was going to run from it. That’s what I do when things get too big. I separate myself, and I avoid, and I run, in order to protect people from me once I realize what I’ve done. I was going to quit, but then remembered that you’ve taught me that relationships contain two people, and I figured you deserve a say as well. I am assuming because I lied to you that you are going to want to terminate therapy with me, and I understand that. In many ways, that’s easier for me than forgiveness, and acceptance, and care, and dealing with the feelings underneath the lie. 

I’m so sorry for lying to you, A. That behaviour is not reflective of the respect I have for you or our relationship. 

I disgust myself when this happens. I go into this period of incredible self-loathing. All my anger gets directed inwards, and I isolate from everyone, afraid if I have any authentic connection I’m only going to end up hurting people. I am starting to believe that there isn’t any real hope for me, and that the best thing to do is to isolate and protect others. I’m a fool for believing I could have anything other than that lonely, isolated life I lived for so fucking long. And so I return to it in these moments, blocking off my emotions and accepting that I am who I am, and I’m stuck living with me, but nobody else has to be. 

I am sorry. I don’t have a good reason for why I lied to you. I promised you a long time ago I would tell you if I did lie, so this is me following through. At least I’ve never lied to you without confessing it afterwards. Maybe that means something.

PD

This Hurts

I am trying to tell myself that it is ok to feel into this pain. 

I think I’m finally getting a glimpse, emotionally, of what growing up was like for me. Because this idea of not being able to be around my therapist on a schedule I’m used to… dealing with things I am used to… it has thrown me into this really lonely place. Because I feel like she’s going to leave me, or this is speeding that process up. And I am feeling desperate to save the relationship and this, this is what I do. I am disgusted by how needy I am. I have turned inward and there is so much self loathing. 

Everytime I think of it, the crippling loneliness I thought I was escaping, I cry.

I didn’t have friends, as a child. We joke about how I would read under a tree at recess… but it’s true. I don’t remember having friends until meeting my husband, at 21 years old. I fought and fought for my parents attention, and I felt like I had to be a part of the family system, but meanwhile I was so… broken. I always lost. And I internalized that. My bids for attention were never good enough.

This dark, deep loneliness is what I keep accessing. It’s breaking me from the inside out. It’s what I would have felt, I’m sure, when I was younger – and it feels incapacitating. It is incapacitating. A raw nerve has been struck and I can’t breathe when it comes up again. It hurts so fucking much to look at. I don’t even know if I have the words to describe it.

And I’m sitting here, tears streaming down my face as I write about it. I was so alone. I was so afraid. And I’m only now feeling it. Gasping for air at the emotional memory of it all.

And I’m withdrawing. I’m isolating. Canceling plans. What a fool I was to believe I would ever have a life that didn’t involve this crippling loneliness. 

Maybe this is as far as I come. I am no longer suicidal, I rarely self harm. I have a husband and friends… a stable career. Maybe this is all I get. Maybe this is all I have a right to ask for.

This hurts. I hurt so much right now. And maybe I will always hurt. Perhaps instead of challenging that, I should be concentrating on accepting it.

This Is Not Abandonment

‚ÄčThis is not abandonment.

Somewhere inside me, I know that. I know that I am still going to see A at least once a month for now. But a stronger part believes the quality of our relationship will change, or our relationship will end, because I see her less. That my worth is tied into how frequently I remind her I exist. That she isn’t going to be able to see me if I’m not physically there. 

I truly believe if I am less of a presence in her life that she will care for me less. And this, this is the root of everything. My belief that if I am not top of mind – however I manage to get there – I will not be loved or cared for at all. It’s why I lie when I sense relationships changing, swinging around desperate attempts of ‘you can’t walk away from me, I need you.’ It’s why I did what I always try not to do and dropped an emotional bomb at the end of session yesterday hoping it would be enough for her to go ‘wait, let’s sit and talk about this.’ And I again find myself so grateful for her boundaries, as she redirected with ‘we have 10 minutes left, PD, as much as it shouldn’t, this has to wait.’

