"Nothing But The Funk"

I struggle a lot with loneliness. It gets real frustrating, continuing to struggle with this same problem. The oddest part is how it does go away at times. But during those times, I don't sit and think about how nice it is to not be lonely. It's as if the entire concept vanishes and I forget the painful stab. When it returns, as it inevitably does, it can feel like having to learn how to deal with it all over again.

When I'm in that bad place, my perceptions are off. I hear laughter and am bitterly jealous of the one laughing. I see a couple holding hands and dwell on my own long list of failed relationships. On the blackest days I wish catastrophe upon them. My self-pity infects me. It turns everything light to dark.

A pity-party is a party of one.

The worst part about this state of mind is how it feeds on itself. Negative thoughts lead only to more negative thoughts. When others try to help me, and I'm unable to let them, I become bitter and resentful. I push them away, thinking something wrong with them for caring about me. The disease is sinister. When we don't care about ourselves, it is nearly impossible to conceive of others caring about us.

We do get stuck. The feeling is as familiar to me as breathing. I think of myself as worthless. I hate myself for so many things that no list could contain them all. Most often they are things I am not: I am not attractive; I am not rich and successful; I am not lovable because of my multitude of flaws. I forget--so easily--that I don't have to do anything or be anything other than who I am as I am.

This is something (I presume) normies know without question. For me, though, growing up I learned the opposite: that I must change myself, that I must be someone else in order to be lovable. This common thread cuts across almost all of us with the disease. How and why we learned it varies; for me, it was childhood abuse in the form of emotional abandonment. And even now, in Recovery, as I struggle to unlearn what I have learned, this spectre haunts me.

A part of me will always be on gaurd, waiting for the other shoe to drop--as though I'm half-expecting the bullies from elementary school to leap out and persecute me once more for being 'different'. Or it's interacting with my parents, telling them some exciting aspect of my program only to have them listen politely and then change the subject. Just once I wish they'd show curiosity about the things in my life of importance, or listen without responding like they're humoring me.

I am enough.

I remind myself that the bullies are long gone. I counsel myself that my family is who they are and it's wasted energy to expect any different. It helps sometimes, but mostly the only thing that truly helps is time. 'This too shall pass' remains one of the most powerful pieces of advice I've ever heard. I try to have faith that the funk won't last. It never does.