Posts Tagged ‘recovery’

I can hear my next-door neighbour play eisbrecher .. who’s music I know, but who’s name I never knew before.

My ex in high school burned a cd with a bunch of metal, eisbrecher being one them. So hearing it again is awesome. I’m pretty sure its them who play this song where the middle breaks into the breathy heaving of a couple having sex.

My point is, being here, now, is like total deja vu. From the different personalities, to the conversations, to the lust-filled looks I see, to the music, to the language… everything.

This, for the most part, is good. Its like I’m reliving a path I originally became hopelessly lost on, and am now finding the right footing.

But there are times I wonder to myself what the fuck am I doing here? This mostly happens when I find myself craving a smoke or a drink or a pill in the worst way. And I catch those thoughts and wonder where they come from. Of course I know… It feels like I’m back where I was, just in a parallel sort of universe.

So by keeping clean, am I changing what was and shaping what will be? Ya, I think so.

Cause it would be really easy to slide back into what I knew. Already I can feel the subtle downturn in my mood. The miniscule shifting in my thinking. The presence of triggers waiting to erupt. The slowly bubbling volcano of rage within me.

And I wonder, how much longer I can take this.


I nearly decided to leave the country. My visa technically expires today, so I was fully ready to get on a plane and leave and admit defeat.

It’s hard, being here. Having passively sat on the sidelines for years, and having my life run on the whims of violent men, I don’t think I really appreciated what a big deal it is that I actually got on a plane by myself and went halfway around the world amidst a culture vastly different from mine. Familiar to me, since I’ve been here, in Israel, before. But not like this, living in the country.

The main thing was that I had to make a choice. Stay, and truly give it a shot, which is why I’m here to begin with – to transform and to accelerate the restoration process I’ve been going through. Or leave, because this is too big a step for me to take at this time.

It was the fact that the choice was all my own that made it so terrifying. Exhilarating too. But mostly terrifying.

Cause it means learning to deal with day to day life. Something I don’t really know how to do.

I had a couple of truly shitty days. Everything from the fleeting thought of being unqualified for anything but prostitution, to misinterpreting innocent words to mean things my exes would say, to being unable to be around anyone. All of which makes me feel like nothing has really changed, and I start over-thinking things, and once again I fear I will be what I was — zombified on drugs, in a psych ward, on the streets (I worked indoors, so of course, the street would be a ‘demotion’, a sign of how much further I had fallen)

I prayed about it. Asked for direction. Which I honestly had hoped would lead me back to the airport.

But God is bigger then whatever problem I am facing (which happens to be myself).

So here I (still) am. And here it seems I will stay.

Funny. As soon as I actually made the choice in accordance with God’s wishes, all the yucky feelings went away.


I’m going through old CDs. I had to climb over piles of clothes (fell into them too, like falling into a messy and smelly cloud. tons of fun) to find them, dusty and hidden next to a stereo system that hasn’t been used since there was clear ground on my floor (clear ground meaning I could actually use it). That was maybe 3 yrs ago.

Anyways. I’m loading it all onto itunes, and then my ipod… The reason this mundane chore (of sorts) is so cool is that this is music I typically would have freaked out over.

It’s a mixture of Israeli music I grew up, and dark gothic/metal music. Both equally triggering for various reasons. The Israeli stuff would remind me of all my failures, my guilt, my shame (real or imagined, didn’t matter). The dark stuff… well, this is what I listened to in high school, where I was abused, committed for the first time into a psych ward, ramped up my self-injury, stopped eating, overdosed in school and got politely kicked out and sent to an alternative high school… etc.

So ya. These CDs have been collecting dust.

The pain associated is just gone. I remember, when I hear this music, images come to my head… Like having to get a pass from the hospital to sing and record music for my brother’s Bat-Mitzva. Having to get a pass to attend the event, where my asshole bf was invited. Which ended with my curled up in a ball outside crying in terror. Which ended with me back in the hospital, weirdly relieved. And completely crippled with the thought that I had ruined the event for my whole family. And completely ashamed at knowing everyone was aware of my brokenness.

One of my fav songs. My creativity is inherited. I got my voice from my dad’s side. I can hear my grandmother singing when I hear this. Makes me want to cry.

So. It’s June. And I’m wearing my dad’s old sweater and my fuzzy hedgehog slippers. I’m waiting for the weather to catch up to the calender. June is summer, right?

The last couple days, with the bipolar shift in weather (humid, hot, sunny, just last week), makes me… not worry exactly… um. Raises doubts, I guess.

May is apparently classic mood swing time for bipolars. My (former) shrink explained this to me every years, and it’s one of those things that never stuck in my brain. Something about weather patterns and mood. Which actually makes a lot of sense. What doesn’t make sense is why May mood swings wouldn’t happen to me til August or Sept, or not at all, or way before. Basically, I didn’t need a specific month to be nuts. I simply was.

Anyways. The grey weather doesn’t depress me, but I’m not bubbling with joy happy. While I firmly believe having an emotional range is normal… I don’t think I’ve been normal enough to be totally comfortable with having a grey day that matches the grey weather.