I believe that if I am not in someone’s face and full of wounds that need immediate attention that I am not going to be loved. I have never had anybody care for me in this way I so desperately needed as a child. And I’m terrified it’s going to be torn away from me. And that stepping back out of necessity is going to speed that process up. I’m trying to cling to anything I can get my hands on because I am so afraid of losing this taste of what I have been missing – even though because I hold her (and I’m realizing, everyone) at arm’s length – it is only a smidgen of the relationship I could have if I opened up to her. 

I have been so alone because I never learned that being close was allowed, okay, and didn’t have to be earned. 

And oh my god does that hurt. This whole thing is touching into a rawness that I haven’t really seen before. I am so, acutely, aware of this pain. This pain that digs right into the root of how I felt unloved and abandoned and neglected for so many years. A isn’t leaving me and seeing me less won’t change our relationship (but I don’t even believe that as I type it, it just feels like what I should type). It will work out. I will figure this out. But I want her to rescue me. I worry that if I don’t need rescuing I won’t be loved. I worry that as soon as I’m out of sight I become out of mind and that she won’t care anymore. That her love is finite and if I’m not taking it someone else will. I guess that’s what happens when you have to fight for attention as a child – and you constantly lose. You feel like you’re yelling into an empty abyss even though there are people right in front of you. 

And let me be clear that I know her job right now is to not rescue me in the way I want to be rescued, and maybe in the way she wants to rescue me. That would do more harm than good. I am glad she didn’t offer reduced rates or a payment plan or any flexibility. I am glad, because that would feed right into my pattern. I sense abandonment or a change (whether or not it’s in that person’s control), I do everything I can to ‘save’ the relationship by making them feel needed (usually by lying), said person makes concessions or adjustments, I feel like by begging for attention I am worthy of their love, lather, rinse, repeat. Until they tire of my antics or get burned out, and I lose them altogether. By not making concessions, A is stopping this pattern in its tracks by not playing along. She’s refusing to bite at anything I’m throwing her in a desperate attempt to save a connection I feel slipping away. Even though what I’m throwing at her is true – it’s still in an attempt to stall what I feel is something that is breaking our connection.

I told her what had happened with my client and she expressed great empathy at the upset. And I said “and now, I’ve worked so hard, and I’m in this place with this relationship that is working for me, and it’s all going away.  Because this is how my life works. Nothing good ever gets to stay.”

And she said “I’m going to say something here that you won’t like. But stay with it, OK? Because you need to hear it. You’re making quite the cognitive leap here, PD. You’re assuming that our relationship will change, that I will care less, that you won’t matter to me, if you aren’t here every week. That all of the work we have done and all we achieved is thrown away if you don’t see me every week. That isn’t how this works. I will, PD, I will always care for you regardless of how often you sit on that couch and what you share there. My affection is not dependent on your behaviour or how often I see you.”

So she’s stopping my pattern by not playing along, but she’s also offering a corrective experience. By showing up for me, in the same way, whether I see her once a month or many times in a row, she is communicating my value simply as me… problem is I don’t believe it. I’m panicked, in this state where I believe it’s all or nothing. 

I don’t believe I don’t have to earn her love. But maybe the forced breaks will end up being a blessing in disguise, in that if she is consistent, and there, and continually corrective, that this experience will start to override the hundreds from the past. 

I’m giving myself the weekend to mourn, and to be sad, and I’m trying to be compassionate (I feel slightly stupid and very self judgmental at being this upset)… so if you don’t hear from me, I’m taking some space to really feel this… as much as I don’t want to. To mourn, to self soothe. To try to, anyways. 

And I thank you all for your support. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

Goodbye, A (Somehow Sober Day 3)

I’m about to lose A. Just when we have reconnected. Because I’m not meant to live a happy life.

You know that feeling you have when you know something is coming. It’s inevitable. You feel it. 

I have a meeting with my biggest client in an hour. The one that pays for my therapy. And they changed the time. And they changed how we are connecting. And they asked me to call someone else. And they haven’t been responding to my emails. Our contract is up for renewal.

I’ve been here before 1000 times with my own clients at the agency. 

They’re about to quit.

Which means I immediately have to stop seeing A. Maintaining this client is my direct connection to therapy… and they have every right to move on and quit and find another provider but I am so fragile and unstable right now. I can’t help but feel like they’re pulling the rug out from underneath me. 

I’m crying in the bathroom at work. I can’t afford to lose this job so I have to get my shit together and get back out there. 

Goodbye, A. 

