Numb

I have never considered myself suicidal, but when thinking this morning I realized I'm slowly killing myself.

I haven't written because I've either been too hung over, too ashamed or too drunk. I also don't know where to start or how to organize my thoughts because frankly none of what's going on in my head makes sense and neither do my actions.

So let's try to make sense of this together.

I can say is that I'm self-abusing and I'm very good at it.

I feel I have lost all control and am grasping at strands and illusions to make myself feel better. I've been working out constantly to make up for the binging I've been doing and the drinking. I clean up thoroughly even when blacked out to make myself feel better about myself.

The thing is I thought I had hit rock bottom but I haven't put the shovel down yet. I watch myself dig deeper, go further, harder, longer and am amazed I can still get up in the morning and act like I'm ok. Then do it again. And again.

Thursday I went to a concert, Yeasayer, it.was.epic. For many reasons. AND I didn't get too drunk. Yay.

Friday. Different story I went out and chose to drink, last minute and didn't stop until about 5am.

I had fun but that night is a blur. I came to in my kitchen, eating whatever I could get my hands on and then throwing up.

I wasted all of my Saturday hung over until Jess called me and invited me to Avicii. I didn't want to drink and Jess was there to support me. I didn't drink I fucking raved and loved every second of it.

Success. God was there. I listened to him and made good choices.

Sunday I began drinking in the afternoon, I wanted to 'enjoy summer' feel normal. Alas I didn't stop. I went to a Bumbershoot after party where I stupidly stashed my purse. It got stolen along with my house keys, credit card, gym card, phone = life. On top of that the cop spoke down to me and was a complete dick. Then this other guy who was stalking me all night got in the cab with us and asked to sleep on my floor…I don't think he understood what "I don't have keys to my place and fuck off" means. Again I came home and eventually got into my place and I ate and ate and threw up.

Next day, final day of my bender. Monday, Bumbershoot. God was telling me not to drink. I meekly asked if I could drive my friend's car home so then I'd have a reason to stay sober. That was me asking for help, but not loud enough. She declined. I was free to have at. And I did. I don't remember most of the day and none of the music. I do remember coming to eating an entire roll of cookie dough. Then going to the store buying another eating that and then half of a coffee cake. I threw up cleaned up and slept 3 hours before heading into work.

I am scared, I am ashamed and I am exhausted. I almost gave up on God yesterday because I've felt he's given up on me. I don’t blame him either. Look at me. I don't trust myself. These little glimmers of hope I get, I know I will smash them with my habits. I don't know where else to turn and slowly I'm stopping caring about myself. Life isn't fun anymore. I'm numb to most feelings other than shame and fear. This is no way to live.

I haven't given up on God and I'm not sure why though. I keep praying and keep making healthy choices. I can't wait to go to treatment because this is my last effort at life. I don't know what I'm going to do if it doesn't work.