It is grief. I didn’t think about it until the fifth one, but this week alone, there were five new acquaintances of mine who died of overdoses. All were separate events, and I didn’t think about how that alone could put me in a morning funk (or all day, for that matter). I didn’t know them that well, aside from name basis, but they were also under 25. One got out of rehab, went to a meeting for a one month chip, and drove home, then used and died that night.
I’m not grieving them, per se. I’m grieving my old self. The person I was who could have led me to the same end as them. The way my heart works, when it comes to things like this, the uncomfortable emotions, I tend to put them away or ignore them as best as I can. I know they’ll manifest in me finding petty or mundane reasons to reach out to other people or just being super irritable (what others have told me is more like being whiny, not irritable at all). I’m not comfortable enough with anyone around me to reach out to them, so I’m whiny, I guess.
I feel people deeply. I feel deeply in general. It’s a super power in many instances, due to my empathy and ability to turn any tense situation into calmer waters. But it’s also kryptonite, sometimes. I feel, and I struggle with letting it go. I wonder if this is one of the reasons I drank so much. To stop feeling things. I know when I dealt with physical self-harm, the pain I’d deal was equivalent to the emotions I had pent up. I didn’t hold back, in that regard. I stopped that in 1999.
I think the passings also left me feeling guilty for my own success. I’m not regretful, but “I can do it, why not them? Why did they have to go? What made me special enough to still be here?” Considering everything I’d gone through, death would have been a sweet release, at one time. Now, it’s far from my mind. I’m learning to live again — to truly thrive and become self-sufficient, which has been a lifelong goal of mine. It’s taking a lot of work, and I have a LOT of support, regardless my comfort level. I’m grateful to be able to see myself stand up on my own, as I’ve done these past few weeks.
Oh my…I just realized — in just over a month, I’ve gotten a full time job with benefits and my own place. That made my eyes sweat a little. Here’s a pic of my tiny little place that I call home (and check out the hotel style carpet! I’m im love with it!). Can you tell what it was before they refurbished it?
But I ask again: why not them?
It’s like…I know I’m not perfect. I’m sure I don’t deserve what I’m earning for myself (or maybe that’s ptsd still whispering in my ear). But I’m grateful for all of it. I’m grateful to be sober and able to feel the emotions that I feel. I’m grateful to go to work and earn a paycheck and pay my bills and take care of my own stuff that’s in my own place and I’m grateful to be able to write about it as I do.
I don’t have the answers. Maybe this is one of those things I’ll never really know.