Saturday, July 29, 2017

I Was Not Myself

There's a part of my life I have been dwelling on recently. It's the part of my life that I had no control over. My body was taken by the drugs the doctors gave me that were supposed to help me but instead they made my life a complicated mess. Those drugs took over my mind and they made me do, think, and say things I would have never said if I wasn't under the influence of the drug that the doctors guided me to take.

My body was directed by medication that didn't sit well with me. I started to say hurtful things to the people I loved. I started saying nonsense to people I thought I loved. I cared about the wrong people. I hurt people around me. I went places I shouldn't have gone and I stepped over walls of safety. I did all these things that make me shiver when I think about them.

I am ashamed of the things I did when I wasn't in control. How could I not have been in control if I felt in control at the moment? How was it not me making choices? How?

As I found out later the things I did when I thought I was myself were influenced by a medication that drove my mind insane. I was me but I wasn't myself. I did things that weren't things the sane me would have done. I keep hoping that thinking about the fact that I had no control over what I did will make things better but guilt drowns me like an ocean would if you couldn't swim.

The hardest thing for me to remember is that I wasn't myself when I did the things I did. I want the memories of the things I did to vanish but no matter how hard I try to rub these memories away I can't. It's like trying to erase a pen mark with an eraser that is made for only fixing the mistakes of a pencil. The lines will fade ever so slightly, but will always be noticeable. The memories in my head are the lines written in pen that I can't erase. The only thing I can do is draw a more beautiful story out of a broken line but drawing that story won't be simple.

My mind has no off switch. It won't let my worries rest. It plays the same few memories like a broken record. Again and again, and if that's not enough once more. The only day dreams I have are nightmares of the past. I fall asleep to things I wish never happen and I dream of all the what if's as if I still had a chance to change things.

I can't change the past. I can only wish it was different. Understanding everything that happened isn't my fault is one of the biggest challenges of recovery. Trying to mend a hurt soul isn't easy. My soul is like a broken bone. It is fragile as it lays in a cast and tries to heal its self. My soul hopes that it won't get pushed again so it puts up barriers in defense. Like a bone takes time to heal so will my soul.

Slowly the tender memories and shame and guilt will fade. The pain will diminish as I start to get into the right mindset. Eventually, the shame will disappear and the guilt will no longer be there as I start to accept that what happened was not my fault.

I was not myself.

2 comments:

  1. I resonate with this so much. Early last year I had the same experience after being prescribed medication and feeling my life spin out of control. It's such a crazy thing because you really don't feel like yourself or anyone for that matter, rather you're of a shell of yourself tracing back your step trying to figure out what happened. Thank you for being brave enough to share this, by arranging this bad experience into a beautiful sequence of words. Please contact me if you ever need someone to talk to, or even just to chat. X

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    1. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on this post. I really do appericate the way you have shared your experience, always helps to know that you aren't the only one in a situation like this one.

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