Hello, people who are probably not there or reading this. Here I am! The Sad Sack! Back in the flesh!
It has been months since I’ve updated this blog. Months that have had their fair share of happiness and sadness. I’d like to type out that I am now so successful, so busy leading a full life that I haven’t written because LIFE. That isn’t the case.
However, it is also NOT not the case. Bear with me, I’m rusty on writing and I doubt that I will string together beautiful, haunting, sentences but hell – I’ll string some, anyway.
I am so, so much happier.
I cannot remember the last time I cut. Seriously, I can’t. I feel so much less hollow; I’m not full with some sense of purpose, but I’m also not empty. I am here. I exist. I feel like I take up space (and not just with my chubby body) for the first time in actual years.
I quit smoking weed.
I understand that marijuana offers to so many a way to cope with the world, but for me it was a way to detach. To make my brain so fuzzy-empty-fakehappy that I could be okay with the crippling anxiety and deep-seated loathing that accompanied it.
I was so scared to quit, so sure I would lose my mind in self hate and anxiety and doubt and instead? Instead, I became…dare I say it…happy.
Okay, maybe not ~happy~. I’m not going to march in some parade, post pics of clouds with inspirational quotes, or begin tooting the horn of “sobriety”. Because, and I really believe this, there are those much better off with the therapeutic effects of herb than me. Just because it didn’t make my life easier/better/more cope-able with doesn’t mean that is universal.
So back story: I quit because I got back in to the CTL (now MLT) program at my school. We have to take part in a phlebotomy course that requires clinical hours (hanging out in a doc’s office taking blood, for layman), so passing a drug test is par for the course. Instead of whining and complaining, for the first time in my life I realized something most 18 year olds know (I’m almost 30): sometimes you have to sacrifice to move forward.
So, I did.
And here I am, over a month later. I can pass a pee test, my anxiety is at its lowest levels in 8 years, and I’m actually happy. I haven’t cut in….ages. Just months, but it feels like centuries.
I know I should write more, tell more, but I need to go to bed because holy shit I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE. Who would’ve thought? I certainly didn’t see myself, a year ago, actually caring. About life. About anything, even The Fiance (who will be The Husband in May).
Heads up, those that are reading and thinking about being a self-hurting sad sack. Sometimes, when you least expect it, you become a sad sack with hope. With an idea of a future. I’m still a sad sack, but I think I see a hole. There’s certainly some light coming in.
I’m going to write more. I’m going to come back to this blog, update it, grow it, invest more of my thoughts in it. Not just for you, dear Reader who actually read this, but for myself. I want to watch my growth. Watch me pull myself out. I can do this, I can live, I can have a life. I never thought that, before. I am more than the eventual death awaiting me (as it awaits us all), and I have so much to say.
Maybe you’ll hear it.
Tales of a Sad Sack 