Edit: I was right. My A money from freelancing is gone. 

She’s Choosing Me Too (Sober Day 2)

‚ÄčI don’t often sit in silence and say nothing, but I did today. For almost twenty minutes. And A was like, “I really want to invite you to be present today, and that starts by breathing.” And I didn’t even try. I told her I didn’t want to be there. That she didn’t feel safe. That I had so much to say but something was in the way. And she asked about the resistance and I still said nothing. 

And she gave it a few minutes before saying that every fibre of her being was there with me. That she was 100% there and listening. And asked what was stopping me from telling her what was going on.

And I said it was stupid and I was scared of her leaving and that I hate being attached and then I essentially word vomited at her. I laid it all out. The fun thing, the scheduling, the fact that being attached is so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. And yet, it’s representative of success! She really identified with me when I mentioned feeling exceptionally creepy for wanting to simply have some form of A signal, like the bat signal. Or a pocket version of her to carry around. And I was like and the worst part means that it’s working… I trust you. I fucking trust you. 

And she was like “PD, you chose me. I don’t remember how – the internet or something. But you came in, and sat down, and after your interview session, you chose me. But here’s the thing. I also choose you. Every time we are here I am choosing you over everything else. Because I care. *I shook my head at that* And I know, I genuinely know that you don’t believe that. That neglected kids, and I do believe that you were neglected, form this opinion that they can’t be loved unless they do something extraordinary or ask for attention. I will never need you to do anything other than be here and do your best to choose me too. Because in our time together, here, in this room, I am always choosing you. It is no secret that I’m trying to heal that for you. That idea that you need to do or be anything other than what you are for me to care about you. You don’t need the biggest story or the most tears or anything like that. ALL I need is for you to do your best to choose me when you’re here. And I know that’s a big ask. I’m not unaware. But when you’re not here, or present, or choosing me, I have to find you. I have to meet you somewhere else, and it disconnects us. And I’m so happy you told me everything you did today because it emphasizes connection instead.

And the word fun. I wish I could remember exactly what context I used that word in, but know that I take this incredibly seriously. You matter. You matter to me, and the work we do in this room is heavy. It is consuming. I feel like it’s important you know that it is hard for me, too, and I don’t take it lightly. We do have our moments of fun, but that isn’t the focus. This is about your healing.”

I told her the third thing I’m frustrated about is the fact that I’m attached. That the relationship is me getting what I needed and have needed for so long for 1.5-3 hours each week. That to get that, I need to pay her. The fucking unfairness of it all. That I end up doing and saying things that are mean or push her away because I’m afraid of being close. That she has a life and kids and other clients that she thinks about. That I go home and think way more about her than she ever thinks about me. And I get that it’s by design. I get that if she cared the same our relationship wouldn’t be a therapeutic one. I get that if she didn’t hold boundaries she would be doing more harm than good. I get it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I feel like a child. I feel incapable.

Intellectually I understand how it works. But I’ve never gotten this far. I’ve never been so in it. I’ve never had a therapist who didn’t fuck it up before this point with shitty boundaries or trying to explain away my emotions. And how frustrating it is. And how angry I am. And how all of that means it is working.

A didn’t mess it up like every other therapist I have had. Instead of trying to make me feel better or placate me or pretend the connection isn’t happening she looked at me and said, entirely seriously “I know. I’ve been there. And it sucks.” 

“I find it hard to believe that you have your own A out there.”

“I do, and I often wish for her. Less now, but I still do. I understand. It doesn’t make it better but the only thing that does is continuing to move through. And I’m here for as long as you want to move through, as long as nothing unexpected happens, I’m here. I know how important this is to you and that’s okay. It’s okay. Everything you said today mattered, and was important. And it’s okay.”

I  could feel my guard lower all the way. And I told her everything I have needed to say for the last month. I told her I needed an Ativan to sleep last night. That I’m tired. That I’m overwhelmed. And that I fear the pain I’m in right now is outweighing my ability to cope. I told her I’m worried about myself because my desire to self harm has skyrocketed the past 7 days. I told her about the pregnancy scare. I word vomited it all. I told her that when I am in pain I turn inward. She identified with that. 

And she made room for a second session with me, tomorrow. She made room for me. She has a choice in this. And she is choosing me too.

