I collapsed as I walked into the door.
It was a familiar feeling but entirely different. The last time this happened, I fell to the ground in relief. Four years ago I laid on a different carpet, surrounded by white walls, and cried for sweet relief and mourning; there was a part of me that was changed forever but it was ready to move forward. This time I crumpled onto my anchor doormat before I could even get the door closed behind me, and I felt a part of me ripping apart. As I’m writing this I’m two very quick whiskeys deep, just enough to numb any sense of feeling so I can walk to bed and sleep before I realize what just happened.
I have missed blogging so much, but I haven’t been able to write anything. I’ve tried a few times in the past few weeks, but every time I started to write it felt wrong. The sunny picture on social media has had clouds for a while, and every time I started to write I couldn’t come up with words. Acknowledging the clouds made them feel too real. Not acknowledging them felt disingenuous. So I said nothing, waiting for things to make sense again, so sure that they would.
I can’t even write that much now, it seems. You see, I’m writing this just minutes after I collapsed as I walked into the door. Just minutes after I left the same fight and the same argument and just minutes after I realized something: I’ve already made the Worst Decision. I sat in a car tonight listening to the same fight and I realized I’d been here before. I’m not an adult I don’t think but I am also not 25 anymore. I know better than to repeat past mistakes.
Now I’m listening to Adele and I’m going to schedule this post to publish in the morning so I can sober up, both physically and emotionally. Except every time I start to sober up emotionally I need to de-sober physically, lest I feel the full force of what just happened. I can’t think straight right now and that’s probably a good thing. Otherwise I’d think about how everything just changed and it feels like my soul is ripping apart.