It’s only up from here

I used to write endlessly. Into notepads, paper journals, word documents and online blogs. I would fill out pages and pages about my day and what I was happy, sad and angry about. That was my voice. But I stopped without realising how important writing was for me. I didn’t realise at the time but that was my expression and a way I could process everything. But I told myself life was too busy, it wasn’t that important and it was pointless because words on a page wouldn’t change anything.

But all that has happened is I’ve become a shell of myself. A messed up person who would be so disappointed if she could see herself. I wouldn’t recognise myself. I’d have been devastated that I’ve become all the things I didn’t want.

Becoming a mother, having a turmoil relationship and moving away from friends and family led to a lot of difficult emotions and stress. Without even realising, I turned to alcohol and having a drink in the evening to cope. I can’t even remember how it got as bad as it did but over years and years it became a habit. Whether it was a good day with the boys, a bad day with the boys, a good day at work, a bad day at work or a special occasion - I ended up justifying it as a drinking day.

So here I am, overweight, depressed and full of guilt and regret. But I’m tired of living at 60% and I hate that I’ve become my mother who I swore I’d never be. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach over drunken messages, drunken conversations and chats. The waking up full of dread and impending doom. I just can’t live like this anymore.

So here I am, getting over the flu, determined to cut alcohol out for a very long time and find myself again. The Abi that writes. That drinks tea and plays the sims when she’s sad. And gets lost in a book when feelings get too much.

The journey is never easy or straight forward and healing isn’t linear. But I need to take each day as it comes. 24hrs by 24hrs. I would hate the idea of my Nan looking down on me with disappointment. I will make you proud ❤️