i don’t want to disappear back into the streets, a mad man on the loose again. i have my little place to be, and it isn’t much, but it’s worth a lot to me to have a safe space. i have a whole team helping me stay right, checking on me all the time and looking out for me. i’m so fortunate to have hands to grab onto if i am slipping again.
i was already running around the neighborhood at 3 am chasing crack, what the fuck?
i feel like shit about myself for relapsing, it’s awful. i feel like everyone hates me, and doesn’t want anything to do with me. i’m sure this is imagined, but it feels real.
my father is in a psych hospital, i feel like i drove him there. heavy guilt.
heavy guilt and embarrassment. like why cant i just get it right? i think. i think about what you think.
i have to sit with these feelings. there’s no avoiding them, but still, i think i am harder on myself than anyone else is. it’s uncomfortable.