Which is also making me incredibly sleepy. Which also makes me… uncomfortable with all the um. non-normalcy I’ve lived through.

I guess what’s also bugging me is that I got talked to about my lack of plans for my trip in two weeks. Um. I have no idea what to write about that. It’s just one of those things that makes me feel like nothing has changed. Which could also be why I’m slightly grumpy today.

I dunno. I guess it’s just one of those days where I am suddenly terrified I’ll wake up from this dream of a beautiful life. This existence is still so new and fragile.

I think I need to go swing in the playground.


I closed my OKC profile. Closing the dating profile on POF a while back was a huge step forward for me. This time, it was just a logical step forward. Yet, when I clicked the button to delete it permanently I panicked.

There was this thought of who would know I exist? Which is about as ridiculous as my conviction in my own invisibility.

Like this need to be Seen competing with my need for anonymity. Seen, capitalized. Cause it has nothing to do with my physical visibility, has nothing to do with the skin that holds me together.

I heard a sermon about intimacy and submission to God. Many sermons, actually. And there was this automatic reaction of no effing way. Intimacy, cause it terrifies me. And submission cause.. well, I associate it with abuse and prostitution and sociopathic behaviour and kink.

Those sermons kinda clicked things together for me, once I got over my stoic freak out.

My intimacy issues have to first be resolved within and with God before I can look anywhere else. And my submissiveness can find avenues besides sex.

Which is why I shut down the profile.

Then on Sunday I found myself nodding along to a variation of no sex before marriage while wondering to myself when exactly did I start agreeing with that?

I have no idea. Cause its not so much about sex, its about recognizing myself as sacred, and being unwilling to be desecrated in any way. Which is possibly why I can’t maintain any romantic interest in anyone. I’m finally gonna pay attention to that. Message received.

So the fact I’ll be out of the country for four months is actually a really good way to take a break from men, and discover me more.

So… I am Seen. God sees me. That’s all that really matters.

I was thinking about using songs as a theme to my blog posts. I might do it. (turn volume down a bit, least til you know you like it or not. I promise future links to more gentle music. Harder music too. We’ll see.)

So now that I’ve slept, and somewhat reflected on what I wrote, I came to this conclusion: FUCK sadness.

Like my therapist said, my boredom comes from the need for progress and stimulation. I’m not meeting my potential. She’s not exactly telling me things I’m unaware of. Still, it helps to hear it from an outside source. There’s only so much consulting I can do with myself before I’m appreciative of another opinion.

I did end up going to a family gathering for the holidays. Even though I knew no one was expecting me, I was surprised when so many expressed shock at seeing me. It actually was a good exercise for later this month (surprise party for my great-aunt). It helps to realize that I’m not as socially awkward as I tend to think of myself.

Anyways. I haven’t mentioned the state of my room in a while. I should really post a picture, cause words fail to convey the utter wreckage I live in. I have selective eyesight regarding my room (like selective hearing. I can look at my room, and see nothing). So my assignment for thursday is to pick up the garbage and to start sorting through some of the clothes I no longer want. Sounds deceptively simple. I said to my therapist that it’s a fucking dumping ground. And she asked me if that’s how I see myself.

Kinda took me aback. A couple months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated, that was exactly how I saw myself. Now… I don’t. Obviously, I have to change my environment to reflect the change within. Fuck.

I’m also looking for ways to positively occupy myself. I joined meetup. I’ve founds things I’d really enjoy doing. Part of the problem is that I don’t run into anyone I used to know. And the more I put myself out there, the higher the likelihood of that happening. Scary stuff.

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who’s begun following me, or liking my posts, or commenting. It’s both weird and validating to know my words are reaching others. If my experiences can help even one person, it has all been worth it.


I had a vocal audition of sorts yesterday. With a new music teacher.

It was an extremely humbling experience, which totally threw me off balance. I didn’t think I could be humbled any further when it comes to my vocal talents. Part of my problem is that I never truly believed I had any.

However, yesterday hit it home that the voice I used to have was more impressive then I’d ever give myself credit for.

But that’s the great thing about hindsight. Kinda like my looking at old pics of myself and wondering why I ever thought it was a good idea to gain weight.

I usually say it’s been a few years since I took lessons. The last time I took lessons seriously, I was being encouraged by my teacher to study voice in university. Like with many things, I did not think I could cut it. I don’t trust my ear (tres important when it comes to singing), and my theory has always sucked (I blame my lack of understanding in math for that – too logical for my artistic mind).

The last time I can remember taking lessons… I think it was at least 6 years ago. Time flies when you date assholes who pimp you and attempt murder.

I definitely have the passion to continue this… wherever it might lead. I just don’t think I have the trust required to let my voice go. It’s not just a lack of trust in myself, but trust in an audience as well. You have to be willing to lay yourself bare when you sing. I’m not sure I can.

But I’m willing to try.

I think I’ve punished myself with silence enough.

These last few months I’ve realized that my normal quiet nature has turned into an almost unbreakable silence. I guess that’s part of the reason I’ve finally returned to music. I have to force my voice to work until I am once again comfortable with it.

My silence is a survival tactic I no longer have any use for if I want to move on. And I do.