Irreplaceable Words

I cried yesterday morning on my way to work because I was so overwhelmed with grief at the loss of my grandmother (three years ago, mind you), which I had finally dealt with in therapy while I was at CFC.  I wrote her a letter while I was there, telling her all the things I loved about her, the things I missed, the things I appreciated.  It was an attempt at closure. I had hoped to bring it to her grave and read it aloud.

But that letter is lost now.  It was written in my composition notebook, which served as my journal for the last 11 weeks I was at CFC.  See, after I almost got kicked out, my therapist didn’t want me writing in the same journal that had all my dark, depressing, suicidal writings.  He wanted me to write in something new, something where I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to that place and ruminate on those old thoughts and feelings.  A fresh start.  

Sadly, the journal with all the crappy suicidal writings made it back from Utah with the composition notebook, full of recovery-oriented writings and prayers and the letter to my grandmother did not.  I’m not sure if I lost it in the airport or if it was accidentally left behind at CFC (though I had friends look, to no avail).  While I am upset about losing the letter to my grandmother, I am also upset about losing all of those journal entries — almost three months’ worth — and not just because I’m OCD and it leaves me with a gap between journals.

The past couple of weeks have been rough, recovery-wise.  I’ve acted on quite a few behaviours and made some stupid choices (like buying a scale – returned, no fear).  It was then that I missed that journal most acutely.  I was writing in that journal while I was at my strongest in recovery.  While I was making recovery-oriented choices 100% of the time.  While I was genuinely enjoying life.  While I was getting the hang of recovery, finding my stride.

On tough days, it would be nice to look back and remind myself of that girl who was so gung-ho recovery just six weeks ago.  Remind myself that I can be that girl again.  And to remind myself that yeah, some days totally sucked, but I got through it.  Without behaviours.

So I begin writing again.  New journal.  Same struggles.  Some great days, some crappy days.  But I can get through it.

Without behaviours.


4 thoughts on “Irreplaceable Words

  1. What if everyday you took time to rememember and write about a day or time or whatever about your time in treatment during the final swoop. You may not always even feel like it – it will be a discipline you do.

    I really think that can help to get your mind back to that better place. I doubt you’ll look back and feel differently. I think once you start vividly remembering or recapturing a trypical day or writing about one friend you made at a time — dedicating each day to write something in memory to recapture.

    • Missy, I LOVE this idea. Actually, even when I was in treatment, I did a really poor job of writing on the really good things that happened. It would be so great to have a journal of just the great things. And I have the perfect journal for it. (It’s one I bought while I was out there.)
      Thank you for the awesome idea!

  2. I love Missy’s idea and I love you! As you were leaving the other night I said something like, “You’re really amazing,” or some other such corny compliment. But, truly, I mean it. You inspire the crap out of me! I know this is not easy but you are amazingly strong and I have such big faith in you. <3

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