Continued from Why Do I Still Continue to Struggle

January 2, 2019


I stand once again staring out the window watching an airplane push back. This time, it’s not my wife that’s leaving. This time, it’s not me remembering when my sister used to leave.


This time, I’m watching my daughter leave.


I feel numb. I feel like a soggy towel that someone has just wrung out.


I’m tired with lack of sleep. And in my weakness the Knight of Shame swings his sword. I barely have time to ward him off as I weakly lift my shield. I’m knocked to the ground.


Why are you feeling this way?


Come on Phoenix! You have so much to be grateful for.


Really, you’re going to wallow in this tornado of sadness once again?


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Here it is New Year’s Day. I’m flying my daughter half way home for the holiday, and instead of feeling immense joy for the absolutely AMAZING New Year’s Eve memory the two of us will cherish for the rest of our lives, I am plagued by a colossal weight of pain and sadness.


I can’t seem to get out of my head.


At the moment I feel as if I am wallowing in my own agony and I have this image of our Labrador Retriever standing outside soaked in the pouring rain, tail between his legs, ears flat against his head, and his eyes giving the saddest, most forlorn look anyone has ever seen. Our well-trained dog does not bark, doesn’t even whine. That’s all good, except he would stand there for hours until someone noticed him, instead of trying find a way to get our attention.


I guess this is a reminder for me to “speak up” and take care of my needs with my recovery community.


I’m so tired of feeling loss and pain.


I’m tired of allowing my hopes to rise only to have them get smashed to pieces yet once again.


I wish I could be like the knights my daughter and I watched at Medieval Times last night and battle my negative emotions to their death.


I know the truth though.


I can’t feel joy without feeling pain.


The negative emotions are as important as my positive ones. Learning to manage them is essential.


I can’t bottle the discomfort, bury it in the sand, and hope that by doing so I will never feel that pain again. I only end up burying my happy feelings too.


I can’t let negative emotions overwhelm me, sucking me into the undertow, allowing wave after wave to pulverize me.


I need to acknowledge my loss. I need to acknowledge my pain. I need to grieve.


It’s so hard to do this when the Knight of Shame is standing there ready to also take me down. I hear his battle call and try not to engage.


It’s tough, because deep down, I know 2018 brings me so much to be grateful for. I have no reason to be feeling this amount of sadness.


I should be celebrating life.




Oh, to “should” oneself is to shit on oneself.


To 'should' oneself, is to shit on oneself. Click To Tweet


The Knight of Shame chastises me for getting stuck in sorrow.


Like quicksand, I feel as if I’m sinking and don’t have the strength to fight back.


The knights of all my negative emotions surround me, and I don’t feel as if I have the strength to continue fighting them. Sometimes, it just feels easier to give up. I have fought so hard for so long.


This was my New Year’s Eve struggle. This is where I’m at as I start 2019.


I went from the most incredible high I’ve experienced in the past four years to once again getting knocked down, feeling immobilized and stuck.


I guess its time to bring my Fledglings up to date.


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This was one crazy, wild, and fun week! It was the ending of an era; 18 years of moving from one airline for the next destination at another. Sadness as I leave a piece of my heart behind and move away from many coworkers who are family to me. Yet excitement at the prospects that lie ahead and the new family I’m joining. I pray that my schedule will finally open up so I no longer have to commute and will spend the time in my own bed that I used to spend out on the road. I pray I will have the time with my family I have longed to have.


This week has been a hurricane of emotions; love, happiness, loss, grief, excitement, and fear. A lot to process. I’m grateful that my journey of recovery has allowed me the ability to stay present with it all.

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