Addiction

Hi, my name is ibrahimsharaf. I'm here because I'm struggling with depression, burnout and working on addiction recovery.
#MightyTogether #Depression

This woman is important. I need her to like me. I need her to buy these ridiculously expensive products that I don’t give a shit about.

I haven’t slept in days so when she orders a cappuccino I take a double espresso. The Lorazepam did nothing to slow my heart, ease my sweating, stop my trembling hands. So how am I going to drink it anyway?

Getting in the metro I could only think of the impending crash, the fire, the screams. I was terrifying myself with scenes I couldn’t shut off. And still, against my will I boarded my perceived coffin.

By the time I reach the cafe, I’m hanging on by a thread.

“Ingrid,” I say
Her face tightens.
“Oh, sorry. I was just speaking with an Ingrid a minute ago”
My apology sounds weak even to me.

This woman is smart and in control. She’s attractive in the way that comes from discipline, money, and long days. Her long blonde hair softening the signs of age, flowing around her oval face and dropping gently on her shoulders. You don’t get this far overnight. She could have me for breakfast, or this lunch I’m paying for.

I try to remember the proposal, but the situation is slipping away from me fast. Why didn’t I check her LinkedIn, why didn’t I Google the company? At least get some background. Now I’m sitting here spewing numbers that I neither understand nor hear myself saying.

She’s asking questions she knows the answers to. I nod, but I’m no longer listening.
Just over her shoulder I see it.
And I know I shouldn’t be seeing it.

A tree stump is crawling across the road on its dry, raw roots. Its roots move like an octopus pushing and dragging its body over the road. It’s as tall as a man, not an octopus, and with it’s head, not it’s legs, chopped off. And yet I feel it looking at me from that empty space above the dead brown wood.
A pedestrian steps over it. A bike rides across a thin root tip.

No reaction.
They can’t see it.
But it’s there.
Just for me.

Our lunch arrives, breaking the silence I wasn’t listening to.

We eat like two civilized business women, the small talk mechanical, automatic. As soon as words leave my lips I’ve forgotten them. I laugh appropriately at her quip and then forget what she said.
I avoid looking at the street but one quick glance.

Gone.
Good.

I leave her with the proposal I’m sure now she’ll never sign. I obsess and ruminate and sweat and shake; get lost and finally have a beer in my hand in the safety of my home.

What the pills won’t do the alcohol will.
#Addiction #Bipolar1 #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Anxiety

Hi, my name is mpcleroux. I'm here because I write about the parts of bipolar disorder and addiction recovery that don't fit into inspirational narratives—the messy middle, the awkward honesty, and the work of rebuilding when you're not sure what you're building toward.#MightyTogether #BipolarDisorder #ADHD