memory bank

relapse thinking

When talking with the inpatient crowd I'd always urge them to think of when they relapsed. When they'd think of that day I would ask them when before that did they actually start relapsing. Sometimes people would get it quickly. Most of the time I'd explain that the relapse didn't happen the day of use. No, the relapse happens when you let go of something that was once daily, something that felt so much like a part of you and grounded you that we let slip away.

Falling out of love feels like relapse thinking. You don't realize it until you're needing to confront the truth: you don't love them anymore. I don't know if it started sometime near the end or even if it was really true to begin with.

Do you remember how we would plan watching our shows? The excitement over a day of nothing but video games and pizza? Do you remember how much we would laugh and forget about the bullshit?

I can remember those moments but it's hard to pinpoint when they started to fade. When the compromises stopped being conversations but demands, maybe that was when. Or the way a pout could convey not only is that a poor choice but it's the wrong choice... definitely made me question where love ended up being wrong. Maybe it was how you belittled it all and belittled me. It was too hard to argue after too long and I needed to keep all the fight in me to keep loving you. I had to love you, you were the only thing that grounded me.

Another thing that I tell clients is that sometimes a tool that once protected us is no longer the thing to help us. One of the most common tools was telling myself it's easier to go along with it because love is about compromises. It becomes a problem when you start to compromise yourself in order to maintain the love that once felt so secure. Soon I didn't know me. You develop a lot of flexibility but it's not until you feel your back aching from the weight of your compromised self do you realize it's gone on too long.

Truth be told I'm grateful for the distractions that you were initially very supportive of. The shows began to be less and less - I couldn't watch anything else more traumatic, it was becoming unhealthy. You pouted a lot. Some passive aggressive comment about a deeply felt frustration that somehow my denial illicited. I couldn't laugh anymore - I was afraid to have to defend my joy.

Pretty soon everything was its own routine. Call me a fortune teller because I could predict every movement of every day. The touch of a lover should not be anticipated in order to avoid bracing. And yet almost every night I had to prepare myself.

Soon I found myself hiding. Not like that was anymore secure or would stop you from coming in. It never stopped anyone from coming in. What kind of privacy do I get to have? None, including the bathroom. So what did I do? I made it a place you didn't want to come in. I created a purposeful space of grounding in any way I could.

It wasn't until the whole environment changed that I found myself immediately hiding in the smallest space in the largest I've lived. Away from you. There were no more compromises, just demands. When I set my foot down due to a force both within and mostly out I was chastised. No longer was it the terror of health but the angst of expectations. How dare I. How dare I?!

You noticed that day, finally. "I've seen you lose the hope in your eyes." For the first time since the beginning it was correct, finally on the same wavelength. Soon there was desperation hiding the absent terror behind you. Worksheets, setting up therapy, medications. How dare I? Honestly, how dare you? I've been made a mockery now. After years of being beaten down and being questions, ridiculed, deprived, you listened.

Sunday mornings are disgusting to me. The couch in this living room is a transporter. White walls, black railing. I never wanted a TV in this place - thank God I can make those decisions.

It didn't take too long, maybe 20 seconds, before you connected the dots. Silent listening, tears falling. Choking out scripted words. The only question was the one asked too late. My body knew instinctively what to do, and what not to. Pressure was released like a valve and no explosions came. We both knew then this was the right choice. That love had been left in the past and tension was the only thing holding this together. All tools went out the window that day. Reaching out and finding support, because healing never happens alone. Soon growth and decay were a constant cycle. To shed the restrictions on my soul to know what is needed continues. But the first step was to acknowledge that which I've been wanting but was too ashamed to admit. Pure force is not enough, gritting through isn't always healthy, and relapses out of love happen.