Proud

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I was told twice yesterday that someone was proud of me. Granted, one was from my mother and the other being from Diego.

It felt kind of weird, to be honest. My mother went on and on about how I am not this jaded facade of a person (my words, not her direct words.) We had a conversation the other day about mother’s intuition. She talked about when I was going out all the time doing reckless things, she knew. I said the same for her and her mother when she was drinking or abusing prescription medication.

I think no matter how many times we tell ourselves the lies and are being secretive and deceitful, we have someone who sees through that brick wall. Someone close to us is always watching, no matter the pain we put them through. Because they love us for one reason or another.

My mom told me that with medication, I am better. That wall comes down and I’m a big ol’ softie. I mean, she’s not wrong. I played tough for so long because of the trauma I had endured such as getting raped and coped with my crippling gambling addiction and having more meaningless sex with strangers that I would never learn the first or last names of. She said I would never be off of medication nor should I try to be. I agreed. But recovery is a beautiful thing and I am finally getting the chance to make right of what I did wrong.

Right now, my medication helps me live a full life. I know that isn’t the same for everybody and that sometimes meds don’t work at all for some folks so I consider myself extremely fortunate that my concoction of medicine helps. I am able to articulate things for the most part without extreme or sudden mood shifts. I have minimal delusions or if I do, they can be easily combatted with reasoning and logic. I am neither manic nor depressed, but if I had to chose, I probably am a touch more depressed only because it’s December and dark and rainy and freezing cold outside. This is all a luxury and it’s a part of life I didn’t know that could exist for me.

For some of you, you may be wondering, “How was Dani before the medication and during her sexcapades and gambling addiction?”

Dani (me, I, I don’t know why I am writing in third person, but I am rolling with it) was a time bomb waiting to explode. Dani didn’t care if she ended up in prison, raped, or killed. I would do anything within reasonable means to get that rush of endorphins because either I was manic and needed whatever cheap (or expensive) thrill I can get or I was so suicidal that I needed something to live for. That could be in the form of playing a slot machine and hoping for a jackpot, that could be playing cards and winning my side bet along with winning all my money back (sometimes $400 that I would play in one hand). This was listing myself on a sugar daddy website to get money and things I could sell so I could afford to gamble the way I did. Meaningless sex. Drinking in excess. Smoking a shit ton of weed. Being generally reckless because I was apathetic toward life in general and I did not care.

Dani, the old Dani, did end up exploding. It led her to a jail cell in county jail for being negligent when driving. I wrecked the side of my car on a concrete median and it cost nearly nine grand to repair through insurance. I didn’t have a car and I was at rock bottom.

The Dani we all know and love now, is here and alive. I brushed the dirt off my shoulders and my mom is proud of me. Diego said he was proud of me because I am turning my life around and into something; a privilege we all never thought I would have. It sure as Hell wasn’t easy to get here, but it is worthwhile.

God is good. Meds are good. That’s all I have for my 4:12am rambles.

Much love,

Dani

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