Dead Boy Diary I

I've been thinking about all the things I used to get anxious about... I'm not talking a bit of sweat on my palms, but full-blown, heart racing 200 beats a minute, I- thought-I-was-going-to-die, panic attacks. Rejection was a huge trigger for me. I guess I didn't know how to hurt, how to just feel the pain, so I immediately tried to find something to alleviate the discomfort-- weed, Xanax, nicotine, anything that would take the edge off the feeling that I was falling off a cliff without a parachute.

It was so intense I really thought I was going to die. No one could talk me out of it, though many times, no matter what time of day it was, I called my Mom and just hearing her voice helped even if her ideas pissed me off (let's breathe together, go outside and walk in the grass barefoot, eat a healthy meal, journal about how you are feeling)-- I knew she was right and sometimes I listened, like the day I actually did go walk in the grass and was so surprised that I forgot I was anxious. But most of the time I was on a hamster wheel in my head, convinced that the only way to stay on the planet was to take drugs.

Oh, I knew I was addicted, and I was mortified my moms would find out. I kept that secret tight inside and whenever anyone tried to pry it out of me, I completely freaked out.

Fucking shame.

Mom tried to help me understand how shame works but I blew her off, furious that she thought I felt shame. What was she thinking? Ha. She was right, again, damn it. Truth is I felt shame about feeling shame about being addicted to prescription drugs. Truth is, I pushed away the one person that had been my strongest advocate. I lied, too. Man, was I fucked up. Never in a million years did I want to hurt anyone (except myself, which I thought I deserved). I was dancing around the edges of willingness to admit I had bigger problems than cannabis.... I was getting closer by hanging out with people that believed in me and called me on my shit. But that scared the shit out of me, too.

I honestly thought I knew more than I did. I was the one who took the vodka bottle out of my best friend's hand and poured it down the drain. I sat with friends when they were tripping to make sure they had a safe experience. I taught friends how to identify fake pharmaceuticals and chastised others for mixing alcohol with drugs that were known to interact badly. I made sure to study up on my drugs of choice so I could banter with pharmacists and doctors-- I thought I knew so much. I even knew that taking Xanax and cough syrup with codeine was not recommended, but I didn't care. I just thought it would make me sleep well. I missed the part about how the combo suppressed respiration. How did I miss that?

I'll be honest... since I wasn't entirely good at this while I was alive-- I knew I was in deep. But I didn't want anyone to know and believed I could rid myself of my addiction on my own, quietly in the background. I hated anyone knowing that I was taking Xanax-- that just pissed me off and made me feel like a real fuck up. I hid so much from my moms. I lied to my providers.

I both thought I was stronger than I was and feared I was weak and a complete disappointment. I lived two lives, maybe three. I knew I was loved-- I had so many opportunities and experiences my friends could only dream of. I was lucky to have stable, supportive parents who would do anything for me. I often felt like I didn't deserve their love and tried to let them know how much I appreciated all the ways they showed up for me.

But socially things were rough... I didn't know how to fit in, couldn't say no when I wanted to, got my heart broken badly by a girl who used me then condemned me for caring so much, and then there was school. Fuck. I always felt like I was drowning. Couldn't get focused, didn't know how to organize myself, was terrified to participate in class.

I actually don't know why I was so committed to being in college when it provoked such anxiety and inadequacy. I knew how important it was to my moms... that was part of it. Also, I didn't know what else to do and still hadn't found something that I could envision doing for a living. I couldn't think into the future like that.

Everything was overwhelming and I took the easy way out-- smoke a bong with my "friends" and chill. That worked until it didn't. It seemed like my friends could manage to party and still get A's and B's, where I became panic-stricken and paralyzed. Sometimes a friend would help me with a paper since writing was really hard for me, and other times I'd call mom and she would calm me down and help me figure out the next steps.

What a rollercoaster. I was constantly exhausted, didn't ever sleep well, ate erratically, and just didn't know how to get off the ride. I lived in a constant state of nausea and shame... there, I admitted it. Those two were linked for me. I never wanted anyone to know how much shame I felt, even for things like having two moms, being Jewish, being heavy in my early teens (which I got teased for), not knowing how to ask a girl out, being too shy to speak up in class. And then there's the fact that I felt everything-- it took a long time for me to understand that not everything I felt was mine. Mom hooked me up with an intuitive healer who helped me understand what it means to be an empath and holy shit did that help me begin to separate my feelings from what other people are feeling.

I didn't master it. Not at all. But I did start to get that the intensity in my body was, in part, because of all that I was picking up from around me. I also know (but couldn't admit to my mom) that cannabis made me even more porous and sensitive. I wish I'd been able to listen to her better. It scared me that she could see right through me. Now I realize what a gift that was, but when I was alive I really struggled to appreciate that she was not judging me, she was loving me. I just want to come back and have a do-over. But that's not going to happen. I screwed that up. I know mom forgives me. That's just who she is. I have to forgive myself now