Started From The Bottom Now We're Here

I've been calling this past weekend "rock bottom."  For three nights in a row I went to my closet,  selected a mostly see through top, applied a little too much eyeliner, and stepped into the tallest pair of wedges I could get my hands on... and then, I drank.  My typical five beers a night quickly escalated to seven or eight, my no-shot-taking policy flew out the window as I drank Captain straight from the bottle, and the box of wine my friends left in my room was considerably less heavy by the end of each night.  I kissed a guy I barely know, woke up in my bed with no idea how I got there, and spent two hours crying to a friend as he helped me out of my heels and into his roommate's slippers so I didn't break an ankle.  I offended a girl I'm barely acquainted with, fell down the hill outside of my apartment, and ate more drunk pizza than I even care to think about.

So, after all this, do I feel any better?  Surprisingly, yes I do.  I am embarrassed, ashamed, hungover, guilt ridden, and definitely in need of some exercise.  However, I've realized that acting out reminded me who I really am.  I am not the person I acted like this weekend; if I was, I wouldn't feel shame or embarrassment.  I let myself lose control of my emotions, of my values, and of my inhibitions.  I am definitely not proud of that, but I needed this weekend to remind myself that I am always in control and responsible for myself.

In relationships, from what I have learned, the power lies with the person who cares less.  At some point in my last relationship, I let the balance tip.  I loved deeper - cared more - and I gave him control.  I tried to want what he wanted, do what he wanted, and act in the way he wanted.  Every move I made was with him in mind.  I relinquished control.

Over the past five weeks, I have done little to regain control and responsibility.  I made excuses for my melodramatic responses to small infractions, my oversensitivity to the criticism of others, and my short temper in the face of controversy.  "I'm going through a tough breakup," I'd think, "it's not my fault."  And everyday, I wish things were different.  Sometimes I wish we were still together.  Sometimes I wish we had never met.  Sometimes I wish that he wasn't in the same state as me, at the same school as me, or at the same party as me.  I don't have control over any of those things, but what I can control are my actions and the way I treat others.  Over the past five weeks I lost sight of the fact that there is never an excuse to knowingly do the wrong thing.  My mother taught me to know right from wrong, to respect others, and to carry myself with dignity.  This weekend I exemplified zero of the things my mother taught me, and there is no excuse for that - not even a broken heart.

I genuinely believe that this past weekend was actually an experience I needed to have.  I am finding myself, rebuilding my life, recreating my outlook, and mending my heart, and sometimes the only way to do that is to start from rock bottom and work your way up.


**inspired by "Beauty in a Breakdown" firstworldthoughts.blogspot.com