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Flawless Imperfection (Avery Richard - Monroe, LA)

Why do I find myself here again?  I have an idea of why but scared to admit it.  I’ve been suppressing it for years.  Now that other things have built up, it isn’t as easy to shove deep below the surface.  I feel myself careening out of control, spiraling toward the depth that may not be overcome.  My substance abuse has gotten to a point that recognizing myself is getting more and more difficult.  Changing ways of administration has contributed, if not propelled, this descent.  I try my best not to face things that are difficult emotionally.  I know I’m avoidant…it is something I hate to admit.  There’s been things lately that have piled up…everything with mama, Mary moving out,  the lease here coming to an end, Mawmaw’s health…it all has become too much to deal with so I don’t deal with it and instead cover the pain with my addiction.  I guess I should touch on each of the situations…
First and one of the hardest things for me is that I have no mother anymore.  Mama has stopped communicating with everyone and moved away to somewhere no one really knows.  We have ideas of where she may be but it’s just a guess at this point.  I haven’t been the same since.  My best friend…the person I told almost everything to…abandoned me.  I’ve felt so alone since.  Wandering aimlessly, trying to deal with things that come up but not having her there to talk to feels foreign.  I hate it.  I find myself crying at times because I miss her so much.  I just want to hear her voice.  Something…  Instead I am left to wonder if she’s still alive…where she’s at…if she thinks about me…if she misses me as much as I do her.  I was angry at first, furious even.  How could she do that?  It has given way to sadness…intense sadness…almost as if I’m grieving her death.  I guess in a way I am.  Needless to say this is a daily struggle I find myself trying not to face.
The next one is a big one.  A time bomb that I know I cannot stop from going off.  Mawmaw.  The very person that helped raise me the first few years of my life.  The ONLY person in the family that didn’t give up on me when I hit rock bottom in 2013.  The one who told me to come up there when I didn’t know how I’d pay rent that year.  The one who may not understand some of the things I go through but loves me regardless…always wants the best for me.  She’s been going downhill for a while now…I know she doesn’t have much longer…but I can’t find the strength to face that fact and talk to her.  Just to fucking reach out and call her is something I haven’t been able to do because it would mean coming face to face with the reality of the situation.  Even now, writing this, my eyes are stinging with meth laden tears… I have to stop that topic there.
So my roommate Mary has moved out of the apartment to go and stay at her parents’ investment property.  I was somewhat shocked when I found that out.  Now the apartment is nearly bare, save for my couch and TV in the living room and my bedroom and bathroom.  It is hauntingly empty.  Since I’m working from home now, I have to be here.  Forced to notice the shell of what it once was.  Odd thing is that for as uncomfortable as it is…I find myself reluctant to go out.  Reclusive in a matter of speaking.  This pairs with the next thing, the end of the lease here.  8/6 is when the lease is up.  I told myself that I was going to move to New Orleans so I could be closer to work.  I want to move up in the company and show that by moving closer to where work is.  I haven’t started looking for places yet…I’m supposed to give the complex something in writing at least 60 days prior to lease termination if the lease is not being renewed.  I haven’t started on that.  I feel as though my inner self is trying to hold on to the way things used to be when Mary was here.   When I had someone here…a friend…one that I wasn’t the best roommate to.
I’m a horrible friend…I just realized.  I am the world’s worst at keeping in touch.  I’m bad at keeping plans.  And I wonder why I don’t have many close friends these days.  Yet another thing to add to the suppression list…
Yes the crying I’ve done while writing this has helped me to feel slightly better.  How long can that last though?  I’ve been a stranger to my meds and antidepressants for a LONG time now.  It feels like a part of me has given up.  I know that feeling…and with knowing it comes pure fear.  It comes in close proximity to my previous suicide attempt.  No I don’t want to die.  That part is still somewhat strong.  If things progress as they are now without some sort of change, I can feel myself slowly becoming “hijacked” by depression again.  In comes the complacency, things start unraveling and piling up, and then one moment of weakness and…
There’s still time.  I have to remind myself of that.

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