Hung Up On Fun (Sober Day 1)

I’m exhausted.

I haven’t been sleeping well, and I have been feeling off. Nothing serious but self harm urges here and there. Just not… myself. And I can’t pinpoint it. And I know the lack of sleep isn’t helping. I also know that the anticipation of having a conversation tomorrow with A isn’t helping. I’m anxious. I’m something else, too. I’m off. 

So I settled in to a bath tonight. Baths are my safe place. They always have been. Nobody can get me in the bathroom. The door locks. I think I even wrote a post about it in the early days of this blog. I put some lavender essential oil in the bathwater and picked up my book.

I’m reading about compassion – and how about practicing compassion with ourselves brings us face to face with our fear. And that the key to approaching fear is to do it slowly. To observe from afar. To experience it, but not to the point where your guard shoots up. And I’m reading about this and trying to practice it – eyes closed, heart open, what am I afraid of – when I hear a door slam in the apartment building hallway that my bathroom is adjacent to. People yelling.

And it happens so fast I almost don’t catch it. My heart rate increases and my breath catches in my throat. The yelling and slamming of the door has thrown me completely into this place of fear. And I start wondering how often this happens where I don’t notice that something small and relatively innocuous like apartment building noise (only happened once, not fighting yelling but a ‘BYE’) upset me so much that I didn’t feel safe.

And that got me thinking about the word, fun. It bothers me. It bothers me that A used it. But to be fair, sometimes we do have fun. We make each other laugh, sometimes. I genuinely like A as a person. I know she appreciates me. She wasn’t in the counselor mindset when she said it because I had just given her a gift. It was the end of session. An emotional session. I think I’ve boiled it down to four reasons why the word fun bothers me.

1) I often felt like my whole life was a game and I was expected to figure out the rules as we went along. Games are supposed to be fun. This one wasn’t and still isn’t. Her using that word is reminiscent of me constantly trying to figure out the rules.

2) Our time together is a lot of things. It is educational. It is informative. It is raw and painful. It has been healing. It is intimate and attached. And occasionally we have fun. But when she used it to describe our sessions together I cringed. Because I don’t want her seeing my most serious, protected memories as something fun to do… and that’s how it came across. And right now, I honestly do not feel like I can share with her over it. Does she sit there before I show up and think ‘oh what fun we will have’? Because I don’t. I think about how raw and intensely emotional things are going to be for me. It’s so upsetting to think that when I shared my most secret moments, she thought “what fun”. And I know the word doesn’t translate to what happened in those moments but it sure as hell feels like that’s what she means.

3) I didn’t realize it until tonight but it’s a word my brother used. My parents would come home after being out and he would tell them we had ‘so much fun’ together. He would use the phrase ‘but I’m just having fun’ to describe behaviour of his that was crossing the line. It was an excuse that was bought. This big memory I’m trying to work up the courage to share, the one that is haunting me right now, he used the word fun. My mom asked him what he thought he was doing, and he said ‘but I thought she would find it fun.” And he got away with his behaviour over that word.

4) If these sessions are fun, what happens when I am boring to her? There has to be an opposite. I’ve been catching myself wanting to make things up… as if once I’m out of ‘fun’ memories she’s going to not want to deal with me anymore. As if the rest of my life is too mundane and I need to make it more exciting for her. 

These are all things I thought of earlier tonight, and yes, they are all things I intend on trying to share with her tomorrow, along with the scheduling thing. It feels nitpicky, but if what we are doing is about our relationship I need to share this and I truly believe she will be open to hearing it. It just opens this can of worms I don’t really want to discuss. 

I am going to take an Ativan and get at least 8 hours of sleep. And tomorrow I’m going to be like “I need to talk to you about why I can’t sleep and that memory we discussed last week, but it doesn’t feel that safe to share with you right now. There is a word you used in session a while ago that I am hung up on. I think it’s valid and I need to share my feelings around this word before we get into any other memories.” 

I’m scared. And anxious. Hence the Ativan. But I think I got great insight into that word and it’s deeper meaning for me tonight. 

You may have noticed the sober day 1 count beside the title. I’m going to keep track of the days I drink and the days I don’t for a bit. It’s an accountability thing but also a reminder for me to always keep the sober number higher than the drinking number.