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Epiphanies come when you least expect it

I am my own worst critic. I am harder on myself than anyone could imagine. For instance I stayed up all night the other evening watching one season of a show. I love to get lost in a show. Netflix is the friend that will never judge me. I had a battle in my head if I should eat those bag of m&ms at 1 am while being glued to the tube. I decided to do it. They were calling my name. Should I be drinking the energy drink this late so I can finish my marathon show? Don’t ask questions. Live a little. I pushed play‚ was hooked‚ and had to know the ending. I have already gone this deep and I should just finish it out. The next day I was beating myself up for not being productive. I have to realize I have come along way from the days of getting drunk in Mexico and having a raging eating disorder. I don’t have to be a robot or a puppet‚ always producing in order for the world to think I am worthy. I am worthy because I am alive and have been given this amazing gift of life. Do I always believe those words? No. But‚ I am working on it.

I have a built in forgetter and zone out on everything. I should be dead in Mexico or Arizona. Either from alcoholism or loneliness. The days of throwing up to the point of vomiting blood‚ exercising like a maniac‚ and isolating have been gone for seven years now. My friends would ask me to hang out and I would not leave the house if I was having a “fat day.” If that is not insanity I do not know what is. Losing my purse and not even remembering how I got home the next day was a regular occurrence. Waking up the next morning‚ feeling ashamed and embarrassed for drinking that much‚ and only remembering the beginning of the night‚ but yet going out the next night and doing it all over again. Getting a DUI‚ spending a night in tent city is where I end up left to my own devices. I am no longer making these mistakes anymore.

When I decided to give up drinking and bulimia part of me resisted the change. They had been my companions and friends for years. I knew they were destroying me but I did not care. I was so numb from drinking heavily and throwing up that I did not even realize that I did not love myself. When I decided to get help the first person told me that what I was doing was slowly killing me. When she said it like that it was like a light went on. I did not think of it that way. As I slowly began working with her I began to realize I was doing just that. I began to heal and actually feel my feelings. Which at first was scary. She helped me realize I was worthy of a good and healthy life. I did not have to live this way. There was another way. When I first was abstinent from drinking and bulimia I had this innate need to push myself. That I had to become somebody. It wasn’t enough to just recover and be alive. So I took acting‚ singing‚ and guitar classes. I thought if I became somebody I would be worthy. I even went and tried out for American Idol‚ went down there waited in line for five hours before even getting in the building. Music and the creativity was healing to me. But I did not want to be honest with myself that my heart was not in it. And I had a weird unhealthy obsession with it. From learning from others who have gone before me I realized I was ok just being me. I did not have to kill myself with guitar lessons‚ and trying out for singing contests.

It took me awhile to figure out that I did not want to be a musician. I had fondness for it and loved how other people created something from nothing. It took me awhile to let it go. I would beat myself up over not learning the guitar fast enough. I was using it as a weapon to be hard on myself. The amazing thing is I did learn the guitar and actually played songs on it. My innate need to be somebody and to feel good enough brought me to writing. Writing is healing to me and I do not act as crazy as I did with the music. It is much more natural. I do not struggle with it like I did with music. That’s how I know I enjoy it. Even if I stopped writing tomorrow I would still be worthy of just being me. I don’t know where I got the idea that I felt that I always had to produce or do amazing things to feel ok inside. I guess my parents never taught me that it was ok to just be. They probably struggled inside with the same things as I did.

So if I stayed up late watching Netflix who cares. If partying to me and having a  little fun is drinking a energy drink and staying up till four am that is permitted. I am not killing myself anymore with alcohol and an eating disorder. I guess this is me saying I am a miracle and that in itself is miraculous. It OK to enjoy myself once in awhile. That I am not going to go off a cliff into the crazy life I lived before. I enjoy the journey I am on. It is real and authentic. And I feel more alive now and I am participating. I still beat myself up but I am no longer slowly killing myself. That’s how I know I have made progress. I have come along way. Hey‚ I might stay up next week‚ drink coffee‚ and watch another Netflix show. If that’s me living life on the edge I can accept that.