It’s raining today like it was January 19th of last year when I got out of the hospital for my 5150. I couldn’t help but cry in the shower this morning, feeling overwhelmed at the changes in my life- for the better, but still. How different things are now.
This day last year, I couldn’t feel anything. I had no emotion left inside of me. I could harness no gratitude for life. I remember getting home and showering… nothing felt real to me anymore. I was only in the hospital for a few days. Maybe it was purely trauma from attempting suicide that made my brain kind of shut off.
This day last year, I was completely apathetic and empty. I was laying on my bed staring at the carpet wondering if I had actually died. The only thing I could think of doing was going to a bar and drinking; maybe then I would be able to feel. They had taken away my benzo stash. I dug around my drawers and closet looking for leftover Ativan, Hydrocodone… anything. Nothing.
This day last year, I was released back into the real world and I was scared of leaving the confinements of the hospital because I didn’t feel ready to live. (However, it was better to be out and have free will than it was to be trapped like animal, drugged and shuffled in and out of group meetings.)
This day last year, I desperately called my ex-dealer for heroin.
Everything is different now. I have a great life. My relationship(s) are going so well, they make me incredibly happy. I feel that I’m moving forward- despite my normal career anxiety, financial worry, etc. But overall, I’m safe and happy. I’m in SUCH a different place.
So, why do I feel guilty for it?
I got what I wanted, but I still sometimes feel like I don’t deserve it. I feel selfish for surviving.