There have been many periods of sobriety from drugs and alcohol in amongst the chaos of the last decade. I have had 2 clean pregnancies. I have had a solid four months here. Six months there. I fool myself that I am in control. I create an illusion. In actual fact these addictions are merely replaced. Shoplifting. Bulimia. Internet. Trichotillomania. Cutting.
Yesterday my therapist used a term that I have often contributed to myself. To how I feel.
I live with a constant thrumming, underlying agitation. Sometimes it’s barely perceptible, other times its loud. Going through my compulsive behaviours whether it be stealing a tub of blueberries, tweezering my body hair or scrolling through photo after photo on Instagram quietens the noise.
My therapist asked me what I want to get out of therapy. (That old chestnut!)
I want to be able to just be. I want to wake up in the morning and have a steady heartbeat. I want to take pleasure in my (lovely) life. I want to paint, run, read, write, enjoy my children and boyfriend without a sense of impending doom.
I want peace.