When considering all the destruction in the world, there is none more tragic than the self-imposed. - Me

It is 3:30 in the morning and I am feeling guilty. I am warm, safe, and have a bitch on each hip. I had a good day at work. I made a pink and purple Barbie guitar cake for my buddy's daughter. I have a loving family and many friends who care for me. I have more blessings in this moment than I can share. But I am haunted.

I must talk of my blessings because that's the only way to really understand my story. I am a have. I have never had to go without. While I have been through some incredibly difficult times, I know that a big reason I no longer live as a victim is due to the support and stability of the circle around me. It's easy to act like I did it on my own, but that would just be an act. My longing to be authentic was greater than my act.

There is a streak of independence and individualism running through me. Some of it is innate and some has mellowed over the years.

My guilt?

My lack of understanding.

It's so conflicting, really. I believe wholeheartedly that we need to use positive thinking and visualization to create opportunities in our lives. I believe we get back what we put out. It's been said thousands of ways over the history of humanity, so it's not surprising that this concept is at belief status for me. And I have seen it work in my life--my Anne Frank quality. The ability to see the positive in a shitty situation. So I just assumed that anyone could put this to practice in his/her life.

My assumption failed because I forget that not everyone is blessed with a healthy mind. Maybe I am just getting to the age where The long-term mental health issues are really starring to ravage some of my friends. And I can instantly think of three friends with whom their mental health issues are also coupled with substance abuse issues. Thankfully, some of them are getting the help they need right now.

I remember the night I woke up in my bathtub, covered in puke and wishing I had choked on the vomit and died. I hadn't thought about that moment in a while. I was so sad and scared. But I like have said many times, any negative emotion is rooted in hurt. I was just a big pile of hurt, acting out self-destructively because I knew no other way. I asked the ceiling for some type of help and a wave of calm passed through me and said to just go to bed. When I woke a few hours later, I knew something had to change.

Several tries later, something started to stick. Maybe mostly because I wanted it to and my stubborn ass didn't want to be a slave to anything anymore.

It's a humbling process. It's a work in progress. And that's okay. A few years ago, I asked the Universe to teach me patience. I still regret that one sometimes, but I also feel like it's starting to stick.

My next lesson is to ask for understanding. And I think my three friends were the messengers sent to plant that request. I'm learning that recognizing and stopping self-destruction is far more difficult for someone who struggles with a mental illness. Acknowledging this is helping ease my mind.

It's late. I have stopped making sense and Alli wants to cuddle.