I've gotten to a point where I'm able to really look myself in the mirror again.
When shit starts getting really bad, you have to distract yourself from reality. Then the drugs make shit worse. So, you double down.
The climb back out of that hell has almost destroyed my family, for which I am ashamed... which is more baggage and another excuse to use.
I have more to process now than I did when I started using over twenty years ago. I'm not back to square one. I've gone backwards. But, I'm finally in a place where that's somehow okay.
I want to fix myself now.
I've been to a couple of therapists over the years, but never stayed for long. I went to rehab twice, but my heart wasn't in it. I was physically there, but I didn't give it a chance. Rehab was a convenience. I used it to temporarily escape from addiction when that became unsustainable but I always intended to return to my wicked ways.
I was always smug about the idea of psychiatrists. How ridiculous that they could somehow fix me. I didn't need to be fixed. I didn't believe in mental illness. When my cousin was diagnosed with schizophrenia, I had a weirdly emotional reaction. I refused to accept his diagnosis. People don't get sick like that. It's just weakness. It's all in my head. But, that's my mother talking. Not that she said that, outright, to me. She mostly communicates between sentences.
I have hated myself for a long time.
Now, I don't hate anyone. I've gotten to a point where I don't hold a grudge against anybody. I can see them from a neutral perspective. We were all children once. I need to forgive myself. I need to love myself.
Life is too short.
So you were doing the robbing? And you got attacked during?