If you knew what it feels like, would you know how to help?

Your inspired text reminded me that you are one of my cheerleaders as I battle this stupid addiction - and you have no idea what it feels like to fall off the wagon. It happened to arrive at the precise time I was deciding to (try to) not be (any more) open with you about it - because you've lived with it before and its destructive power is horrific. I can't image you have the patience for more raw stupidity and laziness. You have chosen the higher ground, why can't the rest of us? Then I remember we think alike about many things. I used to be like you in many ways - people would tell me about my strength, and calmness. They would confide in me, and I would accidentally say that right things. Watching you I understand a little what they told me about myself. So I think, would I want to help any of my friends? Yes, of course. And I'm not even going to lock myself in the bathroom, expecting you to magically know what to say to get me out. (I don't remember what I said to get Bethany out of the bathroom, just that moment

Being on the wagon brings a sense of hope. Falling off the wagon means I'm back in bed, with a laptop on my chest, watching episode after episode of something. Not doing so many things. When I was in this place before I'd simply removed myself from responsibility, but now I have taken so much on. Too much I think. So the whole time I'm knowing that I shouldn't - at least in flashes - in between the dulling escape of it. Feeling worse and worse. The guilt, the physical drain of not eating or bathing, the isolation. The thing that surprised me this time is it was so scary. I fell so deeply into it so quickly, and I knew all the motions. I knew where to look for more shows, where to find the computer games, where to put my laptop.

That's part of the problem - I bought a used laptop because I just don't have room for my computer in my room, and I've engulfed my Mom's dining room table for too long. Last month's VT cards were difficult to do because my Dad wanted to watch Netflix, and I needed to choose something uplifting and everything collided. You don't know how my house, never mind. So when I started to fall, the paraphernalia was there - which is why I haven't owned a laptop since my parents came home. I can still spend hours in front of my desktop, no problem. And my mom has a laptop. which I sometimes use. Its all there already, for my addiction. Just not quite like this. 

I suppose I should mention after that Sunday School lesson that my laptop is never pointed there, I haven't fallen that low. May I never. There is enough simple and stupid things to ensnare. 

Before

I want to tell you what I remember about being "sober".

The world started to unfold when I quite watching TV the first time. My grades skyrocketed as I found not only the time, but also the mental quiet to study. I had to face problems that I could no longer escape. Things grew so large - my life so rich. Even graduating from college was impossible before. But to move from my parent's house, and then from my parent's city! As I spoke to people they would randomly say, "I wish I could just put you in my pocket and take you with me." People said I had the greatest smile. And the best laugh. A housemate - the boys who lived in the mother-in-law apartment below us said I expected the best of the people around me and so they acted that way. I remember feeling a profound calmness most times - I knew that life was complicated, I had accepted my complications, and it was okay for other people to share their complications. People confided in me. I was a strength to people. I had good advice. I gave good comments at church. One very wise sister in my ward said I was actually part of her constellation of a few people she used to orient herself. 

I had many connections, and many friends. My boss in Seattle needed a new babysitter so I went to the Institute over lunch that very day, and found her one just like that. Do I need to say she isn't LDS? People told me I was a delight. A delight! A Greek coworker told me I was very Greek - something like in your face, loud, loving. I got up and went to work, many days. I found a life. I managed a complicated house of five roommates - collecting rent, finding roommates, settling disputes (though I'm much better at telling people what to do in a motherly way, than I was, but I faced it). So in shape. So thin. Outside all the time. Not afraid of the things I'm afraid of now. I felt deep connection to all my family, and drew strength from their love. I knew they would support me if I needed them to - I didn't need them to. I drew strength from a variety of people around me. Other people started watching less TV and would gather at my kitchen table and just talk as only 20-somethings can. We lived "Friends" we didn't need to watch it. Granted I was still Autistic and people/new situations still overwhelmed me. I was still bipolar and my moods swayed me. But while now I take three pills daily, then I took only one, and that at half the strength. I touched bases with a psychiatrist and he joked was I using it homeopathically, and that I seemed fine. Happy. So happy. I prayed all the time. I had contact with myself, a quietness, that let me solve problems and move forward.  I moved to Salt Lake to help my Grandma. When I was sober here I spent time with her. I'd visit in the evenings. We were randomly learning a piano song together. She'd tell me stories and we'd talk of life in the evenings. My cousins did stuff and invited me. The family welcomed me with fairly open arms, and I don't know how I managed to fight them off. 

I feel like all of this has been taken away from me. I'm not Greek. I have no connections. I don't get up and go to work. I don't remember how to smile - I started practicing on my road trip to Boise, couldn't do it. Last week I finally noticed on my driver's license from when I first moved here how it was done. People don't comment on my laugh - do I laugh? People aren't happy to see me. I give bad advice. I've lost friends. I've lost family. I don't want life to be complicated, I can't deal with it in my life, nor can I in others. I pretend that we are friends because I can help you, but really I need the help. Its bitter to say that I need help. The guilt of not tending to my Grandma because I was busy playing computer games or surfing the web, is a big part of what crumbled my life. I see her and I carry now such guilt. Family is distant now. They tried so hard to help, and couldn't. I don't trust them. I don't trust myself. The addiction has stolen so much.