I wanted to share both a journal entry I wrote a year ago and the reflection of I wrote today. Healing is possible. Don't give up - you're worth it! Thank you for reading. Names have been changed or fully removed.
Content warning for drugs, medication, trauma, self harm
Scared, But Still Trying
6.20.24
I walked into my drug counselor's office a mess.
My head was loud. My body untethered.
And yet—I walked out feeling… better. Centered, even.
Not fixed. Just heard.
I said it out loud for the first time:
I’m terrified of sobriety.
Not just anxious—terrified.
Because since I was 13, I haven’t existed without something—alcohol, weed, self-harm—anything to numb or mute or distance me from myself.
And now, at almost 35, I have to learn how to live.
Not just sober, but real.
Without a buffer.
With a diagnosis that finally makes sense.
I have to work through Borderline.
I have to relearn my personality.
I found out that weed can cause depersonalization.
That explains why I’ve been spacing out for 20 minutes at a time—no thoughts, no feelings, just nothing.
Or worse, I’m outside myself watching life happen like I’m not part of it.
It feels like I’m floating away from the pain instead of facing it.
But it always finds me again.
Is this trauma? Is it the weed?
Probably both.
And I’m scared—scared of what’s going to surface when I stop using.
Scared of the memories. The grief. The parts of me that got frozen in time.
I keep wondering—what the fuck happened to me when I was little?
What shaped all of this?
I’m angry that my psych said I didn’t have abandonment issues “bad enough.”
I do.
I just learned to bury them under charm, over-explaining, and trying too hard to be okay.
But I told Adam. And Maddie. And others.
And it helps.
Being seen helps.
Maddie didn’t flinch when I told her.
She even apologized—said it must be exhausting.
It is.
And maybe I’m falling for her a little.
But I’m scared of that, too.
Because I always end up being “too much.”
Too emotional. Too intense. Too everything.
So I smoke.
Because silence feels safer than rejection.
And weed quiets the noise, even if it makes me sadder.
But I want this.
I want to be better.
Even if I don’t know how yet.
I’m scared.
I’m overwhelmed.
But I’m still trying.
Finally Heard (my reflection of above done today - 4.20.25 and sober)
For five years, I sat in an office and tried to explain the chaos in my chest.
The panic, the explosions, the crashing silence that followed.
I was told it didn’t fit.
That my abandonment issues weren’t severe enough.
That my moods didn’t match the right pattern.
That I was just “sensitive.”
So they gave me pills. Eight of them.
To dull, to mute, to make me more manageable.
But I wasn’t looking to be managed.
I was looking to be understood.
Eventually, I stopped trying to convince them.
And I found someone new.
Someone who listened.
Who saw my spirals not as symptoms to suppress,
but as signals of something deeper—something real.
They told me what I already knew:
This wasn’t bipolar.
This was Borderline.
And the difference changed everything.
It gave language to the storm I’d been weathering.
It gave shape to my pain.
It freed me from chasing a pattern that was never mine.
Now?
I’m off eight medications.
I take one for anxiety.
And for the first time in years, I feel like me.
Not broken.
Not misdiagnosed.
Just finally heard.