The countdown

        TW: Self harm Addiction

I didn’t think I would survive this year long enough to hear an entire countdown.

               “10”

               I honestly thought I would be dead right now. Not in a gloomy sad way, just in a logical science-ey way. Through my many endeavors with mental illness, through the plague that spread like water, through my sick, pathetic addiction, I was bound to die. Right? Murpy’s law-or something like that.

               I don’t know how I did it, but I found myself standing on the porch, celebrating the new year with my beau, my caviler, my Finn. We attempted to lock eyes to shield ourselves from the clamor around us, however my family had been well-drunken and there was no indication they would simmer down any time soon.

               “9”

               The party went how any family party was supposed to go. We exchanged resolutions to eat and drink less, then we proceeded to eat and drink. I counted down the minutes until twelve midnight, because once that lovely hour approached, I could shove my relentless relatives out the door.

               When it became my turn to share in the “resolution circle” I figured I would make up the same crap everyone else says.

               “I think I’m going to start drinking more water,” I said, (this was a blatant lie) “Because ya know, it’s really healthy. Apparently, it cleans your system.”

               “And its so good for your pores!” My mother chimed in. And soon my family was having a wonderful little discussion about how water (the most important substance on earth) might auctually be nutritious every once and a while.

               “8”

               My actual resolution was more personal.

               I would never say I was suicidal. I never considered it. There are so many good things about life; I hadn’t even had my first drink, I never smoked, never tried any form of drug. Plus, I don’t think I’ve collected enough brownie points to make it into heaven yet.

               However, I had urges. Strange, powerful urges. Every once and a while I had urges to lightly bounce my forehead against a wall. Urges to bite my tongue a bit too hard. Urges to press my fingers into a fist until my nails would cut the palm of my hand.

               The urges made no sense. I couldn’t explain it if I had held a college course on self-harm and had those little pointer-stick thingies that every college professor uses to poke and prod at whiteboards. All I knew was that one day I was scratching off scabs and the next I realized that I shouldn’t be driving large vehicles such as cars anymore.

               “7”

               Addictions introduce themselves much like love does. You rely on your addiction. You take your addiction with you. You bring it to work, school. You’re married to your addiction. But it’s important not to confuse addiction with love. I never loved my addiction. Rarely do you see a man stand up at an AA meeting and say “well, my wife and children have left me, but it’s a small price to pay to maintain my alcohol abuse!”

“6”

               I remembered the dawn before. I remember waking up in the crisp, bleak morning, and using the restroom. As I washed my hands, I saw the razor out of the corner of my eye.

               There was no process to this situation. No method to my madness. Once I had made the decision that I would indeed be utilizing the razor, I was enthralled in a sick nauseous dream until I had my way. I had not even realized how bad it had gotten until I had been shaking my Finn awake, asking for band aids.

I would expect him to be dazed, or sleepy in the slightest, however he awoke sans the drowsy haze people get when being awoken in the middle of the night. He was immediately at my bedside, tending to wounds, rushing around like a spark of light.

“5”

He buzzed from cabinet to cabinet, searching feverously for a band aid, a towel, a washcloth, maybe the side of a curtain, (I mean our dog was pretty soft, maybe that could work?). When he finally sat down next to me, I saw pure exhaustion in his eye.

               When his eye made contact with the wound, he made a face that I hadn’t ever seen in our entire relationship. Its funny how you can know someone for years on end, and yet still be surprised by little nuances and creases of their face. As I watched his lips go sour and his eyebrows mesh together and an opaque string of tears line his eye, I felt a mincemeat being made of my heart.

               He immediately wiped off the tears and dabbed a washcloth on my skin.

               “4”

               I guess that was a pain I wasn’t prepared for. Watching my family and friends cater to a mental illness was harder than the cuts. I wanted to be able to help myself, I wanted to be able to get better.

               When I hurt myself, I wasn’t just hurting myself. It took me so long to grasp that, but after looking at Finns face last night, I knew that he was suffering too. I brought him down with me. And that feeling hurt so bad.

               But that’s how it goes with addictions. It seems that every day I would think to myself “Holy shit. This is pain. I never want to hurt myself in this way ever again. This is pain I’ve never felt before. Pain that redefines pain. Pain that takes you by the feet and shakes you until all of your soul drops out of your pockets”  

               Pain never ceases to surprise you. People think that pain caps out at a certain degree. For some reason I always thought that things couldn’t be worse after this year, but suffering is full of surprises.

               3…..

               But joy can be surprising as well.

               My addiction was growing old. For almost a year it had taken over and left the sky to be a murky grey. I was never really depressed; I was just left in an in-between state.  

               Everything loses flavor after a certain amount of time. Everything grows old. Food loses its taste, sports can bore me, simple pleasures like yoga and art never feel the same as when you first started.

               I experienced a loss in my interests, I assume everyone has. Every DaVinci and ever Van Gough eventually takes a step back from their easel, takes a really deep breath, and thinks to themselves “what am I even doing? Do I even enjoy the art that I’m making?”

However, Finn never got old.

“2”

 It was a lovely surprise. I saw that man almost every day, and I never grew bored of his endless knowledge, or his wit, or his stupid romantic gestures.  

Every day I woke up with just as much (if not more) delight that I had had before. I thought that I would bore of his kisses. I thought that time would strip the meaning away from all of the kind words he said to me. I thought that one girl can only hear so many cheesy pick-up lines before she goes a tiny bit batty.

               But I was wrong.

He gave me so much joy throughout all of the grey skies we faced.

Joy can be very very surprising.

1…

Joy.

What is joy?

I feel like joy is one of those things that you can’t explain. Its like sadness. You don’t always know why it happens, but it does.

Joy happens. Weather you want it to or not. It fills your body, from your head to toes.

Weather its through a song you hear or a food you taste, joy peeks into your every day life.

Finn is joy.

Pure joy. Bubbly, ditzy, glorious joy. 10 little-puppy-dogs-cuddling-each-other-joy. Taco-Tuesday at-school-joy. Getting-a-passing-grade-on-a-test-joy. Watching-someone-open-a-gift-you-knew-they -wanted-joy.

Finally-kicking-a-useless-stupid-addiction-to-the-ground-joy

Serenity.

“Happy New Year!”

And. Kiss.