12,446 Days Alive
Another week down
Not every coping mechanism is a positive one.
Once, not long enough ago, it was alcohol.
I spent way too much time mildly or majorly intoxicated trying to drink myself into oblivion and resolve my own personal traumas at the bottom of a bottle.
I do not recommend it. And it didn’t work, either. Alcoholism is a bitch and I genuinely hope I don’t end up with a liver that betrays me later in life because of it.
Another thing was biting my fingernails. While better, I still do it from time to time.
The ones I can’t seem to shake are twisting napkins to shreds and picking at scabs. I know they’re minor compulsions. I’m even sometimes cognizant of them and am able to stop. Not always, though.
Oh, I take it back. I’ve one more: not eating. Or maybe food in general? To reward, to punish. It’s a comfort and control thing. Now it’s even more complicated with my body seemingly developing new and interesting allergies to things all the time!
Pizza has made it onto the list of things I end up regretting later. But that could be from sheer amount of carbohydrates after being on a fairly controlled amount for the last few weeks.
It’s not heroin or anything, but I do need to work on finding better coping mechanisms, other than my slightly self destructive ways.
Got any suggestions?
And before anyone can say it, yeah, yoga. I know.
Take your meds, folks.